Page 26 of Warrior Security
He hadn’t been gentle that time. He’d been direct, which I’d respected. I was hoping for the same today.
I shook his hand and sat down. The chair was the padded kind that was supposed to make you comfortable but didn’t.
“Thanks for fitting me in,” I said. “I know it was short notice.”
“Of course.” He settled into his chair and pulled up something on his computer. “How are things at the ranch?”
“Good. Busy. We had an open house for our therapy program last week. Good turnout.” I kept my voice even and warm. Lark Monroe, fully in control. “I wanted to talk to you about the second mortgage.”
He nodded. His eyes moved from me to the screen and back.
“I’m behind, I know. Two months, almost three.”
The words came out clear and steady, which was a miracle, because saying them out loud made them real in a way the numbers on my laptop at two in the morning never quite did. James nodded.
“I’ve had multiple grants over the years, but this year just hasn’t worked out. I had two grant applications in process over the past nine months. Both fell through. The first one, the Bridger Foundation grant, I was told verbally it had been approved. I even had a call scheduled to discuss disbursement. And then they pulled it. No real explanation, just that the committee had decided to go in a different direction.”
James watched me with a careful patience I couldn’t quite read. “And the second grant? Same situation?”
“Similar. Final round, strong application, and then nothing. I don’t have a good explanation for either of them. I’ve never had a problem getting grants in the past since we do so much work with veterans and children.”
He wrote something on the pad in front of him. “What do your monthly obligations look like right now? Across both mortgages.”
I told him. The number sat between us on the desk like something with weight.
“And your operating costs?”
I told him that too. Feed, vet bills, supplies, insurance. I’d restructured everything I could. Cut my own salary to almost nothing. The animals were fed. The property was functional. But there was no margin left, and without those grants, I didn’t have a path to catch up on the payments.
What I didn’t tell him was that the hot water heater had died six weeks ago and I couldn’t afford the plumber, so I’d been showering in the barn before dawn. That the propane tank sat empty because sixty animals needed to eat before I needed to be warm.
That some mornings my fingers were so stiff I couldn’t work the clasps on the feed bins for the first ten minutes of the day, and I’d stand there breathing into my hands like a kid waiting for a school bus in January.
I didn’t tell him any of that because sob stories didn’t extend mortgages, and because the moment I started talking about myself instead of the business, I’d lose him.
“What I’m asking for is more time,” I said. “An extension on the payment schedule. Three months, ideally, which would give me enough runway to get the next grant cycle submitted and follow up on two donor relationships I’ve been building.” And maybe sell a kidney.
James leaned back in his chair and took off his reading glasses. He set them on the desk and picked up a pen, turning it between his fingers.
“Lark, I appreciate your being straightforward with me. I always have.” He tapped the pen once against the desk. “On the primary mortgage, I can work with you. We can restructure the payment schedule, push the timeline out, give you some breathing room. That’s within my authority, and I’m happy to do it.”
Thebutwas coming. I could feel it the way you feel a drop in barometric pressure.
“The second mortgage is a different situation. About six weeks ago, that loan was purchased by the Pinnacle Property Group. That’s not uncommon—banks sell mortgage packages to outside investment groups regularly—but it means I no longer have authority over the terms or the timeline.”
I sat very still. An investment group I’d never heard of now held the deed to the only place in the world that was mine, and I hadn’t even known it until I sat down in this chair.
“So what does that mean for me?” My voice held. I was impressed with it.
“It means any extension or restructuring on the second mortgage would need to come from them, not from us. I don’t have a direct contact yet, but I’m going to get one.” He set the pen down and looked at me. “The good news is, in myexperience, these groups prefer to work with borrowers if it is at all possible. Foreclosure is expensive and messy, and it’s usually the absolute last resort. There’s every reason to think they’ll be willing to negotiate.”
“And if they’re not?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let me reach out first. I’ll introduce your situation, explain the history, and ask them to connect with you directly. Sometimes it helps to have the servicing bank make that initial contact rather than the borrower going in cold.”
I nodded. Wrote down what I needed to write down. The pen moved across the notepad and my hand was steady and my face was doing exactly what it needed to be doing, and underneath all of it, my chest was so tight I couldn’t take a full breath.
“I appreciate you doing that,” I said. “Reaching out. That would help.”
