Chapter 5 - Nine Accounts
Monday evening we went through every debt.
Not because we were ready.
Because money didn't care.
Sarah had nine active accounts outside the normal cards I knew about.
Three installment loans.
Two credit lines.
Four short-term financing accounts with smaller balances and awful terms.
None required me to co-sign.
All were in Sarah's name.
Total principal remaining:
$27,614.
The payment notifications in the garage happened because the pawn-shop money had been deposited into Sarah's checking that afternoon.
Several automatic payments had been waiting for funds.
I asked:
“Which was first?”
She pointed.
A $5,000 personal loan in May.
“What did it pay?”
Mortgage.
Health insurance.
Groceries.
Car.
“Second?”
Credit line.
June.
“Third?”
July.
By August, she was using new credit partly to stop older payments from failing.
I rubbed my forehead.
“You knew this couldn't keep working.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
She gave me a tired look.
“Immediately.”
“Then why keep doing it?”
“Because immediate disaster and future disaster are different when you're standing in Tuesday.”
I hated how much sense that made.
We met virtually with a nonprofit credit counselor recommended by my bank.
Her name was Joanne.
She did not save us.
I liked her for that.
She looked at the debts and said:
“You have a cash-flow problem and a high-cost debt problem. Those overlap, but they are not identical.”
I wanted to skip to the solution.
She wouldn't.
“How much stable take-home income now?”
Mine.
Only mine.
“How much essential monthly spending?”
We told her.
She asked us to cut several things I thought mattered.
Streaming.
Meal delivery subscription.
Gym memberships.
Storage unit.
I objected to the storage unit because half the furniture inside had belonged to my mother.
Joanne asked:
“When did you last visit it?”
Two years.
Sarah looked at me.
I said:
“Fine.”
Joanne continued.
We could call lenders individually for hardship options.
Some might reduce payments.
Some wouldn't.
A formal debt-management program covered only certain accounts.
Bankruptcy did not appear appropriate based on what we had told her, but she advised legal advice if things worsened.
No miracle consolidation loan.
Our credit had already been damaged by utilization and one late payment.
Then Joanne asked:
“How current is the mortgage?”
Sarah went quiet.
I turned.
“What?”
Joanne noticed.
“Sarah?”
She swallowed.
“Due next Monday.”
“That's normal.”
Sarah shook her head.
“We used the grace period last month.”
I stared.
“What does that mean for this month?”
“We need the full payment Monday.”
“How much is currently set aside?”
Sarah looked at the spreadsheet.
“About fourteen hundred.”
Mortgage: $2,960.
Six days.
I leaned back.
“So the ring didn't even cover the mortgage.”
“No.”
“What did it do?”
“Stopped five accounts from going delinquent.”
I wanted to ask why she chose unsecured loans over the house.
Joanne beat me.
“Why did you prioritize those payments?”
Sarah looked embarrassed.
“They called.”
“Mortgage company didn't?”
“No.”
There was the mechanics of panic.
The loudest bill had won.
Joanne said:
“First priority is housing, utilities, insurance, transportation needed for work.”
I looked at Sarah.
We had been doing it backward.
Not because she was stupid.
Because nine companies sent red alerts while the mortgage simply waited.
Joanne asked:
“Any assets you can sell without undermining income?”
We had two cars.
Both needed for work if Sarah got a job.
Mine was older and paid off.
Sarah's had a loan.
Selling hers might create little equity.
Retirement accounts existed.
Joanne told us not to touch them without understanding tax consequences and alternatives.
I thought of the wedding ring.
“Can we get that back?”
Sarah looked at me.
Joanne wisely stayed out of it.
I repeated:
“The ring. Can we redeem it?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Thirty days.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-eight ninety.”
I stared.
She had received twenty-six hundred.
Almost three hundred dollars to undo one afternoon.
“We're getting it back.”
Sarah's face hardened.
“No.”
I thought I misheard.
“What?”
“We have a mortgage due.”
“It's your wedding ring.”
“Yes.”
“You don't care?”
Her face changed.
“Do not do that.”
“What?”
“Do not make me prove I care about our marriage by buying jewelry while we can't cover the house.”
I looked away.
Joanne suddenly became very interested in her notes.
Sarah continued.
“I sold the ring because I was out of cash and scared.”
“You sold something that belongs to us emotionally.”
“It belongs to me legally.”
The sentence cut.
She saw.
“Daniel.”
“No. You're right.”
I stood.
The meeting wasn't over.
I needed thirty seconds in another room.
When I came back, Sarah looked tired.
Joanne said:
“You have six days before the mortgage payment. Let's work that problem first.”
We called two lenders.
One offered a temporary reduced payment.
One refused.
The third required paperwork.
By the time we stopped, we'd freed about four hundred dollars.
Still short.
I went to bed calculating what I could sell.
At 1:10 a.m., I remembered something I had not wanted to remember.
A former boss had texted me two months earlier.
If you ever want back in, call me.
I had deleted the message.
May you like
But I remembered the number.
And for the first time since leaving Ross & Fallon, I wondered how much money it would take to make me become that version of myself again.
