Chapter 11: The Holder of the Note

My mother's study had not changed in eight years.

My father's portrait still hung over the desk, and the same green lamp burned on the blotter.

She sat behind it in her robe, with no lipstick, and her hands lay flat on a sheet of paper.

I had never seen her without a face on.

"Read it," she said, and slid it across.

It was on bank letterhead.

It gave notice that the note on the property at Linden Row, in the amount of four million one hundred thousand dollars, was in default.

The holder of the note had accelerated it.

Thirty days.

"The holder," I said.

"Look at the name."

I looked.

Rudd Security Holdings, LLC.

My ears began to ring.

"You've been living on the house for years," I said slowly. "You borrowed against it again and again."

"Your father left me debt," she said. "Do you think this house paid for itself? Do you think I could let Bridget lose her place?"

"You hid it from us."

"I hid it from the city. There is a difference."

"And now the man who holds it is my husband."

My mother looked up.

For the first time in my life, I saw her face crumple.

"You brought a wolf into my house," she said. "You married a Rudd."

"You picked him!"

"I picked a nobody to teach you manners. I did not know he was..." She stopped.

"Was what?"

She shut her mouth.

"Mom. Who is Tom Rudd?"

She went the color of the paper.

"Get out," she whispered. "Get out of my house."

I left the letter on the desk.

I took a photograph of it with my phone first.

I did not remember the drive home.

The flat was empty when I got there, the lights off, and late afternoon pouring through the blinds.

The black steel case lay open on the bed.

Both brass locks stood unfastened, and I stared at it for a long minute.

He had left it open for me.

Or he had forgotten to close it.

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