Chapter 3 - The signature
At 4:26 p.m., after Noah showered and changed, I called the number on the notice.
Because it was Saturday, I reached an answering service.
I left a message.
Then emailed the lawyer named on the letter.
I wrote only:
I received your certified default notice today. I dispute that I executed the attached personal guaranty. Please preserve all records relating to its creation, delivery, and acceptance. I will have counsel contact you Monday.
No accusation.
No:
My family forged this.
I wanted to write that.
I stopped.
Then I called Rebecca Sloan.
Rebecca had handled my divorce.
She was a family lawyer, not a commercial litigator.
She referred me to Daniel Ross, a business attorney she trusted.
Within an hour I had sent him the documents.
He called.
“Did you sign any guaranty for Encore Motion?”
“No.”
“Any general continuing guaranty for Ashley?”
“No.”
“Any power of attorney?”
“No.”
“Any electronic-signature authorization?”
“No.”
“Have you signed anything else connected to the studio?”
“Yes. A twelve-thousand-dollar personal loan agreement with Ashley two years ago. I also signed a landlord reference once.”
“Anything with the lender named here?”
“No.”
“Have you ever banked there?”
“No.”
He paused.
“Signature looks like yours.”
“I know.”
“Is that your real address?”
“Yes.”
“Employer?”
“Yes.”
“Net worth?”
Close.
That bothered me.
The document estimated my assets at $620,000 net of debt.
My actual net worth when the guaranty was dated eighteen months earlier had been about $590,000.
That information was not public.
My parents knew roughly.
Ashley knew I was doing well.
Who had the exact figures?
Dad had helped me gather financial documents during my divorce.
I had trusted him.
My stomach turned.
Daniel Ross said:
“Monday we request the lender’s origination file. Don’t confront anyone about specific evidence tonight.”
“Too late for confrontation generally.”
“I heard about the birthday?”
“Rebecca told you?”
“She said family conflict may complicate communications.”
Translation:
Laura slapped sister.
Good.
Everyone got accurate verbs.
I said:
“What should I do with my bank accounts?”
“Nothing dramatic. Change online passwords if family has ever had access. Freeze your credit if you’re concerned. Review reports. Preserve everything.”
I did.
That night, Noah asked:
“Are Grandma and Grandpa in trouble?”
I sat beside him.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Because of papers?”
“Yes.”
“Because of my cake?”
“No.”
Important.
“The papers were coming before your birthday.”
“So I didn’t cause it?”
“No.”
He pulled the blanket higher.
Then:
“Did I cause Emma?”
“What?”
“Did I make her mad?”
“No.”
“Why did she smash it?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“She looked happy.”
I had seen that too.
“I know.”
He swallowed.
“I hate her.”
I did not say:
No, you don’t.
Feelings are not contracts.
“You’re very angry.”
“Yes.”
“You’re allowed to be.”
“Do I have to forgive her?”
“No.”
His face softened.
“Good.”
May you like
Seven.
Morality simplified.
