Trevor cleared his throat loudly. “Denise, you don’t have to explain our business transactions to her.”

“It’s not just your business if it involves my parents,” I said, my voice rising.

I looked back at my mother, whose eyes were filling with tears.

“What did you sign, Mom?” I demanded.

“The bank wouldn’t give Trevor the commercial loan on his own,” she said, her voice cracking. “The interest rates were too high because of his previous development attempt.”

“So you co-signed?” I asked, the cold settling deep into my chest.

She nodded slowly.

“Harold thought it was a sure thing,” she whispered. “Trevor promised we would be paid back in six months.”

“You co-signed a high-interest bridge loan for a multi-million dollar land purchase?” I asked.

My mother didn’t answer.

“With what collateral?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

My parents didn’t have liquid assets; their savings had been depleted by my father’s failed medical investments years ago.

“The house,” my mother whispered.

“The suburban home on Elm Street?” I asked, my heart stopping. “The house you lived in for forty years?”