Paying three hundred thousand dollars of debt before being ordered out of the house
I ran the calculations three times on my ten-key pad, the rhythmic clack of the keys the only sound in my office. The corporate ledger listed three hundred thousand dollars in total liabilities, but the bank statements showed a massive, sudden drain.
A single transfer of ninety thousand dollars had left the primary operating account on the second Tuesday of October. There was no corresponding invoice, no vendor name, and no explanation in the ledger.
I picked up my desk phone to call David Vance, our forensic accountant, but my hand hovered over the keypad.
If I brought David into this, the quiet embarrassment of my marriage would become a matter of professional record. I set the receiver back down.
When I got home at eight, the kitchen was dark except for the microwave clock. Marcus was sitting at the island in his shirtsleeves, a glass of tap water in front of him. A damp dish towel lay crumpled near his elbow.
“The bank called my personal cell three times today,” he said, his voice flat. “They are preparing to call the entire line of credit by Friday.”
“Where is the green ledger, Marcus?” I asked.
“I left it in the trunk of the car,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Look, Clare, if we do not show goodwill by tomorrow morning, they will file the public default notice. I just need eighty thousand dollars to bridge the gap.”
I stood by the refrigerator, the cold air rushing over my ankles. My personal savings account, the one I had kept strictly separate since before our wedding five years ago, held forty-two thousand dollars. The rest would have to come from my quarterly corporate restructuring bonus, which had cleared only three days ago.
“This is the last of it,” Marcus said, his eyes finally meeting mine. “I swear to you, this eighty thousand clears the immediate personal guarantees.”
