PART 7 – Richard Hale returns
Richard arrived at Eleanor’s office wearing a dark blue suit and carrying a leather briefcase.
His hair had turned almost entirely white, and he walked with a slight limp I didn’t remember.
But his eyes were the same.
Sharp.
Measuring.
Always looking for an advantage.
“Margaret,” he said.
“Richard.”
He offered his hand.
I looked at it for a moment before shaking it.
He glanced at Eleanor, then sat across from us.
“I wish our reunion were under better circumstances.”
“So do I,” I replied. “But then, I wish many things had happened differently twenty years ago.”
His jaw tightened.
Eleanor opened her notebook.
“Let’s focus on the current matter. Mr. Hale, please explain why you contacted my client.”
Richard placed a document on the table.
“Northbridge Property Group’s outstanding obligations were transferred during a restructuring. My company is now involved in administering certain assets associated with that transaction.”
“Are you claiming that your company owns Mrs. Whitaker’s mortgage?” Eleanor asked.
“I’m saying that the restructuring may have given my company an interest in it.”
“Then we need documentation establishing the precise nature of that interest.”
Richard nodded.
“Of course.”
He opened his briefcase and removed several pages.
Eleanor reviewed them carefully.
I watched her expression.
She was not impressed by polished language or confident explanations. She wanted the underlying records.
After several minutes, she placed the pages on the table.
“These documents do not establish the complete chain of ownership of the loan. We’ll need additional records.”
Richard looked irritated.
“That’s being arranged.”
“Good.”
I folded my hands.
“Now, Richard, why did you call my daughter?”
He turned toward me.
“I saw the property listing. I recognized the address.”
“And?”
“I was surprised to see the house on the market. I knew Frank had always considered it his greatest personal achievement.”
“Frank considered our home a place to raise his family.”
Richard looked down.
“Yes.”
“Then why did you contact my children?”
“I thought they might be willing to discuss the property with me.”
“They didn’t own it.”
“I didn’t know the details of their authority.”
“But you knew enough to know that I was still alive and living there.”
He said nothing.
I leaned forward.
“Did you know about the mortgage before you saw the listing?”
Richard’s eyes moved briefly toward Eleanor.
Then he answered.
“I had seen references to it during the restructuring.”
“And did you know my children were struggling financially?”
“No.”
I studied him.
I couldn’t prove he was lying.
But I could tell he was choosing his words with extraordinary care.
“Richard, let me be perfectly clear. I will not sell my home to you because my children attempted to sell it to someone else. I will not negotiate under pressure. And I will not agree to any arrangement that has not been independently reviewed.”
He nodded slowly.
“That’s reasonable.”
“Good. Then we have nothing more to discuss until the documents are complete.”
I stood.
Richard remained seated.
For a moment, he looked older than he had when he entered the room.
“Margaret,” he said quietly, “there’s something you should know about Frank.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Before he died, I tried to contact him.”
My heart tightened.
“When?”
“Several months before his death.”
“Why?”
Richard glanced at Eleanor.
She said nothing.
“I wanted to apologize,” he said.
I stared at him.
“After twenty years?”
“Yes.”
“And did you?”
“No. He refused to meet me.”
I turned away.
I could picture Frank sitting at our kitchen table, listening to a message from the man who had once betrayed his trust.
Perhaps he had deleted it.
Perhaps he had listened to it twice.
I would never know.
Richard continued.
“There was something else I wanted to tell him. Something about the old business.”
I turned back.
“What?”
He hesitated.
Then he said, “I discovered that some of the financial records we relied on back then were incomplete. There were transactions I didn’t understand. I wanted to know whether Frank had kept copies of the original documents.”
Eleanor immediately leaned forward.
“What transactions?”
Richard looked at her.
“That’s a separate matter. I’d need to review the records before making any statements.”
“Then I suggest you do so,” she replied. “But we will not allow unrelated historical disputes to interfere with the current mortgage review.”
Richard nodded.
The meeting ended shortly afterward.
As I walked out of the building, I felt as though I had stepped into a past I thought I had escaped.
But one thing was different.
This time, I was not standing behind Frank, hoping that everything would somehow work out.
This time, I was protecting myself.
And I intended to finish what we had started.
CONTINUE READING THE NEXT PART BELOW :
My Children Sold My House Behind My Back—But They Forgot to Check Who Held the Mortgage
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