Her tone sharpened slightly. “You need to understand that a foreclosure hits the borrower’s credit, sir. If there are people living there, the process continues regardless. The occupants will simply be evicted after the sale.”
I hung up, my jaw aching from tension.
Tyler was leaning against the doorframe, still messy-haired from sleep. “You doing okay?”
“No,” I said. “But I’m going to be.”
For far too long, I had been the temporary fix on a bursting pipe—paying bills, absorbing their anger, and telling myself that if I just worked harder, I could save them from themselves. But Denise didn’t want a savior; she wanted a target. And Dad wanted peace so desperately that he was willing to let me pay for his silence.
That afternoon, I met with a real estate attorney, Carla Nguyen. She was clinical and efficient, the exact opposite of my home life.
“Whose names are on the actual deed?” she asked.
“Mine and my father’s,” I said. “Denise isn’t on it.”
“And the loan?”
“Just me.”
