Chapter 4 - The House of Cards
The morning air in the sunroom suddenly felt a little colder. I clutched my coffee mug tighter, processing the weight of Marcus’s words.
“Private loans?” I repeated, the pieces slowly clicking together in my mind. “That explains why he’s been so erratic lately, demanding more capital, complaining about cash flow while driving a new Porsche every twelve months.”
“He didn't just borrow a few thousand dollars, Susan,” Marcus warned gravely. “We’re talking upwards of four hundred thousand dollars in unsecured predatory debt. He leveraged the house assuming your name was still on the primary deed for that specific parcel—except when we restructured your estate assets three years ago into the independent trust, your name was quietly removed from that particular title.”
A cold, ironic smile touched my lips. “So the house he threatened to throw me out of last night... the house he told me I was squatting in...”
“Legally speaking, Michael doesn't even own it free and clear anymore,” Marcus finished for me. “He owns a mountain of toxic debt wrapped in a decaying suburban mortgage, and the bank is scheduled to issue a notice of default within forty-eight hours now that the autopays have failed.”
“Karma,” I murmured softly.
“Call it what you like, but it’s going to get very messy very quickly,” Marcus cautioned. “Michael and Diane are probably scrambling right now to figure out how to salvage his sixtieth birthday weekend. They’re hosting a brunch at the country club today for out-of-town relatives, expecting you to show up with an apology check and cater the whole thing.”
“A country club brunch,” I mused, looking down at my comfortable denim jeans and cashmere sweater. “With what money is he paying the tab?”
“That’s the beauty of it, Susan. He has no idea his credit cards are completely dead until he tries to sign the bill in front of thirty of his most elite corporate associates.”
A thrill of dark, righteous anticipation surged through my veins. For seventeen years, I had stood in the shadows while Michael basked in the spotlight of my financial stability, humiliating me in private and degrading me in public. Tonight was supposed to be his ultimate triumph. Instead, the universe was handing him a bill he couldn't pay.
“Keep me updated, Marcus,” I said smoothly. “Let them twist in the wind for a few more hours.”
“Will do, Susan. Enjoy your morning in peace.”
I ended the call and set my mug down on the antique side table. Peace was indeed what I wanted, but curiosity—that stubborn, human itch—demanded a front-row seat to the wreckage.
May you like
I walked upstairs to my bedroom, changed into a sharp, tailored charcoal wool coat and designer sunglasses, and retrieved my car keys. It was time to pay a little visit to the Oakridge Country Club.
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