Chapter 5 - The Foreclosure & The Departure
Six weeks later.
The winter sun cast a cool, golden light across the manicured lawns of the Pacific Palisades neighborhood.
A large commercial auction truck was parked in the driveway of the $2.5 million home I had once provided the down payment for.
Bank officers, real estate agents, and movers were busily loading furniture into vans following the finalized judicial foreclosure sale. The property had been repossessed by the Whitmore Trust after Ethan and Valerie failed to satisfy the $600,000 note.
I sat in the passenger seat of my silver sedan, watching from the curb.
Stepping out of the front front door carrying two worn suitcases were Valerie and Ethan.
They didn't look like the glamorous couple who had sat at the head of my birthday table two months ago. Ethan wore wrinkled jeans and a jacket, his hair messy, his face showing the immense stress of a man whose architectural firm had officially filed for Chapter 7 liquidation. Valerie wore a plain coat, her head down, carrying her own bags.
They loaded their suitcases into the trunk of a ten-year-old rented sedan—the luxury sports cars having been repossessed by the leasing firm three weeks prior.
Ethan opened the driver's door, looked toward my car sitting at the curb, and offered a long, broken, remorseful nod before climbing inside.
Valerie stopped near the trunk. She looked at my car.
For one long moment, our eyes met across the quiet street.
I saw no rage in her eyes today. No arrogance. No gold dresses or sparkling champagne.
I saw a twenty-three-year-old girl who was finally forced to face the world without her grandmother's checkbook to protect her.
She didn't wave. She didn't scream. She simply climbed into the passenger seat, pulled the door shut, and watched as Ethan drove them down the winding road toward a small rented two-bedroom apartment in the Valley.
May you like
I rolled up my window, told my driver to turn the car around, and headed back toward Pasadena.
The tear in my life had finally healed.
