A Foreclosure
(page 2)
by Philip Goutell
© 2023 Philip Goutell
Repeated efforts to stop the leaks had never fully succeeded. The skylight was old, original industrial. Above it was the large public terrace that, in the rain, drained onto my skylight. Delvin has asked about it and I had given him a somewhat ambiguous answer. The evening he came to look, it rained. We were chatting pleasantly when water began cascading down past the caulking of a window that had never leaked before. Delvin smiled politely. He would look elsewhere.
It was now past midnight, time to get serious and bring on a broker, and a broker was found, perhaps through my lawyer? Seemingly within a day or two the broker produced a buyer with an offer that would clear up most of what was owed -- and earn the broker a nice commission. But the foreclosure had been triggered. Banks don't pay commissions to brokers in a foreclosure. But what others say is impossible never deters a good lawyer. Thus began negotiations that, without the bank's consent, never would have happened.
The bank was holding all the cards excerpt one. If they took the property and sold it they would get considerably less money than if it was sold through the broker, which could only happen if the broker got his commission. Of course if they sold it themselves they could still come after me for any outstanding balance but that was a doubtful proposition as they had no reason to believe I had any money. On the other hand, by letting the deal go through with the broker they would get most of their money. Then my lawyer sweetened the deal for them by offering to make up the small shortfall through a second mortgage on my other house. The bank's lawyer was now presented with an excellent deal. The bank would come out whole, collecting the full principal and perhaps writing off no more than a few dollars in interest and penalties. But what looked good to the bank's lawyer looked less good to the bank's loan officer. He would have to approve the new second mortgage.
From the point of view of the bank's loan officer the deal not at all attractive. After all, I had just defaulted on a first and an even larger second mortgage and my credit cards were in disarray. And, although the new mortgage would be relatively peanuts, there were other issues. What was this other property? The bank hadn't known of its existence. What was it worth if anything? A serious appraisal was needed, not the kind of easy appraisal that a bank makes when they are eager to loan money. On top of that, the first mortgage was held by an individual. Banks hate being second in line to a private lender.
Now the negotiations were between the bank's lawyer and the bank's loan officer. Reluctantly the loan officer agreed to send out an appraiser to look at this mystery and very, very, rural property. When the report came back the loan officer was not happy. The value of the property, said the appraiser, was quite sufficient to secure the second mortgage.
The loan officer, who really didn't want to make the loan, was not satisfied and decided to see for himself. Due diligence? Taking an assistant with him, he drove off to this upstate wilderness property to do his own appraisal. It was snowing that day and the unimproved town road leading to my place was slightly slippery. He managed to slide off the road into a ditch. I happened to be driving out as he was driving in and offered to help but he dismissed me rather gruffly and I went my way. I don't know how he got out of the ditch but the original appraisal was confirmed.
So now we were headed toward the decisive moment. The buyer would get the condo; the bank would get most of it's money, and I would be clear of this mess. The bank's lawyer was ready to wrap it up. But we were heading into the Christmas season.
The buyer, a fashion photographer, was headed to Rio for work and pleasure. My lawyer was headed for Mexico, and I was booked on a flight to Nepal, one way, as Thai Airlines couldn't confirm a return date. The bank's lawyer graciously controlled his exasperation as we went our separate ways.
I'm a little vague on the details of my own return but I seem to recall that, when arriving back in Bangkok on the way home, Thai Airlines had no bookings available but, not to worry, they would have something in February. I had to go out to the airport every morning to try to get a flight but it was still early January when a seat became available and I was on my way home.
Sergei returned from Brazil with tales of beautiful, tall girls with small bosoms but wonderful butts. My lawyer arrived back from Mexico with tales of Montezuma's revenge, having carelessly put ice cubes in his Coca Cola. I arrived back just happy that the deal would get done.
Now the time had come. The car service dropped Brian and me off at an impressive new tower hovering over the East River. We climbed the stairs leading to a bank of elevators. I was feeling like a criminal heading for his execution. Brian now revealed that the lawyer for the bank wasn't an animal after all and had been helpful in working out the arrangement. At this point I blanked out and have no memory of how we got to the conference room where others were already gathered.
The parties introduced themselves. The only odd face in the gathering was the man from the title company. He wasn't the person I remembered from past closings. Brian didn't know him either. The regular representative from the title company smoothed over any rough edges and was tipped $100 for his services. But the lawyers got down to business, shuffling the appropriate papers and passing them around for the appropriate signatures. The hum of passing papers was suddenly shattered by the man from the title company: "What about this foreclosure?"
Now it was time for the bank to panic. And me, I wanted to drop through the floor. "I'm from the bank," the bank VP announced quietly, "Everything is in order." "Well I don't know..."
I think the bank's VP would, at that moment, have been happy to stuff a garbage bag over the title company man's head. I don't remember all that happened after that but the buyer and the buyer's lawyer remained calm and the papers got signed.
As I recall, Brian took me out for a drink when we were finished. It was all wrapped up. My pulse returned to normal only when I was headed back upstate to my dog and my plain but cozy country home.