Chapter 7 - The Unravelling Debt
The silence between the sisters was broken by the sharp ring of Chelsea’s desk phone.
Chelsea wiped her eyes, pressing the speaker button. “Chelsea Bennett.”
“Chelsea! Thank God you’re still there!” Her mother’s voice came through the speaker, frantic and breathless. “There are men at the house! They’re putting yellow notices on the front door!”
Laurel stepped closer to the desk instantly. “Mom? What yellow notices?”
“Laurel? Oh, thank God you’re there too!” Diane sobbed into the receiver. “Two men in grey suits just served me a notice of foreclosure! They say the mortgage hasn't been paid in four months! They’re saying we owe eighty thousand dollars by Friday or the house goes to auction!”
Laurel’s brow furrowed in deep confusion. “That’s impossible. I set up an automated trust transfer two years ago to cover Mom’s mortgage directly through the estate account.”
Chelsea’s face drained of all color. She dropped her pen onto the desk, her hands starting to shake uncontrollably.
“Chelsea?” Laurel asked, turning her sharp gaze onto her sister. “What did you do?”
Chelsea covered her face, a fresh wave of panic choking her throat. “I… I thought it was a surplus account!”
“What?!” Laurel demanded, her voice rising in cold fury.
“Six months ago… when I was organizing the wedding,” Chelsea stammered, weeping hysterically. “The florist, the Marlowe ballroom, the designer dress… it went way over budget! Richard’s parents refused to pay for the venue, and I didn't have enough savings! I found an old secondary trust routing number in Dad’s home office files…”
“That was the mortgage escrow account!” Laurel gasped, grabbing the edge of the desk. “You drained Mom’s mortgage escrow to pay for your wedding flowers?!”
“I thought it was Dad’s old life insurance payout!” Chelsea cried out, collapsing against her desk. “I thought there was extra money left over! I didn't know it was paying the mortgage!”
Laurel took a deep breath, her pulse pounding in her ears. Eighty thousand dollars in back payments and legal fees, due in seventy-two hours, or her mother would be thrown out onto the street.
“Get your coat,” Laurel ordered flatly, grabbing her briefcase.
May you like
“Where are we going?” Chelsea wept.
“We’re going to see Weston,” Laurel said, her eyes turning into cold steel. “And you’re going to explain to him why your vanity almost made our mother homeless.”
