I only agreed to lend Tyler the money because of his father, Uncle River.
When my own father passed away, Uncle River was the only person who offered genuine, quiet support to my mother without expecting a parade or a thank you note in return.
He never boasted about his kindness at dinner parties or used his generosity to hold power over us.
That was the only reason I agreed to help his son, though I made sure it was strictly business.
I had a ironclad contract drafted, including a guarantee of collateral and fixed payment dates, all of which Tyler had read and signed without a single hesitation.
“Mother, I was in the process of working it out,” he mumbled, looking at his shoes.
“Working it out?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “You have ignored three formal reminders, you deleted my messages, and you have already blown past the agreed upon grace period.”
Carolina spun around to face her son, her expression shifting from anger to genuine, teeth chattering fear.
“What exactly did you sign, Tyler?”
He stayed silent, refusing to meet his mother’s eyes.
I answered for him, letting the truth hang in the air.
“He put his vacation house in the coastal hills up as collateral.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly from surprise to raw, palpable terror.
Everyone in that social circle knew about that particular estate; Tyler treated it like a sacred trophy, a symbol of the family’s supposed standing.
Carolina had spent the last two years hosting charity luncheons, private photo shoots for magazines, and lavish soirées there, constantly referring to the property as an untouchable piece of their legacy.
None of them realized that the home they were so proud of was essentially being held hostage by me because of a debt that was long overdue.