Chapter 12 - A Visitor at the Office
Thursday afternoon brought an unexpected interruption to my peaceful workflow.
My receptionist buzzed through the intercom, her voice tinged with slight hesitation. “Clara? There’s a gentleman downstairs in the lobby asking to speak with you. He says he’s an attorney representing the estate of Diane Bennett.”
I paused, my pen hovering over a lease agreement. My mother hadn’t named an estate attorney—at least, not one I had ever heard of.
“Send him up, Chloe,” I replied evenly.
A few minutes later, the frosted glass door of my office opened, and a tired-looking man in his late fifties wearing a rumpled grey suit stepped inside. He introduced himself as Arthur Pendelton, a solo practitioner from our hometown outside Atlanta.
“Ms. Bennett. Thank you for seeing me on short notice,” Pendelton said, taking a seat opposite my desk.
“Cut to the chase, Mr. Pendelton. What does my family want now?” I asked, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.
The attorney sighed, opening a weathered leather briefcase and pulling out a single manila folder. “They aren’t sending me to negotiate the $42,850 debt, Ms. Bennett—though that legal notice certainly shook up their household. Kyle’s latest business venture completely collapsed last week, and their mortgage lender has officially filed a notice of default on their suburban home.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And how is that my problem?”
“It isn’t,” Pendelton admitted frankly. “In fact, your mother sent me here because she believes you’re the only one who can ‘save family face.’ She wants to know if you’ll buy their house under your LLC and let them stay as renters.”
A cold, humorless laugh escaped my lips.
“Let me get this straight,” I said, looking the lawyer dead in the eye. “They uninvited me from a vacation I paid for, treated me like an unwanted servant, hurled insults when I held them accountable, and now they want me to bail them out of foreclosure so they can become my tenants?”
“Essentially, yes,” Pendelton muttered, looking slightly embarrassed on their behalf.
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“Tell my mother that my real estate portfolio is reserved for serious, professional clients who respect contracts,” I said, standing up to signal the end of the meeting. “And tell her my business hours are strictly nine to five.”
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