Chapter 6 - FLYNN KNEW MORE THAN CHLOE DID
Chloe slapped the table.
Not Flynn.
The table.
“Explain.”
Flynn rubbed both hands over his face.
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“After the approval.”
My stomach turned.
He had intended to use equity from my apartment.
Not because I volunteered.
Because my family had apparently decided my assets were a group project.
“Who filled out the application?” I asked.
Flynn looked toward Dad.
Dad stared back.
That was answer enough.
Chloe whispered:
“Dad?”
My father became defensive.
“It was a restructuring plan.”
“For what?”
“Flynn’s debt.”
Chloe looked at her husband.
“What debt?”
He closed his eyes.
The truth arrived slowly.
$112,000 from business credit cards.
$38,000 personal loan.
$19,000 owed to an investor.
More than $160,000 total.
His athletic-wear company had not simply failed.
He had hidden the losses for almost a year.
Mom knew.
Dad knew.
Chloe did not.
Their solution was my apartment.
The nearly paid-off property had enormous equity.
Dad planned to convince me to open a line of credit “for tax reasons.”
Once approved, the money would clear Flynn’s debt.
When I didn’t voluntarily agree fast enough, Dad apparently decided my signature could arrive before my consent.
The lender rejected the application because my employment verification failed.
They called my office.
Our HR department said nobody had authorization to discuss my compensation with Flynn.
That saved me.
I stared at Dad.
“Was giving Chloe my apartment part of the same plan?”
He hesitated.
Rebecca answered for him.
“If Chloe and Flynn established residency there, they could strengthen the narrative that the property was being treated as a family residence.”
“Would that give them ownership?”
“No.”
“But it might make pressuring you easier.”
Exactly.
Once Chloe had children sleeping in the bedrooms, once her furniture filled the living room, once everyone called it “their home,” removing them would make me the villain.
My parents understood emotional leverage better than property law.
Chloe slowly removed her wedding ring.
Flynn’s face collapsed.
“Chloe.”
“Don’t.”
“I was trying to protect us.”
“You were trying to hide that you buried us in debt.”
“I can fix it.”
She laughed.
“That’s what you’ve said after every business.”
Then she looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
I did not answer immediately.
She had spent three weeks planning to take my home.
But now I understood she had been lied to too.
“I’m angry with you.”
“I know.”
“You should have asked me.”
“I know.”
“But Dad told you it was partly his.”
“Yes.”
“And you believed him.”
She nodded.
That did not erase her entitlement.
But it changed the shape of it.
Then Rebecca quietly said:
“We have another issue.”
The forged home-equity application included a copy of my passport.
A passport I had reported missing eight months earlier.
May you like
I looked at Mom.
Her face told me exactly where it had been.
