Authors: Joan Early
“A business acquaintance informed me of an opportunity to increase Sealand’s loan portfolio. Winning a bid to share in a large federal housing development will place Sealand in competition with other lenders for a sizable loan commitment. I’m especially interested because the project is aimed at low-income and first-time homebuyers. It might be a purposeful endeavor for this area. What do you think?”
“Are you concerned about this area because of Rev. Cartwright’s accusations?”
“Yes and no. No, because I’m not intimidated by his accusations, and yes, because he brought Cedargrove Heights to my attention. Why are you asking?”
“I know he’s been in to see you, but I didn’t know why until Price brought it up at the meeting. He’s always begging on behalf of those people who never make payments on time. Maybe if they dropped a little less in his collection plate, they could pay their bills. Did he question one of my appraisals again?”
His defensiveness came as a surprise, but she had no intention of revealing what she had learned.
“What do you mean—again?”
“Price told me Cartwright had questioned the value I put on a property out there. A foreclosure. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I’m good at what I do. I have every designation the state offers for appraisers, and I take my job very seriously. I also know I have a reputation for being Price’s boy, and that’s a damn lie. Yes, I’m grateful to him for bringing me to Sealand. Having a set salary each month is better than working extremely hard and still not making as much money. But I’m my own man.”
She shrugged. “I just arrived, remember? That makes me a minority in more ways than two. Everyone here knows more about this situation than I do. I shouldn’t have mentioned work tonight, so let’s forget it.”
“I don’t mind talking about it. I liked your speech about being a more cohesive group, but that’s never been the policy. On more than one occasion, Price has directed us to keep mum about certain things in our area. Since I have no desire to stir the fire, I’ve stayed pretty much to myself. I don’t know much about anything other than my own area, but I do know Price is as self-serving as they come. I say that without reservations.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation, Rev. Cartwright did not question your appraisal, at least not to me.” She had looked forward to a relaxing evening and regretted mentioning Sealand, especially after Travis continued justifying the quality of his work.
“It’s hard to explain to people that the house they purchased four years ago isn’t worth half of what they paid for it because two neighboring properties were foreclosed. Values are much better than they were in the eighties; they’ve increased from the nineties, but there are still some soft spots. I don’t control the economy. Even the government can’t seem to do that.”
It was the cue she had been waiting for. “Speaking of government, tell me something about our mayor. He seems to have his arms around most of the city’s problems and as large as this place is, that has to be an armful. Crime. Traffic. Unemployment. Schools.”
The conversation turned from one generating defensive heat to one focusing on citywide social and political problems. Nevertheless, though Travis was no longer edgy, he remained argumentative and cynical. Susan did not challenge what she felt was a limited outlook on life, but hoped he would regain his composure and relax. She had already determined that he was intelligent and insightful, but each negative opinion made her realize that he was trapped by self-imposed restrictive views. He grew even more agitated. She smiled and nodded at most of his observations and answered his questions without passing judgment.
Wishing she had met him at the branch office rather than riding with him, Susan’s concern grew during the drive back to her apartment. His speech was slurred and he walked the short distance from the parking lot to her building with difficulty.
“Come in and have a cup of coffee. I’ll make decaf or tea if you prefer.”
“Regular coffee is fine.” He followed her to the kitchen, constantly complaining about the rigors of his job and not being able to see his children on a regular basis.
Susan didn’t dare end the evening until she felt he was sober enough to drive. She listened patiently, but kept her comments to a minimum. He appeared somewhat steadier after a second cup of coffee and a slice of homemade pumpkin bread.
“Tell me something,” he said, perching on a stool at the counter. “What do you want out of life? I mean, you can’t go much higher with Sealand, so what are your goals? Do you want to marry again? Do you want children?”
“I can see marriage and children in my future, and I am planning to work on a law degree, but I have everything I want for now.”
“I want to marry again. I’m seeing someone…not exclusively or anything like that. I like her a lot, but she keeps talking marriage and I’m not in love with her. She’s very nice but…no sparks. Is that a bad thing to say?”
“Not if it’s how you feel. Just listen to your heart.”
He continued talking and she offered neither praise nor criticism, just an occasional smile. She fully expected him to fall asleep on the sofa, but after walking around the apartment and drinking another cup of coffee, he became alert and his mood lightened. She was greatly relieved when he picked up his coat and walked steadily to the door.
Alone with her cat, she thought about Travis’s take on love and marriage. She wanted love, and her need to feel the rapture of a man’s arms was becoming increasingly painful. She wanted and needed a man. Only one came to mind. She took the news clipping from her briefcase and stared at his likeness. Every feature on his face was prominently handsome, but his lips were the most inviting she had ever seen. She remembered the touch of his hand and the excitement it had sparked.
“Susan, Susan, Susan.” She tucked the photo inside the book she was trying to read. “I can’t let any man get to me this way.”
She stroked Dino’s head and listened to him purr. She was facing a professional challenge and a personal moment of truth. In her heart, she knew exactly what she had to do.
“It is a big city. I think we can both live in it without stepping on each other’s toes.”
CHAPTER 4
Susan spent her weekend reviewing files. On Sunday evening she left an answering machine message for the head of Sealand’s legal staff and called Angie.
“I’ve seen enough. The main topic for tomorrow’s meeting is Cedargrove Heights, and I want you to be there.”
Susan was the first one in the boardroom on Monday morning. Her mind was filled with countless and alarming thoughts that made the soft leather chair at the head of the table a very uncomfortable place to sit. Only her ability to reflect backwards and project ahead eased her panic, so she revisited some of the commendations she had received since joining the Sealand group.
Sealand’s office on the west side of Canton was one of the smallest in the lending chain, and any visit from Waylon Deeds invariably sparked speculation. As soon as he arrived early one Wednesday morning, the rumors had begun. He was in town either to promote or dismiss. Susan paid little attention, though she did wonder why he constantly called her to ask for explanations and opinions that seemed outside the realm of her authority. His “how would you handle…” ended at three o’clock on Friday when he called and asked her to join him in the boardroom. Fighting rising annoyance, she tapped soundly on the closed door and waited to be invited in. The entire board of directors, including Tom Waverly, smiled at her.
“Have a seat, Miss Cross,” Mr. Deeds said, nodding to the empty chair across from his.
She felt her throat closing.
“I’ve been a constant harassment to you the last few days, Miss Cross, and I apologize,” Mr. Deeds said.
“It was no trouble at all,” she said, feeling as if he had read her mind.
“It was, but with good reason.” He looked around the room. “This company is growing like wildfire, Miss Cross. Sealand is now making mortgage loans in twenty-six states, and we hope to add the other twenty-four. With this rapid growth, there’s been no time, and no person, to ensure uniform standards in our branches. We’ve got one office down in Louisiana, for example, that financed sixty-eight homes, packaged the loans, and tried to sell them to an investor without realizing they were prefab homes. We can’t have that kind of thing.”
Mr. Waverly nodded in agreement. Susan’s hands were damp and her throat felt parched.
“We’d like you to head Sealand’s loan production team, Miss Cross. You’d report to me, but everyone here will be at your disposal if need arises. You’ll make periodic visits to all branch cities for quality control purposes and make changes at your discretion.”
Susan remembered that as a magical moment in her life, and the most memorable in her career. Her father was right. She had been a good student, even in graduate school. When Mr. Deeds had pushed a legal pad across the table showing her proposed salary as head of lending, she had seen concrete evidence that her studies had paid off. Managing a small production office had been effortless. This was her first major challenge, and she would not allow the treachery of others to shorten her stride.
Price walked in the door and her mind was made up. It was possible that Mr. Deeds had learned of Price’s unscrupulous practices, feared retaliation, and had sent her in to remedy the situation. Or maybe as a scapegoat? Looking at his deceptive smile, she silently vowed to personally expose him and avenge the citizens of Cedargrove, even though the results could prove painful.
She opened the meeting and introduced the newcomers.
“I’m sure most of you know Angie Edwards from loan servicing, and this is Perry Trask, head of our legal department. As some of you know, the lending practices of Sealand have come under scrutiny by a group of citizens from Cedargrove Heights. Rev. Willard Cartwright and several others met with me and claimed applicants were denied loans with Sealand because they wanted to purchase homes in that particular neighborhood. I attempted to pacify them with contrasting figures, but that didn’t suffice, as I was told in a follow-up meeting with Rev. Cartwright. I asked Perry to join us today because I’m afraid this matter isn’t going away. Since the loan denials were made before my arrival, I’d like Price to share his knowledge on the subject.”
Her words had burned bright crimson paths across his face.
“I know of no such practices here at Sealand. This whole thing is ridiculous. I hope you’re not agreeing with this man.”
“Whether I agree or disagree is not pertinent. I was blindsided with this situation my first day in this office, so I was unable to respond to their accusations. I don’t know the weight of their proof, but I don’t think they’re making unsupported claims. You were in full charge of lending at that time, and we need to know if you can refute their accusations.”
“I was in charge then, but I’m not at this time. Has this already become a legal issue? Is that why Perry is here?”
Susan turned to the others at the table. “I thought of airing this issue with just those involved, but it occurred to me that we’re all involved. I was the one who said we should be a cohesive group, so as a group, we have a potential lawsuit. As head of this division, I’m charged with defending Sealand against all allegations, and I will. I already have my answers and, just as good defense attorneys represent clients regardless of their guilt or innocence, I will defend Sealand.”
She stood and leaned across the table. “To answer your question, Price, if this matter goes before a judge, you’ll be the one on the witness stand, not me. I didn’t witness redlining. If I had, there would be different faces at this table. Now, once again, are you certain you can justify the denial of these loans?”
“Do you know what the foreclosure rate is like in that neighborhood?” Price asked, evading her question. “The only loans we’ve made there and didn’t lose our shirt on were government loans. I don’t think any of those people pay on time.”
Susan fumed. “Let me advise you of something, Price, and I want Perry to correct me if I’m wrong. If you ever utter words like ‘those people’ in the presence of Rev. Cartwright, you
and
Sealand will end up in deep doo-doo. The majority of the residents there are African American or Hispanic. I’m keenly aware of the performance of loans made in that area, and I want those facts presented here today.” She nodded at Angie.
“The delinquency ratio in Cedargrove Heights is currently 52 percent.” Angie gave the breakdown of active loans, those loans in foreclosures, and loans already foreclosed. “Would you like a breakdown on months delinquent?”
“No, but I will ask that you update these figures daily and keep the numbers handy should we need them. Thank you for compiling this information so quickly.”
She saw joy on Price’s face.
“See! It’s a bad investment area. I don’t know why we have to answer to that man. Any fool would think twice before approving a conventional loan in an area that’s already ridden with foreclosures. It has nothing to do with race. This falls under the heading of making shrewd business decisions.”
“The fact that this area has a lot of poorly performing loans doesn’t give you or anyone else the right to redline it, Price,” Perry said, drumming his pen on the desktop. “The issue at hand is one of geographical discrimination. There are people just waiting to haul us on the carpet for discriminatory lending practices.”
“If you look at the numbers—”
“If you look at the numbers, why not look at the 40-plus percent that are current?” Perry interrupted. “In defense of your position, you’ve just verbally incriminated this whole company. Sealand cannot operate under the policy of making loans in only those areas that appeal to us.”
“The more pertinent issue is that we, Sealand, made the builder loan for this subdivision,” Susan injected. “If discretionary tactics were needed, then that was the time to employ them. I also have figures from two other subdivisions, neither of which is largely comprised of minority homeowners. Both have delinquencies exceeding those of Cedargrove. In each instance, we have continued to make loans that are largely uninsurable and unmarketable. Sealand owns most of them. Sealand will suffer the losses.” She closed her file and turned back to Price. “Can you explain that?”
“I don’t know what areas you’re talking about, but some of those loans were made under a commitment that was issued before we knew of these conditions. I would never make a decision that wasn’t good for the company.” His face was now beet red and his eyes ablaze with anger.
“Don’t get me wrong, Price, I’m not disagreeing with your reasoning,” Susan said in a more relaxed tone. “You know as well as I do that you can’t simply decide, based on negative collection figures, to discontinue lending in one area. The fact that you overlooked even worse delinquencies in other areas will only serve to validate Rev. Cartwright’s contentions. Playing devil’s advocate, if I have this information, I’m sure Rev. Cartwright does, too.”
“She’s right, Price,” Perry said. “Any first-year law student could win this case. What do you suggest, Susan?”
“I want every underwriter in this company, branches included, to work overtime and tear these files apart. I want each file re-underwritten and every figure and fact verified.” She turned to Angie. “I have a list of properties that foreclosed in Cedargrove. What I need now is a final disposition on each one, including our loss profile. I have a few tricks up my sleeve, but I’ll wait for Rev. Cartwright to make the next move.”
“Just what do you propose to do? The only way to make these…to make the Cedargrove situation go away is to approve all of the denied loans. Give them what they want. It’s very hard to go back and remember why certain decisions were made,” Price offered, looking around for support from his staff.
Susan met his stare. “That’s a lame excuse, Price. No one is trusted to remember why decisions were made. A ton of documentation is needed to close each file, whether the loan is approved or denied. If that file was properly closed, everything pertinent to your decisions should be there.”
Susan then presented information on her proposal for the low-income housing commitment, and praised one of the branches for exceptional originations, both in number and quality. As the meeting was ending, a fire alarm sounded and everyone was asked to vacate the building. Fire trucks wailed and employees scampered down the stairs. Passing through the police barricade, Susan learned that a vehicle was burning in the garage and building management was taking the necessary safety precautions.
“Swell!” There had been little time to spend on stripping the Cedargrove files, and she wanted very much to finish. Leaving with as much work as she could stuff into her briefcase, she stopped at the gas station closest to her apartment and began filling her tank. She looked up when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Thinking it was a co-worker who had also been evacuated, she turned, smiling, right into the face of Rev. Willard Cartwright Jr. Her eyes widened, and she dropped the nozzle from the tank, spilling gas on her shoes and his.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss Cross. I recognized you standing here and spoke, but I realized you couldn’t hear me over the traffic noise,” he said, flashing his magical smile.
“Hello, Rev. Cartwright. I was just filling up on the way home. We had a car fire in the parking garage at work, and they evacuated the building. I didn’t want to leave a stack of work on my desk, but I had no choice.” She felt her heart lurch and actually looked down to see if it was visible through her blouse. Aware that she was babbling, she replaced the gas nozzle and waited for him to speak.
“He does work in mysterious ways.” His voice was soft and reverent.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind. I’m delighted to see you, Miss Cross. I’m not at all pleased with how our last meeting ended. I know you’re new to this area. I wanted very much to meet on neutral territory and begin our relationship on a better note.” He smiled and extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Willard Cartwright.”
She smiled back. “I also want to apologize for any offensive remarks I may have made, Rev. Cartwright. Can you forgive me?” She accepted his outstretched hand.
“That would be my pleasure, and please call me Will unless we’re in the presence of my father. Then he’s Will and I’m Willie. Or sometimes when they forget I’m an adult, Willie Joe. May I call you Susan, or do you prefer Sue?”
“Susan. I hate Sue.” She grinned. “Willie Joe, huh?”
“My middle name is Joseph,” he revealed, still smiling. “So you have an unexpected evening off. Any plans?”
“My only plan is to complete as much work as possible, and maybe drive around the neighborhood. I’m trying to learn my way around the city without getting lost, so I venture a little farther away from my apartment each time I have a chance to roam the neighborhood.”
“I’m sure any new city would pose a problem, but Houston is large and sprawling. It’s also grown so rapidly that I get turned around myself, and I’m a native.” His smile softened as he looked into her eyes.
“We’re having our annual Women’s Day celebration at the church on Saturday. It’s a fashion show and luncheon to raise money for our youth camp. I would be honored if you would join my table as my guest.”
Breathing became difficult. “I would love to attend,” she said. “As a single man you must dread these events.”
“I dread a lot of the social events where my presence is pretty much demanded. Let’s just say I do an awful lot in the name of the Lord.”
He had the kindest eyes she had ever seen.
“What time does it start?”
“I’ll pick you up at eleven, if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine. Let me give you the address. It’s right around the corner…the red brick building on the left.” Pointing in the direction of her apartment building, she felt her hand shaking.
He said good-bye and she watched him stride to the other side of the gas pumps and to his car. She hurried to her building and burst into the apartment with such excitement, Dino went into hiding under the sofa. She went straight to the telephone and dialed her parents’ number, praying that at least one parent was home. This was truly a new beginning, and she wanted to share her joy.
“Mom, it’s me. Hi. Is everyone okay? How’s the weather? I’m sure it’s cooler than here, but so are the bowels of hell. Bobby and Charles okay? What about Dad? Did he have his check-up yet?”