Chapter 7 - The Foreclosure Clock
Three days later, the real panic set in for the Moreau family.
With Jackson still sitting in a county jail cell unable to post the $250,000 bail, and all joint bank accounts frozen under Clara’s emergency court order, Genesis’s carefully constructed illusion of wealth began to disintegrate at lightning speed.
I sat in Clara’s sunlit office on the twentieth floor of the IDS Center, sipping dark roast coffee while reviewing the latest financial discovery documents pulled by our forensic team.
"It’s a complete house of cards, Maya," Clara said, spinning her computer screen around so I could see the spreadsheet. "When we froze the accounts, we stopped Jackson’s automated transfer system. He was using a classic Ponzi-style rotation—taking short-term high-interest private loans from hard-money lenders in Chicago to pay the interest on the second mortgage for the Hidden Hills estate."
"And now that the accounts are frozen?" I asked.
"Now, the dominoes are falling," Clara smiled wickedly. "The hard-money lenders haven't received their weekly interest payment of $15,000. They filed a notice of default yesterday. The bank holding the primary mortgage on the Hidden Hills mansion has initiated formal foreclosure proceedings. Genesis and Richard have precisely fourteen days to produce $480,000 in back payments, or their home goes to public auction on the courthouse steps."
A soft knock came at Clara’s office door. Her paralegal stepped in, looking slightly overwhelmed.
"Ms. Mercer," the paralegal said, "there is a Mr. Richard Moreau in the lobby. He is begging to speak with Ms. Lin. He says it’s an urgent family emergency."
Clara looked at me, raising an eyebrow. "Do you want me to have security throw him out?"
I thought for a moment, setting my coffee cup down. "No. Bring him in. But turn on the room's video recording system."
Two minutes later, Richard Moreau walked into the office.
The proud, stoic patriarch who had sat silently at the head of the dinner table while his son threw a plate at my head was barely recognizable. His designer suit was wrinkled, his hair uncombed, and his eyes were red-rimmed with dark circles underneath. He looked ten years older than he had three nights ago.
He didn't sit down. He stood in the middle of the carpet, looking at me with a mixture of shame and desperate pleading.
"Maya..." Richard’s voice was hoarse. "Please. You have to help us."
"Help you with what, Richard?" I asked, my tone completely flat.
"The bank... they’re taking the house," Richard choked out, pressing his hands together as if in prayer. "Genesis is having panic attacks. Jackson is sleeping on a cold floor in jail. The private lenders are threatening to repossess our cars. We have nothing left!"
"You had an opportunity to speak up three nights ago, Richard," I reminded him coldly. "When your son called me a 'useless woman' and shattered porcelain against my face, you sat there and looked down at your roast lamb. You chose cowardice."
"I was wrong!" Richard cried, a tear spilling over his weathered cheek. "I should have stopped him! I should have defended you! But Genesis... she controls everything, Maya! She convinced us that you were the enemy, that you were hoarding your money while we were drowning!"
"I wasn't hoarding my money, Richard," I said, leaning forward across the desk. "I was protecting myself from a family of parasites who saw me as nothing more than a bank account with a ring on its finger."
"Maya, please," Richard begged, stepping closer before Clara held up a hand to stop him. "Just release the freeze on the secondary account! There’s $300,000 in there! We can pay Jackson’s bail and stop the immediate foreclosure!"
"That $300,000 doesn't belong to you or Genesis," Clara interjected firmly. "That account consists entirely of Maya’s personal architectural royalties that Jackson fraudulently redirected into his business entity without her consent. It is stolen property, Mr. Moreau."
Richard looked at me, his last spark of hope dying in his eyes. "So... you’re just going to let us lose everything? You’re going to let Jackson rot in prison?"
May you like
"Jackson made his choice when he raised his hand against me," I said, standing up and opening the door to the hallway. "And you made yours when you stayed silent. Goodbye, Richard."
Richard walked out of the office with his head bowed, his heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor like a funeral procession.
