Chapter 7 - THE HOUSE
My father, Peter Lawson, bought the house when I was twenty-four.
Not for me.
For investment.
A modest three-bedroom outside Portland.
When he died suddenly from a stroke two years later, he left it to me.
Mortgage balance:
$118,000.
I refinanced after marrying Ivan.
We paid it down together.
By the barbecue, the house was worth around $710,000.
Mortgage:
$73,000.
Equity mattered.
Ivan’s company had one bad year.
Then another.
Not obvious from outside.
New trucks.
Logo.
Projects.
Instagram videos.
But construction companies can look wealthy while bleeding cash.
Material costs.
A lawsuit.
A client default.
Equipment loans.
Payroll taxes.
I knew there was pressure.
I did not know Ivan had personally guaranteed more than $900,000.
His business lender wanted additional security.
My house.
I told Lena:
“He could have asked.”
“Would you have agreed?”
“No.”
There.
The problem with asking.
May you like
He might hear no.
People who need consent sometimes decide consent is inefficient.
