Foreclosure: A Novel

by S. D. Thames

  “You’d have to ask her.” Justin bit his upper lip, the way he always did when he needed to get something off his chest. “Is that all you want to know?”

  “Unless you need to tell me more.”

  “You remember when you and Terry were in that trial in West Palm?”

  “A year ago?”

  “That sounds about right. She called me one night crying. She asked if I could come over. I tried assuring her that you really cared for her.”

  David glanced at Justin’s sturdy desktop and imagined how easy it would be to bash his head against it right now. “You know I did, though, don’t you?”

  “I know you thought you did.”

  “So that’s when it started?”

  “That was when the invitation was made. It took me a while to, I guess you could say, consummate it.”

  “Anything else you want to get off your chest?”

  Justin lowered his head and took a deep breath. “I want to make it up to you. This portfolio I’m overseeing could be a big deal, man. A lot of work for you.”

  “So what kind of work are we talking about?”

  “High-end commercial developments. Shopping centers, condos, and town houses. We’ve got developers going belly-up along every coast in Florida. I’m responsible for all our lending from Hillsborough down to Gaspar County.” Justin pointed to the rows of papers on his desk.

  David scanned the stacks of documents. As if illuminated from a light above, the words Pinnacle Homes & Investments summoned his attention to the nearest pile. “How close to litigation are you?”

  “Pretty close. With the biggest, we’re negotiating forbearance agreements that we’re never going to sign.”

  “Make them think you want to settle. Then surprise them with a lawsuit?”

  Justin grinned. “Something like that.”

  David took another look at what appeared to be one of Frank’s mortgage loans. What he wouldn’t give to pick it up and run and never look back. “Can you give me any names?”

  “Is this conversation privileged?”

  “You haven’t hired me yet, have you?”

  “Let’s just say some high-dollar players, names you’ve seen in the business journal.” Justin crossed his arms like a man wielding power. “Look, I want to make this right. We’re talking enough work to make you partner. Lana’s onboard too.”

  “You’ve talked to Lana about this?”

  “Like I said, she wants us to be adults about this.”

  Justin’s phone rang. “Justin Baxter,” he answered. “Can this wait?”

  It obviously couldn’t, because Justin hung up and told David he’d only be gone a few minutes.

  “Sure thing, buddy.”

  The instant Justin’s door closed behind him, David picked up Frank’s contract and found a pile of email correspondence below it. Knowing that what he was reading was too good to be true, and too much information to commit to memory, he pulled out his BlackBerry and readied the camera.

  In the office lobby, everyone bid their farewells. While Alton thanked Kirk for the opportunity to tell the bank more about the firm’s services, Mackenzie gave Justin one more delicious peck on the cheek. Alice, in turn, kissed Mackenzie on the cheek, which initially surprised Mackenzie, until her face started to glow with the warmth of being trusted and loved. She kissed Alice back. Then she turned and watched David, as though he were about to perform a high dive at the Olympics.

  Now it was David and Justin’s turn to say good-bye. Justin took the lead. “It was good to see you, old sport.”

  “Likewise,” David said.

  “I hope we can talk more about the portfolio we discussed today.”

  “I’m sure we will.” David extended his hand to his old friend, but Justin passed on it for a bear hug. David let him hug away. He glanced over Justin’s shoulder at Mackenzie, who was still studying his every move.

  A few minutes later, David rode the elevator down with Alton and Mackenzie.

  “Overall, a promising day,” Alton said.

  Mackenzie nodded to David. “So, what did you learn about Justin’s portfolio?”

  David thought for a moment, hiding a smirk. “It could turn on him any minute.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “You just couldn’t stay away, could you?” Katherine reclined behind her desk and threw David a seductive glare.

  David shrugged and wiped his brow.

  “And you seem like such a nice boy.”

  “Looks can be deceiving.” He moseyed over to her desk and picked up her snow globe. He shook it and stared as the fake snowflakes settled. “It’s empty.”

  She took it away from him. “Looks can be deceiving.”

  He shrugged. “I’m supposed to meet Frank.”

  “I know.” She stood and straightened out her khaki skirt. “And you’re fifteen minutes early.”

  “So what? I just wanted to say hi.”

  “How sweet,” she said. Whatever playful feelings she’d had for him at the Hilton had apparently worn off along with whatever pill she was popping. “You’re meeting upstairs in the main office.”

  She led him up a few flights of stairs, explaining along the way that she didn’t like to take the elevator unless she had to walk more than three flights. Grunting his way up the stairs, David noticed that she had the toned calves to prove it. David felt a hearty sweat breaking as the morning grew humid, just a foretaste of mean old summer around the corner. David had lived here long enough to realize he would never adjust to the year-round humidity of southwest Florida. Three flights of stairs in a wool suit didn’t help.

  A moment later, she showed him into Frank’s office. An oversized space facing the Gulf, it was furnished only with a black marble desk, three ergonomic chairs, an empty steel bookcase, and a twelve-foot stuffed marlin hanging on the wall. The floor was smooth polished concrete.

  “Is he still moving in?” David said.

  “This is how he likes it.”

  David stared at the marlin. “He likes to fish?”

  “Like isn’t the right word. Oh, and just so you know, I put my money on you today.”

  “What’s the bet?”

  “Robbie was taking bets you’d screw the pooch, as he put it.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  She grinned. “I like to gamble.” She closed the door, and the office somehow grew in size.

  David took a seat facing Frank’s desk and started skimming over the escrow agreement, related emails, receipts, and Robbie’s “research.” It felt like a waste, though, because he knew everything he needed to know. Plus he couldn’t keep his eyes off the trophy on the wall. He stood again and rubbed his fingers along the marlin’s spine, imagining it fighting for its life.

  “She’s a beauty.” Frank had entered without making a sound.

  David didn’t look away from the trophy. “A blue marlin?”

  “Caught it off Bimini in 2000. You fish?”

  David paused. He had to be careful here. He had been on a few commercial fishing outings but never actually caught a fish. “I like to when I can find the time.”

  “Sometimes you have to make the time.”

  David turned to Frank. “Hemingway wrote about this fish.”

  Frank shrugged. “I’d never waste time reading about catching a fish. I’d rather catch a real one.”

  “Hemingway didn’t just write about fishing. He fished too.”

  “Yes, but have you?” Frank checked his watch. “Are you ready?”

  David remembered all the news he had to tell Frank about his meeting with Justin and Meridian Bank and their plan to default him. “Yeah, but we need to talk first.”

  “About what?”

  “About your bank.”

  “What the hell does my bank have to do with this asshole Dr. Herington?”

  “Let’s just say I know you’ve got problems.”

  “No shit I’ve got problems. And the only one I’m worried abou
t today, the only one you should be worried about, is sitting in my conference room demanding I pay him a hundred grand. You take care of that problem, maybe we’ll talk about the next one.”

  David followed Frank to the conference room. Frank nodded for David to enter first. David took a breath and opened the door. The room was stale and bare—white walls with no décor other than a few framed photos of game fish. The perfect counterpart to Frank’s office. Inside, Dr. Herington, a lanky, anxious man in his early sixties, sat across the conference table.

  His attorney, Bryce Cummings, a real estate attorney from Sarasota with a knack for attracting wealthy clients all along the Gulf Coast, stood and introduced himself to David. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  David handed Bryce his card and introduced himself. “And you know my client, Frank O’Reilly.” David felt a surge of pride as he referred to Frank as his client. Frank shook their hands without speaking, and then he took the seat facing the doctor.

  “Is Alton Holloway still running your firm?” Bryce asked David. “His wife and I were on a board together a few years ago. I always liked him.”

  David nodded and noticed Dr. Herington hadn’t budged, likely at the advice of his counsel. David was sure Cummings was here to play a gentleman’s game. “He’s still our managing partner.”

  Bryce stood with his head tilted and his mouth slightly ajar, as though waiting for David to say something witty or charming. “Well, please send him my regards.”

  David strutted around the table and took the seat next to Frank. He pulled out a notepad and set his pen on the table. “So, what’s on your minds?”

  Bryce took his seat next to Dr. Herington. “I presume you know what’s on my client’s mind. We’ve set that out in our demand letter. The condominium you built for Dr. Herington is not what he contracted to purchase. As a result, he’s entitled to rescind his contract and have his escrow deposit returned.”

  David rolled his pen back and forth across the tablet, and met Bryce’s stare. “Bryce, as you know, Pinnacle Homes is currently in litigation with a few dozen purchasers who want their money back, not because there’s a damn thing wrong with their condos, but because the market took a shit in between the time they signed their contracts and when the condos were built. If your client wants his money back, he can file a lawsuit and get in line.”

  Bryce winced like a nun hearing vulgarity. “Dr. Herington has absolutely no reservations about filing a lawsuit against your client.” He glanced at Frank, and then back to David. “We simply thought your client might want to avoid incurring attorneys’ fees and, well, do the right thing.”

  David felt the heat steaming off Frank. “Hear that, Frank? They want you to do the right thing. Do you feel like writing Dr. Herington a check for a hundred grand?”

  Frank looked at David incredulously.

  “You’re right, Frank. That doesn’t warrant an answer.” David returned to Bryce. “Sorry, Mr. Cummings. We’ll pass on doing the right thing.”

  “Well, have it your way. We’ll be filing our complaint tomorrow.”

  “Like I said, get in line.”

  “You know, he’s not like these speculator investors. He had no intention of flipping this unit. He really wanted to live there.”

  David leaned forward. “Is that what you’re going to put in your complaint?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then let me tell you what we’re going to put in our answer and counterclaim.” David pulled a file from his bag and slid it across the table. “I totally agree with you, Bryce: Dr. Herington had no interest in flipping this unit. He had every intention of having a nice place where he could spend some time with her.”

  Bryce opened the folder and studied the mug shot of a black woman who could pass for a super model under more favorable circumstances and cosmetics. He feigned indifference as he raised his eyes back to David.

  “Does the name Loanda Rawlings ring a bell?” David asked.

  Bryce looked dumfounded. Dr. Herington bit his lip and faintly mumbled.

  “How about Peaches Lexington?” David snickered. “That’s her stage name. Or is Craigslist name more appropriate?” Dr. Herington averted David’s wink, so David looked to the attorney. “Bryce, your client here was Peaches’ sugar daddy for two years, spending thousands of dollars a week on her. A real big spender. And what love he had for sweet Peaches. So much that he invested in a luxurious unit at Gaspar Towers to give them a place where she could stay, he could keep an eye on her, and, if he was lucky, he might even earn a return on his investment when the fling with Peaches ended. Isn’t that right, good doctor?”

  “This is the most preposterous nonsense I have ever heard,” Bryce said.

  David shrugged. “But two things happened that the good doctor wasn’t planning on. One, the market crashed. Two, and more importantly in this case, Peaches was arrested for felony check fraud. She’s currently in jail without bail awaiting trial. You loved her enough to buy a unit here, eh doctor, but not enough to hire her a competent criminal defense attorney?”

  Dr. Herington smacked the table with the side of his bony fist. “You scum sucker!”

  “Easy, there,” David said. “I’m just stating the facts. Bryce told us what would be in your complaint. I don’t want there to be any question about what will be in our counterclaim. Your claims of fraud and breach of contract are bogus, mere pretext for the ensuing complications in the good doctor’s love life. Scandalous? Perhaps. True? Absolutely. I’m sure the newspapers will have a field day with it. It might even go national.” David pierced Dr. Herington’s angry eyes. “Do you really want to put Mrs. Herington through such a nasty lawsuit? What about your children and all your sweet, innocent grandkids? And all over a measly escrow deposit that probably costs less than the interest earned on your investment accounts last year.”

  Dr. Herington shifted his angry glare to Cummings.

  “This is extortion,” Bryce said.

  “Hey, you’re the one threatening a lawsuit.” David closed his folder.

  “I should call Alton Holloway about this.”

  “Tell him David sent you.”

  Dr. Herington whispered in Bryce’s ear.

  David stood. “Take a moment alone with your client.”

  Ten minutes later, the conference room door opened and Bryce joined David in the hallway. He looked for Frank, but Frank was long gone.

  “So what did the good doctor decide?” David asked.

  “He’ll forfeit his deposit if you relieve him of any further obligation under the contract.”

  “We can do that.”

  Bryce lowered his voice. “We want a full confidentiality provision.”

  “As long as it’s mutual. And we get a full release.”

  “One other thing—we want copies of the escrow records, the real records that show where my client’s money’s been all this time.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  Bryce ran his tongue along his lower lip. “For tax purposes.”

  “You draw up the settlement agreement, and I’ll run it by my client.”

  David entered the diner amid the tranquility of the post-breakfast rush and found Terry seated in the corner painting a deposition transcript with a yellow highlighter.

  “I nailed it, Terry. I nailed it. O’Reilly wants to hire me to handle all of Pinnacle’s litigation in Florida.”

  Terry finished highlighting a line of testimony, scribbled something in the margin with a silver pen, and finally looked up. “That’s great news, kid.”

  David took a seat as the waitress appeared and set a plate loaded with scrambled eggs, soft greasy bacon, and cheese grits in front of Terry. She asked David what he wanted to order.

  “Just coffee,” he said. Then he told Terry, “There’s just one snag.”

  Terry set the transcript down and loaded up the fork with a mound of eggs and grits. “And what’s that?”

  “Remember that trip we made to M
iami a few days ago?”

  “Justin Baxter and Meridian Bank?”

  David nodded. “Well, they want to hire us, too.”

  “And that’s a snag?”

  The sight and smell of Terry’s greasy cuisine was making David nauseous. “Baxter’s work carries a lot of baggage.”

  “What kind of baggage?”

  “I think we’d be conflicted out of representing O’Reilly and Meridian Bank.”

  Terry chewed loudly. “Why?”

  “Meridian holds a first mortgage against Gaspar Towers. Due to all these nervous buyers, Pinnacle can’t pay the note.”

  “So they’re directly adverse, or about to be?”

  “Meridian’s about to call the loan.”

  Terry’s eyes focused. “And how do you know that?”

  David took his coffee from the waitress and glanced around to confirm that no one was listening. “Don’t worry about that.”

  Terry finished chewing and shrugged it off. “So, back to your dilemma. Meridian’s a national bank that can feed you work for years to come. O’Reilly could be bankrupt by the end of the year. Seems like a no-brainer to me. What am I missing?”

  “Other than the fact that Justin Baxter works there and he’s trying to pay me off for stealing my girlfriend?”

  Terry crammed half a slice of bacon in his mouth. “Justin’s seeing Lana?”

  “They live together, yeah.”

  Terry’s chewing slowed. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  “Timing wasn’t right. Anyway, back to my dilemma. Meridian is Alton and Mackenzie’s baby. They’ll get the credit for it, and I’ll be left to do the grunt work.” David poured a few cubes of ice into his coffee and chugged. “Plus, I don’t know how to explain it, Terry, but this O’Reilly guy’s some kind of challenge. He’s a total jerk, but I feel some connection to him. And I’m reeling him in on my own.”

  “But if Alton and Mackenzie want to take on Meridian Bank, your opinion won’t count for shit. What are you going to do then?”

  David grinned. “We’ll see. Alton and I are going golfing tomorrow with some assholes he wants me to meet. I’m hoping to have his ear long enough to run this by him. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have to resort to plan B.”