Chapter 3 #4
‘No.’ She shook her head. She felt nauseous and her legs began to shake.
She pushed the soles of her boots down against the wooden floor.
‘But I did speak to our lawyer, Mr Firth, who told me that Finn had left everything to me. I mean, I already knew. We had discussed what would happen under these circumstances, a long time ago.’ She closed her eyes briefly.
They had spoken casually over a cup of coffee while reading the Sunday papers together on the couch, sitting top to toe on the sofa in comfy socks, never believing the measures would be needed; they fully intended to live side by side, just as they were, until a ripe old age.
It still shocked her that she was having this conversation, shocked her that she was a widow, shocked that the word was hers now. Widow. Would it ever get easier?
Mr Monroe sat back. She saw the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. ‘I hate having to be the bearer of bad news, Mrs McCarrick, particularly in light of what you have been through.’
She felt the tremor of anxiety shudder through her limbs once more. ‘Bad news, how?’
He looked up. ‘I am afraid that when it comes to the money situation, things are not good.’
She unglued her tongue from the dry roof of her mouth. ‘Not good?’ Nina’s mind raced to think what he might be referring to. As a couple, they had had many things to worry about over the years, but money had never been one of them.
Mr Monroe gave a wry laugh and looked up to a stain on the ceiling. She could tell that this wasn’t easy for him. ‘No, not good. In fact, things are about as bad as they can get. I didn’t want to burden you with the details at the funeral.’
‘Is the business in trouble?’ Nina felt her chest tighten, thinking of all the people Finn employed: loyal men and women with mortgages and rent to pay, food to buy, kids and families to support. She felt sick at the idea of some of them losing their livelihoods.
‘The business is gone.’
‘The business is . . . ?’ She must have misheard him.
‘Gone. The business is gone.’
Nina stared at him. She felt her jaw open involuntarily and her stomach drop. His words were clear and audible, but they made no sense. Gone? What did that even mean?
‘What do you mean, gone?’ She laughed nervously after a moment’s silence.
She pictured Finn’s latest project: a low-rise block of ten upscale apartments on a prime spot on the river, with a roof terrace to die for, state-of-the-art appliances, ecotechnology, twenty-four-hour security, the finest-quality materials, and five high-end retail units below, a restaurant, a deli . . . The land alone was worth millions.
‘The bank foreclosed on the new development. Finn overstretched on the borrowing to complete the construction, then he ran out of time to complete the sales. Interest rates have been hiked and the bank called in the loan.’ He splayed his palms as if it were that simple, that obvious.
‘Everything else was mortgaged against the success of the new development, so it all fell apart quickly.’
She continued to stare at him, picturing her husband leaving for work every day with a smile on his face, sipping his coffee, kissing her firmly on the mouth, her strong man who kept all the cogs turning, so confident and assured. The man who provided their wonderful, wonderful life.
‘I don’. . . don’t understand.’ Her voice was a cracked whisper.
Mr Monroe took a deep breath, and just as she had feared, all the air left the room.
‘McCarrick Construction is bankrupt. And Finn’s other companies sat under the umbrella of Gerhild Holdings.’
Gerhild was my mum’s name. That’s where it came from, all those years ago. Finn named it in tribute to her. I remember the day – his gesture made me cry.
‘Gerhild Holdings is liable for the debt and there is no money to pay that debt.’ He shook his head.
‘There is a long list of creditors. Outstanding tax liabilities, land registry fees, wages, consultancy, utilities, advertising, service charges . . .’ He shook his head again, and she wished he would stop. ‘The list goes on and on.’
‘I don’t . . .’ Nina struggled to get the words out.
‘How . . . how much do we owe?’ She had begun to run through a list of things she might be able to sell: things of value that might make a dent in the shortfall – anything she might have lying around the house that could help make up the deficit: her jewellery, a spare laptop .
. . Her mind darted around the rooms of her home, trying to think of what might be secreted in drawers, anything valuable, and how best to shift it.
She vaguely remembered Finn buying some vintage bottles of whisky. Maybe she could find them.
‘All in all, close to eight million.’
There was a beat of silence while the figure flew from his mouth, bounced around the room and settled on her shoulders, where it would weigh her down, stroke her face in the early hours, disturb her sleep and irritate her sensibilities.
‘Eight million pounds?’ she squeaked.
‘Yes.’ He nodded.
Her limbs turned to concrete.
Eight million pounds, eight million pounds, eight million pounds . . .
The amount tumbled in her head on a never-ending loop. It was a huge, huge sum. The two sat in silence for a minute or two. Mr Monroe’s hand hovered near a large box of tissues, as if he were expecting her to cry. She was, however, too numb for that.
When she recovered the power of speech, it was to ask the question that was the most important to her. ‘Have I got enough money to pay the boys’ school fees?’ It seemed impossible, but perhaps somehow, somewhere, there was another account or . . .
The accountant gave a short snort of uncomfortable laughter and ran his hand over his moustache. He shook his head.
‘I’m afraid you have no money at all. There is nothing left,’ he said. ‘Nothing.’ He used his straightened hand to chop at the air. His tone was blunt, punchy, as if this were the approach he now considered necessary to make himself understood.
She tried to picture telling Connor, tried to picture her boys leaving the only school they had ever known, at a time when what they needed more than anything was stability and to be able to grieve in a safe, familiar environment.
I’ll have to sell the house. Oh my God, our home!
She placed a shaking hand over her mouth as the facts began to permeate.
It should sell quite quickly and then I can pay the school.
How are we supposed to live until the sale of the house goes through?
Will they let me use any of the proceeds?
The overheads are huge. I’m sure they’ll wait if I explain the situation to them.
Her head swam at the prospect. ‘I don’t know what to say.
I feel sick.’ She placed her hand on her stomach and took a deep breath.
‘What am I supposed to do? What does that mean, no money? What the hell is going on?’
Mr Monroe smiled kindly. ‘I know it’s a lot for you to take in.’
‘I need to get a job, I need to . . .’ She shook her head, trying to think of what job she could get and how.
Mr Monroe spoke again. ‘And I hate to think that I am the one who might be shedding light on Finn’s untimely death . . .’ He paused, as if warned off by the look she fired at him.
What exactly was he suggesting? Finn had died in an accident, and the last thing he would have wanted in the whole wide world was to leave behind the family he loved, especially now.
She felt a surge of anger, not only at the man’s words, but also at the possibility that what Mr Monroe was suggesting might be true.
You wouldn’t do that to me, Finn, would you?
You wouldn’t create this mess and then leave me . . .
Nina felt her skin prickle with sweat as she flushed hot, then cold.
‘I never thought we’d leave The Tynings, but I know it’ll need to be sold.
’ She nodded her acceptance of this fact.
‘I love it, of course, it’s our home, but at the end of the day it’s only bricks and mortar.
The funds it’ll raise will give us some breathing space, time to plan what to do for the best, and we can downsize.
At least it’s fully paid for.’ Even the idea of parting with the house she and Finn had built together, the family home where memories of him lurked in every room, was more than she could bear.
Mr Monroe’s hand again hovered near the tissue box. ‘Mrs McCarrick,’ the man said, then paused again. ‘I don’t think you’ve fully understood the situation. Let me explain.’
She looked up at him, her mind racing, hoping to hear something positive, a solution.
He squared his shoulders, speaking slowly. ‘The Tynings was an asset of the business. As I said, it was massively mortgaged.’ And there it was again: that blunt, punchy tone.
Her chest felt tight. ‘No. No, that’s not right, it can’t be.
’ She sat forward, adamant, leaning on the edge of the desk; it was a mistake, and Finn wasn’t here to put him straight; she had to do it, had to take control.
‘We paid cash for our house. Because we could!’ She remembered Connor as a toddler running through the rooms as she and Finn walked hand in hand around the vast empty spaces, planning for furniture and accessories.
Finn had turned to her, kissed her on the mouth and whispered, ‘This is our home, and it will always be our home, and it doesn’t matter what happens outside of that front door, in here you will always be safe. ’
‘Yes . . .’ he said. ‘But Mr McCarrick took out mortgages on the property – a few over the years. I think it kept the wolf, or more specifically the bank, from the door on more than one occasion.’
How could you, Finn? How could you put our house in danger and not tell me? How could you do that?
‘But . . .’ She searched for the words. ‘But how could that happen if I was living in it? How was I not made aware?’ she asked.
‘With only Mr McCarrick’s name on the deeds, your signature or indeed your approval would not have been necessary. From a legal perspective,’ he offered, suggesting that, morally, it was a whole other matter.
Nina slumped in her chair. She felt the strength leave her core as her thoughts tumbled in her brain. How could I have been so bloody stupid? I trusted him, without question.
‘I can see that you were unaware of this. And again I am sorry to be the one to have to break it to you.’
She met the man’s stare, struggling to breathe.
‘They have served notice and you are being evicted.’ Mr Monroe’s stark words felt like a jolt.
Bang! There it was again, that door slam in her mind. Her body shook.
‘Evicted?’ she repeated, with a nervous twitch playing about her mouth, as if waiting for the punchline. This couldn’t be right. She fought for breath.
‘Yes. They will evict your family, seize your possessions, change the locks and put the house on the market.’
‘Really?’ Her voice faltered. ‘When will they do that?’
‘I can’t tell you when exactly, but in my experience it will be sooner rather than later. I am only giving it to you straight like this because I need you to fully understand the events that will unfold and just who we are dealing with.’
She pictured the lock on the front door, for which she had a key nestling in her purse.
‘And sadly,’ he continued, ‘they will probably sell it for a fraction of its value, because it’s all about getting some money in as quickly as possible.’
‘But . . . I . . . I don’t . . .’ She tried to speak, but instead bent forward, pulling her thick, curly hair from her face and throwing up into the soft-leather chocolate-brown interior of her Mulberry bag.