The envelope lay among the other correspondence on my kitchen table, white with the blue Fairview National Bank logo. I didn’t notice it at first—I was busy sorting utility bills. Only after finishing my second cup of coffee did I pick it up and twirl it in my hands.
Strange.
I hadn’t done any business with Fairview National. I opened the letter and ran my eyes over the first lines.
A chill ran down my spine. “Dear Mrs.
Toiver, you are reminded of your late monthly mortgage payment.” What followed was an amount that made me dizzy: $7,243.80.
“What the hell is this?” I muttered, reading on. The letter said I was behind on my second monthly payment on a $950,000 mortgage loan made in March. If I didn’t pay the arrears within two weeks, the bank would begin foreclosure proceedings.
My first thought was to call the bank and explain there had been a mistake.
I had never taken out any loan for such an astronomical sum. My little house on Elm Street—purchased with Harold thirty‑two years ago—had long since been paid off.
Why would I, a sixty‑seven‑year‑old widow, take a new loan? I dialed the Fairview National number listed in the letter.
After a long hold, an operator came on the line.
“Hi, this is Wilfred Toiver,” I said. “I received a letter about a late payment on a loan, but there’s some mistake. I didn’t take out any loan from your bank.”
“Just a moment, Mrs.
Toiver.
I’ll check,” the young woman replied. While she studied the data, I looked out the kitchen window at my small but well‑kept garden.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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