Chapter 2 - THE PAPERS WAITING FOR MY SIGNATURE
Thomas followed me upstairs.
“Mara.”
I kept packing.
Two pairs of jeans.
Oliver’s inhaler.
His school sweatshirt.
My laptop.
Medication.
Phone charger.
Everything I had once told clients to grab if a storm evacuation became real.
“Mara.”
“What?”
“Stop.”
“No.”
“You’re scaring Oliver.”
Oliver sat on the bed hugging his stuffed seal.
I looked at him.
“Are you scared?”
He shook his head.
Thomas’s face hardened.
“Don’t put him in the middle.”
“You did that when you discussed my finances around him.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I zipped the bag.
“Great. Then there shouldn’t be a problem.”
“With what?”
“Canceling tomorrow.”
He stopped.
Only for a second.
“Why would we cancel?”
“Because I’m tired.”
He stared at me.
I used Beatrice’s own logic.
“I might sign something without understanding it.”
His jaw tightened.
“Mara, it’s a refinance.”
“Send me the documents.”
“I did.”
“No, you sent me a calendar invitation.”
“The loan officer has everything.”
“What loan officer?”
“Melissa.”
“Melissa who?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“God, this is exhausting.”
“That’s interesting.”
“What?”
“You know what’s exhausting?”
I lifted the overnight bag.
“Twelve hours behind a chair so your mother can eat two lobster tails and call me a paycheck.”
He laughed once.
“Is this seriously about dinner?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Send me the papers.”
“You’re being paranoid.”
There it was.
A word Thomas used whenever I asked for numbers.
Paranoid.
Controlling.
Overwhelmed.
Words that made my questions sound like symptoms.
I walked past him.
He caught my arm.
Not hard.
Hard enough.
Oliver stood.
“Daddy.”
Thomas let go immediately.
I looked at his hand.
Then at him.
“Do that again and we have a different conversation.”
His face flushed.
“I wasn’t hurting you.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You implied it.”
I picked up the bag.
“Move.”
He did.
Beatrice waited at the bottom of the stairs.
“You’re leaving over a plate?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Ask Thomas.”
Her eyes flicked toward him.
Tiny movement.
Confirmation.
Cassandra folded her arms.
“This is ridiculous.”
I looked at her stomach.
“Is there a new place you’re opening?”
Her expression emptied.
“What?”
“Oliver says Grandma mentioned a new place.”
Beatrice snapped, “Children misunderstand.”
“Then answer.”
Cassandra looked at Thomas.
Thomas looked at his mother.
Nobody looked at me.
I almost laughed.
“Okay.”
I took Oliver outside.
Thomas followed onto the porch.
“You’re not taking my son somewhere without telling me where.”
“I’m going to my sister’s.”
He relaxed slightly.
Megan lived twenty minutes away in Scarborough.
He knew the address.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“I’m not fighting in front of him.”
“You started a fight by hiding bank papers.”
“There are no hidden papers.”
“Send them.”
He said nothing.
I put Oliver in the car.
Then got behind the wheel.
Thomas bent toward my window.
“We need to sign tomorrow.”
“No.”
“The rate lock expires.”
“Then it expires.”
“You don’t understand what that costs.”
“My name is the only one on the deed. I can afford to understand before signing.”
His face changed.
There it was again.
Fear.
I backed out.
Megan opened her front door at 10:34 wearing leggings and one of her wife’s old University of Maine sweatshirts.
She looked at my face.
Then Oliver.
Then the bag.
“Guest room?”
“Yes.”
“Coffee or wine?”
“Laptop.”
She stepped aside.
“That bad?”
“I don’t know.”
“Good start.”
Oliver went upstairs with Megan’s daughter, Lily.
I sat at the dining table.
Thomas had finally forwarded the bank email.
Subject:
HOME EQUITY LINE — FINAL SIGNING.
Not refinance.
Home equity line.
Maximum draw:
$225,000.
My hands went cold.
Borrower:
Mara Carter.
Property securing line:
My address.
Purpose:
Business investment / home improvement.
I read it twice.
Thomas was listed as “non-borrowing spouse.”
I scrolled.
Proceeds were to be wired after closing.
Destination account:
CARTER COASTAL HOLDINGS LLC.
I had never heard of it.
Megan sat beside me.
“Do you know that company?”
“No.”
The email contained draft organizational documents.
Carter Coastal Holdings had been formed six weeks earlier.
Managers:
Thomas Carter.
Beatrice Carter.
Cassandra Carter.
Not me.
I kept scrolling.
The business plan was attached.
A beauty and wellness studio in Falmouth.
Hair.
Nails.
Skin care.
Bridal services.
Projected opening:
November.
Proposed name:
CASS & COAST.
Megan whispered, “You’ve got to be kidding.”
My stomach turned.
I owned a salon.
Cassandra had never managed one.
She had worked reception for me for six months before I fired her for repeatedly closing the register short.
Thomas had screamed at me for humiliating his sister.
Now he wanted to borrow against my house to open her a competitor.
The final attachment was worse.
PERSONAL FINANCIAL STATEMENT.
My income.
My house value.
My salon revenue.
My savings.
All entered.
At the bottom was an electronic acknowledgment.
MARA CARTER.
Date:
Three days earlier.
I had never seen it.
I called the bank number listed.
A woman answered.
“Casco Bay Credit Union, this is Melissa.”
“My name is Mara Carter.”
“Yes, Mrs. Carter. We’re all set for ten tomorrow.”
“No.”
A pause.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not signing anything tomorrow.”
Silence.
Then:
“Is there a problem?”
“Yes. I never authorized this application.”
A longer pause.
“Mrs. Carter, we received your electronic consent.”
“I did not give it.”
“Can you verify the email address ending in 72?”
“That isn’t mine.”
The room went cold.
“What is it?”
She read it.
mara.carter72 at a Gmail address.
I had never owned it.
Melissa’s voice changed immediately.
“Okay. I’m placing the file on hold.”
“Do not let anyone draw money.”
“No funds can be released without closing and required signatures.”
“Who submitted the application?”
“I’ll need to review what I’m permitted to discuss.”
“Thomas?”
Another careful pause.
“The file came through your husband as the initial contact.”
Of course.
I took a breath.
“Please preserve everything.”
“I’m escalating to fraud and compliance.”
“Thank you.”
When I ended the call, Megan stared at me.
“What now?”
I looked at Carter Coastal Holdings.
Three family members.
My house.
My income.
Their company.
Then another email arrived automatically from the bank portal.
DOCUMENT STATUS UPDATED.
Application suspended.
Below it was a list of uploaded supporting documents.
Tax returns.
Bank statements.
Property insurance.
Salon profit-and-loss statements.
My skin prickled.
Thomas had my personal tax returns.
That was normal.
We filed jointly.
But he did not have my current salon P&L.
Only my bookkeeper did.
Or should have.
I opened the attached file.
Harbor & Pine revenue.
Payroll.
Product sales.
Merchant deposits.
Detailed through the previous month.
Megan leaned closer.
“Who can access that?”
“Me.”
“And?”
I swallowed.
“Thomas.”
He had taken over bookkeeping eighteen months earlier after telling me QuickBooks was “too much extra work” for someone already standing twelve hours a day.
I looked at the business plan again.
Under competitive advantages was one line:
Immediate transfer of experienced staff and existing client base after restructuring.
My heart stopped.
“What restructuring?”
I opened the next attachment.
A draft asset-purchase agreement.
Seller:
Harbor & Pine LLC.
Buyer:
Carter Coastal Holdings LLC.
Purchase price:
$25,000.
Included assets:
Salon equipment.
Furniture.
Booking database.
Customer list.
Trade fixtures.
Brand-related goodwill.
At the bottom:
Seller signature:
Mara Carter.
Blank.
Waiting.
May you like
Tomorrow was not about a loan.
They wanted my house to finance the company that would buy my salon.
