But those lenders have not moved to foreclose because they think he still has the cash flow to eventually make them whole.
They are getting nervous.
They want these bad loans off their books before the quarter ends.
I turn to face my chief operating officer.
Isaiah contact every single secondary lender holding the paper on Warren’s distressed commercial properties.
I do not care if it is a private equity firm in New York or a regional bank right here in Atlanta. offer to purchase his debt portfolios entirely in cash today.
Buy it for pennies on the dollar.
They will jump at the chance to liquidate those liabilities without a lengthy foreclosure process.
Isaiah grinned his fingers already moving rapidly across his tablet to initiate the acquisition protocols.
We are buying his bad debt, Isaiah confirmed.
We will own the paper on his entire commercial empire by lunchtime.
Exactly.
I replied, my gaze, locking onto Malik, who was already drafting the necessary legal assignments on his laptop.
Initiate the hostile takeover of Warren’s commercial real estate portfolio.
Buy up all his defaulting dummy LLC’s.
I want every single mortgage, every single commercial lean, and every single promisory note transferred into the control of Apex Financial Forensics.
Warren wanted to play a game of financial leverage.
He wanted to use a fabricated forged document to threaten my modest townhouse.
I was going to use his actual legally binding commercial debt to swallow his entire legacy hole.
By the time the sun set on Atlanta today, my father would no longer be the king of his own real estate empire.
He would be my tenant, and I was going to be the most unforgiving landlord he had ever encountered.
48 hours after authorizing the hostile takeover of my father’s real estate empire, I found myself sitting on a velvet sofa inside the executive administrative suite of our family church.
My mother had escalated her tactics to a completely new level of manipulation.
When freezing my checking account did not instantly produce a signed quit claim deed, Evelyn deployed her ultimate weapon.
She weaponized our faith.
She had called Pastor Thomas, a man who highly depended on my father’s massive annual tithing contributions to keep his mega church operational and spun a tragic tearful tale of a prodigal daughter.
She told him I had lost my way and was trying to destroy my family out of pure spite and greed.
I was summoned under the guise of a spiritual counseling session.
I arrived wearing a modest muted gray dress, keeping my posture intentionally slumped to maintain the illusion of a broken and financially ruined woman.
I sat across from Pastor Thomas, whose heavy oak desk was flanked by my entire family.
Warren sat with his legs crossed, projecting the aura of a benevolent patriarch forced to discipline an unruly child.
Evelyn dabbed her dry eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief, playing the heartbroken mother to absolute perfection.
Jasmine and Todd sat holding hands, playing the role of the innocent young couple, just trying to build their future despite my relentless toxicity.
Pastor Thomas folded his hands together on his desk, offering me a look of profound disappointment.
He spoke in a soft, resonant voice about honoring my father and mother.
He lectured me on the biblical principle of sacrifice and family unity.
He told me that holding on to a material possession like a townhouse while my sister and brother-in-law desperately needed a financial blessing was a clear symptom of a hardened heart.
I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper just to keep from laughing at the sheer hypocrisy of a man quoting scripture to facilitate a federal crime.
Warren leaned forward using his deepest and most reassuring tone.
He told the pastor that that he took absolutely no pleasure in filing a lawsuit against his own flesh and blood.
He claimed the emergency summary judgement freezing my bank accounts was simply tough love, a necessary measure to force me to see reason and protect me from my own selfishness.
He slid a fresh copy of the quit claim deed across the pastor’s desk, placing it right next to a silver cross.
He offered me a deal.
If I signed the property over to Todd and Jasmine right then and there, he would drop the lawsuit immediately.
He promised to unfreeze my bank account and personally write me a check for $2,000 so I could rent a cheap apartment outside the city.
He looked at the pastor and called his extortion an act of paternal grace.
I looked at the heavy gold pen resting on top of the deed.
