Instead of buying a house, she invested it in Frank’s company.
Not officially.
Not intelligently, if I was being honest.
She trusted him.
The written agreement said that if Frank’s business survived, he would repay her with interest.
If he couldn’t, June would receive a 25% ownership interest in the property once construction was complete.
My mouth went dry.
“Did he repay her?”
I already knew the answer.
No.
Frank’s company survived, but barely.
Then my father got sick.
Mom needed money.
Frank began paying her back in small amounts.
According to the statements, he repaid almost half.
Then my parents separated.
Mom moved away with me.
Payments stopped.
The folder contained copies of returned checks.
Letters marked “ADDRESS UNKNOWN.”
My mother vanished from Frank and Linda’s lives.
Years passed.
The debt remained.
Then there was another letter.
From Linda.
“Patricia,”
“If Frank followed my instructions, you won’t read this until both he and I are gone.”
“I never met you as an adult.”
“But I knew you as a child.”
I nearly dropped the paper.
There was a photograph under it.
I was maybe five.
I was standing on the front porch of Frank’s house, holding a popsicle.
Linda sat beside me.
