Page 11 of Generation Lost

“Sometimes, age has its benefits,” said Matthew, walking toward the men with Grant and Jean.

“Pops, what did you do?” asked Gaspar.

“The Rizzolis were using Midwest Mortgage as the go-between. They couldn’t just buy out all of the homes under their names. It’s too damning. Midwest Mortgage is the middle middle-man.”

“Pops?”

“So impatient,” grinned Jean. “The land had not yet been transferred to Midwest Mortgage. All of the deeds to the properties were still in the hands of Southern Land and Property.”

“Who the hell are they?” frowned Ian. Matthew smiled.

“Me. Well, they are now. I bought Southern Land and Property and sent the owners on a very long cruise around the world. The entire subdivision now belongs to me, which I will be gifting back to these fine people.” He swung an arm around the room, and they gasped.

“Grant will start meeting with each of you to get plans drawn up for rebuilding the homes. Once we have that, we’ll schedule how long this will take. Until then, you’ll live here with us and be safe from the Rizzolis. Because we can guarantee when they find out what’s happened, shit is going to hit the fan.”

“Pops, you’ve put a target on your back,” said Gaspar, shaking his head. Matthew laughed, shaking his head as he kissed his son’s cheek.

“Gaspar, there’s been a target on my back for seventy-five years, son. It’s your job now to make sure those men don’t do this again. You do what you do, and your mother and I will do what we do.”

“You and Mama? Pops, what is she doing?” Matthew looked at his watch and then smiled at the men.

“Right about now, she’s having coffee and lemon cake with Marie Rizzoli.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I’m awful glad you could meet me, Marie,” said Irene, smiling at the other woman.

“It was my pleasure, Irene. It was quite a surprise getting an invite to meet with one of the grand ladies of New Orleans. We’re both women with large families, strong catholic families. We should have met up sooner. We have a lot in common.”

“Yes,” nodded Irene. “We do. But our large families seem to be on opposite sides of the law right now.”

“Well, boys will be boys,” said Marie. Irene nodded, smiling at the woman.

“Yes, you know I’ve said that a time or two myself,” said Irene. “Of course, usually it’s about my boys breaking a window with a baseball or getting one too many speeding tickets. It’s never about robbing innocent, elderly people of their homes.”

Marie stopped mid-bite of her lemon cake and stared at the attractive older woman across from her. She gently placed the fork back on her plate and leaned back, taking a sip of the coffee.

“My boys don’t rob innocent people of their homes. They are smart businessmen who know how to make a profit. If those people don’t know how to read contracts or loan documents, well, then perhaps they should be in a home somewhere or being taken care of by their children.”

“Yes, yes, your boys are good businesspeople, at the expense of others,” said Irene. “Your sons have forced these people to leave their homes, making their mortgages unaffordable. They’ve been pushed into foreclosure, bankruptcy, and homelessness. I don’t know that I’d be braggin’ about that.”

“I stand by what I said. If they can’t afford their mortgage, then it seems they shouldn’t be living in their homes.”

Irene pushed the cake aside and laid her hands flat on the table. She noticed the two men without necks watching their interaction. They’d followed the other women inside, taking a seat at another table. She supposed that Marie thought she was a fool. She knew exactly who and what they were, but she had her own tricks up her sleeve.

“Homes are important to people,” said Irene, shaking her head. “I find the older we get, the more treasured our home becomes. It holds so many memories, so much history for all of us.”

“I agree with that. I’ve been in my home for fifteen years now. Built it to my specifications after living in a small, cramped home in the Northeast.”

“Paid for?” asked Irene.

“No,” frowned Marie. “I pay a mortgage for tax purposes and all. Plus, it allows me to have other options, shall we say.”

“Yes. I believe your mortgage is through Midwest Mortgage, which, as we all know, is really Southern Land and Property.” Marie’s face paled as she looked at the old woman, her hands visibly shaking. “Oh, I suppose it surprises you that I know that, but it’s my business. I mean, literally, it’s my business now. My husband and I bought Southern Land and Property this morning. We appreciate the fine print you placed in all the standard mortgage documents which allows us to raise interest rates to unhealthy amounts or simply make the mortgage unpayable. Of course, we will be changing that going forward.”

“Wh-what have you done?” asked the older woman.

“I’ve done what you and your boys have done. Your mortgage, which was a healthy sum to begin with, is now going to cost you five times as much with a forty-one percent mortgage rate that, according to your own verbiage, can be called into effect at any point in time. It’s all legal. We had our legal team take a look at the language you put in there, and you made sure it was right and you signed it. It’s disgusting but right.”

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