“It is an outrage,” Gloria hissed, her face flush under her heavy foundation. “Some nameless, faceless investment firm has just purchased the note on my home.”

She leaned forward, placing both hands on my desk.

“My home, Jocelyn. The Ralston estate.”

“I am aware of where you live, Gloria,” I said.

“The previous bank understood our family’s standing in the community,” she said, her voice rising in pitch. “They never questioned a delayed interest payment. They knew the Ralston name was good for it.”

She tapped her manicured fingernail against the paper.

“But this new company—this Oakwood group—sent me a formal notice of default this morning. They are demanding the entire outstanding balance of the bridge loan I took out last year.”

She paused, waiting for me to gasp or show worry.

I simply stared at her.

“They are threatening to initiate foreclosure proceedings in thirty days,” she said, her voice trembling slightly with a mix of anger and genuine fear.

“That sounds serious,” I said.