Then she whispered, “My parents are in trouble.”
Ethan stared at her.
“What kind of trouble?”
She pressed the tissue between her fingers.
“Financial.”
“How much trouble?”
Vanessa began crying.
And for the first time that evening, I realized the mansion she had been demanding might never have been the thing she really wanted.
“My father’s business failed,” Vanessa said.
Ethan pulled out a chair.
“What business? The repair shop?”
She nodded.
Vanessa’s father, Martin, had operated a small appliance-repair business for almost twenty years. Her mother, Gail, handled the accounts and occasionally worked at the front counter.
I’d met them several times.
They were proud people.
At our first family dinner, Martin insisted on paying even after the waiter brought the bill to me.
I remembered thinking he reminded me of my late husband.
“What happened?” Ethan asked.
“Dad borrowed against the house to keep the shop running. Then two major commercial customers stopped using him, and he couldn’t keep up with the payments.”
Vanessa wiped her cheeks.
“He closed the business last spring. They were already behind on everything.”
Ethan frowned.
“Last spring? You told me he’d retired.”
“He told everyone that.”
“And you knew?”
“Yes.”
She reached into her handbag and removed her phone.
After searching through several emails, she showed him a notice from a loan servicer.
Ethan read it slowly.
“How much do they owe?”
