Their faces went pale, one by one, when Richard finally opened that envelope and understood that the woman they’d been calling “the help” had actually been the only thing holding their entire world upright.
The first person to grasp the real danger wasn’t Richard. It was Eleanor.
She snatched the accountant’s report right out of his hands, flipping frantically until she found the page listing her own address. Three years earlier, after she’d fallen badly behind on property taxes and mortgage payments, I had loaned her four hundred and twenty thousand dollars, secured by a properly recorded deed of trust against her house. I had never once demanded a payment from her. But the agreement required her to keep the property insured and current on taxes. She had done neither. Richard had sworn to me repeatedly that he was handling it.
He had lied.
The blue envelope contained a formal notice of default.
