Chapter 6
The lender’s representative repeated that my denial had been added to the file. Then the call ended, leaving the consent page open on the kitchen table between us.
My name sat beneath a statement I had never made. Beside it, the word notarized looked less like a label than a dare.
Ethan reached for my hand, then stopped short of taking it.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
The question landed differently than the ones people had been asking all week. Not what should we do, or how do we keep Mom from getting angry. What did I want?
“I need to make the next call myself,” I said. “You can stay here. Just let me speak.”
He nodded. “I’m right beside you.”
Chloe’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and turned it facedown without answering. I didn’t ask who it was. I opened the folder where I’d saved the lender notice, the screenshot, and the page the representative had described. Then I searched my messages for the number our neighbor had sent me that morning.
“Her name’s Dana Whitaker,” I said. “Mrs. Harlan said she handles property disputes.”
“Call her,” Ethan said.
The attorney answered on the fourth ring. I explained the cottage, the loan request, and the consent page. I kept my voice level until I described the date beside my signature—the same date I’d been at a work conference in Richmond.
“Have you disputed the authorization with the lender?” she asked.
“I told them I didn’t sign it. They said they noted my denial.”
“That’s a start. Send the review team a written dispute today. State plainly that you did not sign or authorize the consent, ask them to preserve the full submission, and ask for confirmation that funding is on hold.”
“They haven’t confirmed a hold.”
“Then ask again in writing. Don’t sign anything someone puts in front of you under pressure—not even something described as a correction.”
I glanced at the page. “What if they say I have to?”
“Then ask them to put that request in writing. No one gets to rush you into agreeing to something you don’t understand.”
Her words didn’t make the page less frightening. They gave me something to do with the fear.
I emailed the lender’s review address while she was still on the phone. My fingers shook over the keyboard, but the sentence was clear: I did not sign or authorize this consent. I attached the notice and asked them to preserve the complete package and confirm that no funds would be released while my dispute was reviewed.
When I hit send, the whoosh of the message seemed absurdly small.
“Good,” Dana said. “Keep a copy of everything, including their replies.”
I thanked her and ended the call. For a moment, none of us spoke.
Then Chloe looked up from her phone. “Blake says he’s going to the cottage.”
“When?” Ethan asked.
“He said today.” Her mouth tightened. “He says someone needs to look at the foundation before the lender finishes its review.”
“Did the lender arrange an inspection?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
That answer was the only one she could give, and it wasn’t enough to keep me at the kitchen table.
The drive to the cottage felt longer than I remembered. Bare branches shivered along the road, and the sky over Lake Gaston had the flat gray look of a day that couldn’t decide whether to rain. I sat in the passenger seat with the lender’s notice open on my phone. Ethan drove. Chloe rode behind us, quiet.
When the cottage came into view, Blake’s truck was parked near the gate.
A man I didn’t recognize stood beside it with a clipboard tucked under his arm. Blake was already inside the property, walking along the side of the house with the brisk, proprietary stride of someone checking off a job.
My pulse kicked hard.
“Stay with me,” Ethan said.
“I’m not hiding in the car.”
“I didn’t say you should.”
He parked. I opened the door before he could come around to help me, then paused with one hand on the frame, breathing through the sudden tightness in my chest. It wasn’t the same fear as the party. This was quieter, steadier—and it wanted me to back away before Blake ever saw me.
I stepped out anyway.
The contractor looked over first. Blake followed his gaze and stopped beside the foundation.
“Ava,” he called, as if we’d arranged to meet.
“What are you doing here?”
“Inspecting the foundation.” He gestured at the man with the clipboard. “The lender needs a condition assessment.”
“Did the lender tell you to come?”
“I have authority to inspect.”
“From whom?”
His eyes flicked toward Chloe, then back to me. “Your mother said we could get it done.”
“Mom doesn’t own my share.”
The contractor shifted his weight, watching us. His clipboard held a sheet of paper, but from the gate I couldn’t read what was on it.
Blake gave me a thin, patient smile. “This doesn’t need to turn into a scene.”
“You brought a contractor onto property you don’t own.”
“I’m trying to keep the financing on schedule.”
“Then you should have waited for the owners to agree.”
Chloe came up beside Ethan. She held her phone in both hands, but didn’t lift it. Blake looked at her as if he expected her to say something—anything—that would make this simpler for him.
She said nothing.
“You can request access,” I told him. “You can’t treat a request like permission.”
He laughed once, without humor. “You think one email changes what’s already been submitted?”
“No. It tells the lender I didn’t approve it.”
“You’ve made that very clear.”
“Good.”
He took a step toward the gate. Ethan moved with me, not ahead of me. I was grateful he understood the difference.
“Leave,” I said.
The word came out rougher than I meant it to. I didn’t take it back.
Blake’s expression hardened. “You’re going to regret making this personal.”
“It was personal when someone used my name.”
The contractor lowered his clipboard. His eyes moved from Blake to me, then to the narrow stretch of gravel between them.
“I’m not involved in your family dispute,” he said.
“Then you should leave before you become part of it,” I replied.
Blake spread his hands. “I told you. I have authority.”
“Show me.”
For the first time, his smile faltered. It was only a second, but I saw it. Then he pulled a folded sheet from his jacket and held it up—not close enough for me to read, only close enough for the paper to become a prop.
“The lender has a copy of your signed approval,” he said. “And I have witnesses.”
Beside me, Chloe’s breath caught.
May you like
Blake lowered the paper, his gaze fixed on mine.
“Ask them,” he said, “if you still think this is just a misunderstanding.”
