“But I don’t know the question.” I held my breath.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head down. “I wonder if, at some point in the future, this new friendship might develop into something more . . .” He glanced up at me without turning his head.
Breathe. “Like I said, I’m open to lots of things.”
Dream Cream’s orange neon sign lit the easy smile stretching across his face. “I’m glad your ex was a thief.”
“Me too.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
AMANDA
Any other day, I might’ve raved about the walnut paneling and Concord dentil crown molding in Kevin’s law firm’s conference room. The beauty of the oval burled-wood table would’ve mesmerized me. I might’ve affectionately stroked the butter-soft leather chairs and even admired the freshly vacuumed emerald-green carpet.
I’d never before been to his office, which was luxurious. Formal. Pristine.
Everything I typically loved.
But words like “divorce,” “foreclosure,” and “the FBI” echoing off all its surfaces put those things in a new perspective.
My swollen feet stretched my favorite leather pumps to the point where the stitching might pop. If I could’ve kicked them off without being noticed, I would’ve. Instead, I swiveled in the chair between Kevin and Stan, my back sticky from sweat, while legalese muddled my brain. The stress-and-pregnancy-hormone cocktail didn’t help my concentration.
“What does ‘quasi-judicial’ mean?” The bank’s notice of intent lay there taunting me while Kevin attempted to once more explain Maryland foreclosure law. And yet again, my mind shot to something more pleasant, like contemplating the room’s artwork.
“Never mind,” he said when faced with my drifting gaze. He adjusted his tie. “The key thing is that if you don’t file a request to mediate within twenty-five days of that notice, the bank can foreclose on your house in forty-five days.”
No amount of Visine had helped soothe my dry eyes. The stinging wouldn’t subside without sleep, which I hadn’t had in days. Squeezing my big-bellied body onto a twin mattress accounted for half my insomnia. Mom’s silent treatment made up the other. So far, none of my nightly staring at the ceiling had revealed the secret to sparing us all the public embarrassment of Lyle’s fraud. But Erin was being supportive, and I refused to let my mother bully me. Yes, she certainly had a lot on the line, but so did I. After a lifetime of making her proud, it hurt that she wouldn’t hold my hand and face this with me instead of making it harder.
I unclenched my jaw, massaging the ache. “Mediation seems pointless. I can’t make the late payments. Even if I could, I can’t pay the mortgage absent a lottery win.”
Foreclosure would be another ding to my family’s reputation and leave me homeless. I’d be less worried if I felt I could stay indefinitely at my mother’s. But she’d left the refrigerator door open for two hours the other day and burned her hand getting something out of the oven last night. If her anger didn’t subside soon, I might have to move out, probably to someplace unpleasant like Erin’s former apartment. I would cry about all of it if weeks of chaos and heartbreak hadn’t deadened my emotions.
Kev sighed. “I’ll lend you money to tide you over until things get sorted out. Once Lyle’s arrested, his lawyers will advise him to show remorse to earn leniency, and encourage him to cooperate with you by signing over a power of attorney to sell the house. We could also try to apply pressure with regard to the divorce settlement and custody agreement.”
My generous brother kept talking, but my thoughts raced to Willa and whether she would resent me for putting her father in jail. Or if she might grow up mistrusting all men because of her dad. Nothing my brother offered up helped me solve those problems.
Kevin cleared his throat, which brought me back to the conversation. “File the mediation request to preserve the chance to pay off the bank and move on with a little equity in your pocket. Otherwise the bank will accept the quickest sale in a foreclosure to cut its losses and you could lose all your equity. Worse, any expenses the bank incurs in those proceedings get charged to you, so you could even owe money after the sale.”
I closed my eyes against the unfairness. Then again, I’d blindly trusted my husband to run our finances. Perhaps I was getting exactly what I deserved.
“Thanks, Kevin. I appreciate your generosity.” My hand found his and squeezed it hard. “But I can’t take your money. Our whole plan depends on the FBI agreeing to the OIA and Lyle getting convicted, but we’ve got no guarantee those things will happen. I can’t stomach owing both Mom and you money for the rest of my life.”
“I already spoke with the US attorney for the District of Maryland. Remember when I interned in that office during my first summer in law school?”
I didn’t remember, or maybe I’d forgotten. I could hardly keep track of his career path except to note that it generally trended upward.
“If you get Lyle on tape, he’ll bring charges. He’s already contacted Agent Crowley to let him know, so today’s interview is teed up.”
“This could still go sideways.” I glanced at the box of documents Stan had amassed. My knee hadn’t stopped jiggling for the past ten minutes. “I’m sort of panicking. Mom’s both angry and out of it, walking around talking to herself. She accidentally dumped bleach in a dark load of laundry, then blamed me.”
Kevin sighed. “Any word from the neurologist?”
“No markers for Alzheimer’s or dementia, which is a relief. It seems the lapses are grief- and stress-related. Involving the FBI hasn’t helped.” I stared at my fingers, having chipped some of the pink polish off my thumbnail in a fit of nervousness. “She’s talking about moving.”
Kevin gripped my hand again. “Don’t blame yourself for how Mom chooses to respond to the situation she helped create.” I blinked into his intense gaze, grateful for the way he’d given voice to something I’d felt too guilty to utter. I hadn’t asked for that money. Mom had offered it. That didn’t absolve either of us from our lack of due diligence, but this wasn’t entirely my fault. “The FBI is our best chance of getting things settled properly. This case is below the financial threshold normally required for FBI resources, but the AG’s interest might sway Agent Crowley.”
Something shifted in my belly, as if Willa had overheard our conversation and grown tense. It felt like a cramp, but I brushed it off as nerves.
“Amanda,” Stan interrupted, “I know you’re outside your comfort zone, but Agent Crowley is fair and reasonable. Let’s be optimistic.”
“I appreciate all you’ve done to help, but you two don’t need to sugarcoat this. I know where things stand and that we have to keep moving forward despite my doubts.”
The two men exchanged a look that I couldn’t quite read.
“We should probably hit the road so we aren’t late for the appointment.” Stan scooted his chair back, hands flattened on the table, ready to shove off as soon as Kevin agreed.
I could hear my ragged breath. If asked, I couldn’t have explained exactly why fear now spread through my veins, holding me in place, but it did nonetheless. The anxiety of the unknown, the humiliating buzz that would follow Lyle’s arrest, the uncertainty of my mother’s and my financial futures. My eyes were closed when my brother rubbed my shoulder.