Zang
unlocked her car and carefully maneuvered out of the apartment complex’s lot. She drove only on side streets to and from her office or the occasional trip to a nearby shopping area. Today she was going somewhere new, and the concept terrified her.
Twenty minutes and numerous single-finger insults later, the harried girl parked in front of the
Almaden Plaza strip mall. A bubbling, young real estate broker energetically escorted her thought the small retail space that was available for immediate occupancy. Within two hours, a new California business was born – Red and Gold Check Cashing and Postal Center would celebrate its grand opening two weeks later.
Zang
rented space for three different branch locations of Red and Gold that day. She was unaware that MOSS seeded hundreds of similar enterprises throughout all 50 states, all under the operation of Chinese immigrants. The sheer number of the mail/check cashing centers would have aroused suspicion if anyone tracked such things. Most communities welcomed the fledgling establishments, replacing empty storefronts pasted with “For Lease” signs with a business and jobs.
Houston, Texas
January 30, 2017
Morgan shifted into park and reached to switch off the ignition, but then paused. Seeing the house made her contemplate staying in the air-conditioned car just a little longer. Even with the moderate temperatures this time of year, the house would be muggy and close. The occasional hot flash made it practically unbearable.
Darkness came early with the winter-shortened days, and she rarely got home before the sunset. Still, the house seemed to hold the heat inside no matter how many windows Wyatt and she opened. She would never have believed a cold-water shower could feel so good.
The sauna-house didn’t seem to bother Wyatt as much. She wondered if menopause was more to blame than the humidity, but shrugged off the thought – there wasn’t anything she could do about either. Still deliberating about going inside, she wondered what mood Wyatt would be in. She fully understood the relationship between the current financial crisis and the bailout deal Wyatt was trying to put together. The daily newscasts had gone from bad to worse, and even her co-workers were becoming concerned. In the past, few people paid attention to events surrounding Wall Street and big banks - now, everyone did.
A year ago, she would have been anxious about her husband’s health. After all, over the last few months there had been a noticeable change in him. He often seemed beyond caring or even capable of worry. Maybe he had learned not to let things get to him. At least he didn’t show anxiety like he used to. Still, she wondered if the pressure wasn’t building up inside like a big dome of lava under the crusty mantle of a volcano. Eventually, the volcano erupts.
The tight financial situation hadn’t been a complete negative for the family. If Morgan forced herself to be optimistic, there were a few small
, silver linings to be found. Wyatt often teased that his wife could find something positive in a heart attack. One reassuring point was Wyatt himself. These days, the talk around the water cooler commonly included accounts of men who lost their livelihood and took a nosedive right into the deep end. Details always involved drinking, divorce, abuse or other tales of horror. Wyatt was an exception to what had become the stereotypical bread earner who had succumbed to bad behavior after an economic demise. While he didn’t smile as often or laugh as easily, he was basically the same man as before.
Quiet and surreal would be better words than moody
, she thought.
Morgan shut off the motor and walked gingerly to the front door. Her feet were killing her after the ten- hour shift. She was taking all of the extra hours she could get, but with the price of everything going crazy, many of the other nurses were working overtime, too. A few years ago, working weekend and holiday hours was easy, now th
ere were lotteries to secure prized overtime shifts.
She found Wyatt in the kitchen, his gaze fixed on some point in space. A heaping mound of envelopes and circulars
were stacked on the table in front of him. “Hey, babe,” she greeted, causing him to focus and then look up.
His expression immediately put her on alert, broadcasting that something was terribly wrong. A weak “Hey,” was his only reply.
“What’s wrong, Wyatt?”
Wyatt’s voice was low and his face grim. “It’s not been a good day,
hun. The phone call I’ve been dreading… the merger is off. Rick delivered the news as gently as possible, but it’s still a no-go. He said the partners didn’t want to do anything with what’s going on in the markets right now.”
Morgan moved to his side, “Oh baby. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you call me and let me know? I would’ve gotten a sub and come home right away. Are you okay?”
Wyatt looked up at her and faked a smile. He reached for the pile of mail in front of him and held up a rather thick bundle of papers. “A deputy came to the door with this a few hours ago.” Morgan looked down at the top sheet, and the print was large and bold. She saw the words, “Notice of Foreclosure,” across the top.
Morgan’s knees suddenly felt very wobbly, and she staggered a little before sitting beside her mate. If Wyatt noticed, he didn’t acknowledge anything. Morgan’s eyes darted from the paper to her husband’s
face. His eyes were watery and red, his complexion pale. She leaned across the table and embraced him in a gentle hug. Only a few moments passed by before each was crying on the other’s shoulder.
The couple realized months ago that their house was no longer affordable. Even with Morgan’s extra hours and the cutbacks on household expenses, they couldn’t replace Wyatt’s share of the household income. The mortgage payments were the biggest single expenditure in the budget, and they knew it wouldn’t be long before the bank became impatient.
Fourteen years ago, the couple purchased their home, offering a hefty down payment. Because they never missed an installment and took great pride in the upkeep of both the grounds and residence, Wyatt initially believed there was equity in the property. When the accounting firm began to flounder, Wyatt and Morgan decided they would take two courses of action. First, they would put their homestead up for sale. Even though the house encompassed a lot of memories, the kids were grown now anyway. Their son, David had enlisted in the army. Sage was in college, on a full scholarship and living off campus in her own apartment. As the only two full-time residents, Wyatt and Morgan simply didn’t require 4,000 square feet of living space.
The second means of stabilizing their finances involved applying for a mortgage modification. Years ago, the government had forced the banks to offer various programs designed to help people struggling through the down economy. In the off chance that the house did not move quickly, Wyatt would maneuver through the necessary paperwork to complete this process.
Within a few days, Wyatt and Morgan stood with a young realtor after finishing a pre-listing walkthrough of their home. The house-peddler had bad news. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think your home will sell for more than $200,000. It’s a wonderful space, but the kitchen and master bath are outdated, and there are hundreds of competitors on the market right now.”
Wyatt was shocked. “But we paid more than $400,000 for this place almost 15 years ago. I still owe $250,000 on the note. Things are that bad?”
The realtor had expected the reaction. She hated this part, no matter how many times she had to deliver bad news; she would never get accustomed to it. “Yes, things are that bad. I know you probably think I’m just trying to low ball your home to get a quick commission,” she answered, anticipating their unstated objection. “But I’m not. If you have a little time this weekend, I will be happy to show you some of my listings. Once you get a feel for what the market has to offer, you will see – there are hundreds of homes larger and more modern than yours, and most are listed for significantly less than what you owe. You’re not alone. I meet so many people who are in the same boat. That’s why you read so much about people just walking away from their homes.”
Morgan and Wyatt had taken her up on the offer and returned in a soured mood. The agent had been right, there was no way anyone would buy their property, based on what was available. Clearly, people were desperate to get out of their mortgages.
Plan-B was the mortgage modification. For two whole days, Wyatt filled out the endless forms required by the lender. The process bought them some time, but in the end, their request was rejected. Their income didn’t meet the modification guidelines. The final rejection letter arrived less than a month ago.
Wyatt shook his head, thinking the bank hadn’t wasted any time throwing them out.
Overcome by the finality of their loss, tears flowed freely while the two silently hugged, both of their minds racing with questions. It was Morgan who broke the embrace and reached out to hold her husband’s hand. As gently as possible, she asked, “What are we going to do, Wyatt? Will they put us out in the street?”
Wyatt shook his head and pointed to a paragraph on the letter. “It says here we have 30 days. I think at that point in time, we’ll have to be out.”
Morgan nodded her understanding and then reached across the table, removing the paper from his grasp. She gently took his other hand in hers and squeezed. “We’ll think of something, Wyatt. We always do. As long as we’re together, it will be all right.”
Wyatt’s next statement surprised her. “Actually, I have a plan. I’ve been thinking about it for hours, and while it’s not perfect, I don’t see much of an alternative. I’m a little hesitant to tell you though. It seems like I haven’t been the best planner lately.”
Morgan relaxed in her chair, not sure if Wyatt had finally lost it, or if she should be pleased with his inspiration. “Okay, I’m all ears, Wyatt. I hope it doesn’t involve a tent, because you know my idea of camping is sleeping in a hotel that doesn’t offer room service.”
Morgan’s declaration set off a short session of gallows humor. Wyatt smiled and said, “No, no tent. I have a bridge all picked out. We can decorate in neo-modern cardboard, and I’ll woo you with the shiniest shopping cart under the overpass.”
Morgan laughed and shook her head. “Save some of that cardboard. I’ll make you a sign saying, ‘Will do accounting for food.’” Their snickering quickly faded, both realizing the jokes weren’t all that unrealistic.
Wyatt reached for a bowl of fruit sitting in the middle of the table and pulled out an orange. He moved to the sink and dug his thumb into the skin, peeling back a long section. “Seriously Morgan, I’ve got an idea, but I don’t want to overwhelm you so soon. If you want to wait until the shock of all this has worn off, I’ll be glad to go over my grand scheme a little later.”
Morgan smiled up at him, “I’ll tell you what. You give me a few sections of that orange, and I’ll lend you my ear. Besides, I’m not going to get any sleep tonight anyway.”
Wyatt’s expression betrayed the fact he was having doubts about sharing his solution. As the business was failing, Morgan noticed more and more indecision and self-doubt in his eyes.
Who could blame him
, she thought. It seemed like everything he attempted, planned, or believed in had evaporated into thin air. Any normal person would begin to lose faith in his own judgment.
Morgan rubbed her husband’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture. “Wy
att, don’t make me beg. I’ll peel the orange if that’s what it takes for you to tell me what you’re thinking.”
Wyatt nodded agreement with her terms and began laying out his strategy. “We’ve still got the boat. I say we turn all of this into a positive. Let’s sell everything, walk away from the house, and go live on the water. I know it’s a bit more of a drive to work for you, but we’ve paid for the slip a year in advance, and that fee includes all electric and water. We can sell all the furniture and the yard tools – everything except our clothes and food, and resign ourselves to a life of luxury on the sea.”
Wyatt handed his wife a slice of orange and continued. “I’ll find a part-time job at a gas station or maybe even get some temporary bookkeeping work. I know a big firm won’t hire me because of my credit rating, but a little company needing a part-time person probably won’t check. I can fish a little and maybe even pick up some cash repairing our neighbors’ vessels. What do you think?”
Morgan pondered Wyatt’s plan. Some time back, they had discussed retiring on the boat, but that was only daydreaming. It had never come up again because Wyatt still had faith in either the business bailout deal or the loan modification. Now, both of those options had dried up. She had to admit, compared to sleeping on the
ground, the boat was the Taj Mahal. “Okay Wyatt, let’s say I agree to go along with not having a yard and living in constant motion. Are we going to do that forever? Do I need to grow gills?”
Again, Wyatt smiled at his wife and teased, “Baby, I’ve always had a mermaid fantasy. Sing me a siren song, would
ya?”
Morgan waved him off with a “
Pfffff” sound and then got serious. “We won’t be able to cruise or take her out. The fuel would be worse than our house payment. Let me think about it, Wyatt. Sleep might come a little easier tonight if I’m working on that question, rather than worrying about finding an unoccupied overpass.”
Wyatt seemed relieved at her reaction. “You don’t think I’m crazy? I know it’s not a great plan, but it’s all I could come up with so far.”