Chapter 3 - THE HOUSE I PAID RENT TO SAVE
Dad had refinanced the house four years earlier.
Nobody told me.
The original mortgage had nearly been paid off.
Then Kloe decided she wanted to become a professional artist.
Mom and Dad financed everything.
Studio.
Supplies.
Private workshops.
A year in Los Angeles.
Then the pandemic damaged Dad’s small commercial-printing business.
Orders collapsed.
Instead of telling us they were struggling, my parents refinanced the house.
Then borrowed again.
By the time I moved back temporarily after nursing school, the property carried nearly $286,000 in debt.
I thought my $800 rent helped with groceries and utilities.
It helped make the mortgage payment.
That did not bother me by itself.
I lived there.
Paying rent was reasonable.
What bothered me was that I had no idea what I was subsidizing.
Kloe paid nothing.
When she moved home after Jake left, Mom spent thousands renovating her bedroom.
New mattress.
Television.
Furniture.
Paint.
Meanwhile, Mom told me the utility bill was rising and increased my rent.
I had accepted it.
Because I was the responsible daughter.
Responsible daughters are incredibly convenient.
Then Maya obtained a copy of the mortgage inquiry through my credit report.
The application had not closed.
It was for a $240,000 debt-consolidation refinance.
Borrowers:
My parents.
Additional guarantor:
Natasha Elaine Foster.
My chest tightened.
“I never signed that.”
Maya nodded.
“I know.”
The lender had requested additional verification because the guarantor signature did not match enough historical records.
That was why the loan remained pending.
Then I remembered Dad walking into the laundry room carrying the bank envelope.
Midwest Federal Home Lending.
The same lender.
He had my documents because they were trying again.
“Why would they need me?” I asked.
“Income and credit.”
I was twenty-eight.
Registered nurse.
Stable salary.
Low legitimate debt.
My parents were fifty-five and fifty-seven with damaged credit, mortgage arrears, and high revolving balances.
I was what lenders call strength.
Not emotionally.
On paper.
Then Maya noticed something else.
The application listed my residence as the family house.
True.
Contribution to household:
$1,850 monthly.
False.
My rent was $800.
“Why inflate it?”
“To show established financial participation,” Maya said.
The application also described me as:
Expected long-term resident and financial contributor.
I laughed.
I had been telling my parents for a year that I intended to move.
Mom always found a reason I should wait.
Apartment prices too high.
Neighborhood unsafe.
My hours too long.
I needed to save more.
Kloe needed support.
Dad needed help with the yard.
I had interpreted it as control.
Now it looked financial too.
If I left, they lost $800 monthly.
More importantly, they lost the image of an employed adult daughter already contributing to the property.
The mortgage application was bad enough.
Then Maya turned to the last page.
A note from the loan officer:
Guarantor expressed concerns regarding long-term liability; family states issue resolved. Await updated authorization.
I stared at it.
“I never spoke to them.”
“Then somebody spoke for you.”
The police later obtained the contact number used during the call.
It belonged to Kloe.
May you like
My younger sister had not only photographed my identity documents.
She had been pretending to be me.
