Chapter 7 - The Debt Everyone Wanted to Call Love
Dad hired an attorney.
That made me sadder than it made me angry.
Because it meant the family was finally willing to become organized.
Just not for grief.
His lawyer argued that Ethan’s transfers were informal gifts between family members.
David responded with the bridge-loan spreadsheet, repayment language, and partial repayments Dad had already made.
The dispute became real.
Not a threat.
Not a dramatic showdown.
A probate and contract issue.
Simone calculated the outstanding principal at $112,300, excluding interest because Ethan’s records did not clearly establish an enforceable interest rate.
David recommended we demand the principal.
I surprised him.
“No interest.”
“You don’t have to decide that now.”
“I just did.”
The distinction mattered to me.
I wanted Ethan’s money returned.
I did not want to turn grief into a profit center.
Dad interpreted restraint differently.
He told relatives I was preparing to take their house.
Their home had significant equity.
If the estate obtained a judgment and they refused payment, that equity could eventually matter.
I had not requested a forced sale.
But the possibility gave Dad a useful story.
Claire got $18.7 million and still wants our house.
It was simple.
Emotional.
And incomplete.
Melissa repeated it.
Several cousins believed her.
Then one cousin called me.
Nathan.
He had skipped the funeral for Melissa’s dinner.
“I need to apologize.”
I did not make it easy.
“For which part?”
He hesitated.
“Not coming.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Arthur told everyone the funeral was basically private.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“He said Ethan’s parents wanted it small.”
“That’s not true.”
“I know that now.”
Dad had not merely chosen the dinner himself.
He had reduced attendance on my side by telling relatives they were not expected at the church.
The empty pews had been partly manufactured.
“Why?”
“I think he didn’t want questions.”
“What questions?”
Nathan was silent.
Then:
“About who paid for dinner.”
I closed my eyes.
“You knew?”
“Not until that night.”
Apparently Dad gave a toast.
He thanked Melissa for being “the joy this family needed.”
Then he thanked Ethan, who was being buried that afternoon, for making the celebration possible.
The room became uncomfortable.
Nobody left.
They ate dinner anyway.
Nathan’s voice cracked.
“I should’ve gone to the church.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I believe you.”
That was not the same as saying it was fine.
After we hung up, I called David.
“Pursue the debt.”
“All of it?”
“The principal.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
I had spent six months believing my family simply did not care enough to attend the funeral.
The truth was more complicated.
May you like
Dad had made it easier for them not to come.
Now I was going to stop making anything easier for him.
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