Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4) (38 page)

     “All right, all right.” He raised both hands in surrender. “Look, the card was maxed out. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

     “Maxed out? How can that be? We have a $5,000 limit. Haven’t you been paying our bill?”

     “Of course I have. We haven’t missed any payments. But it’s been a little tight since . . . since I lost my job. So I’ve only paid the minimum. And we were already carrying a pretty heavy balance, you know, for a lot of stuff you bought over the last few months. It’s not just me. Anyway, we just hit the ceiling. But like I said, I’m gonna get it fixed.”

     Nicole eyed him suspiciously. “You said that on the phone. But it was barely enough to get the groceries. I didn’t think we were
that
close to our maximum. And if we are, how were you able to activate it again so quickly?”

     “Well . . .” Greg took a deep breath, not knowing how she would respond. “My TopOps account is tied to the credit card, so I just transferred over a hundred.”

     She gaped at him. “It’s connected electronically? You mean, you’re using our
credit card
to finance this trading you’ve been doing?”

     “No . . . well, I guess, yes. But it’s not the way you make it sound. It’s just a convenience. Like today, I was able to quickly transfer that money. That was good, right?” He was an experienced salesman, so why was he having so much trouble selling his wife on this?

     “But you’re saying”—she narrowed her eyes again—“our credit card is where you got the money to invest in the first place. Right? How much?”

     He felt like she was busting him. “Hey, it’s not just what I invested. I’ve earned quite a bit too. Look, in business, you can’t make money without spending money. I told you the other day that I put five hundred bucks back into our credit card account to bring down the balance. Remember?”

     “Yeah, but now we’re maxed out, so what happened? Did you withdraw it all again, plus . . . plus more?”

     Greg felt as he was being backed into a corner. “Well, I had to . . . but it’s just temporary.” He leaned forward, trying to regain control of the conversation. “The thing is, Nicole, you need to understand business. Any business requires startup capital. I mean, a half million wouldn’t be unusual to launch a small business. But I’m trying to get up and running with our own money rather than take out some big business loan. You don’t seem to appreciate that.”

     Nicole folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them for several moments as though she’d been duly chastised. Maybe he was making some headway after all . . . but then he saw her head begin to slowly turn from side to side. “Greg, I don’t know what’s going on, but . . . I can’t live like this. I’ve tried to support you, and I’ve even tried to do part-time work at home like you asked. But I can’t take the tension. I need a break.” She stood up. “I’m going to take the kids and go over to Mom’s for a while . . . until you get this thing fully straightened out.”

     “What? But I did straighten it out. It was just a glitch, my mistake. Won’t happen again, I promise.”

     “It’s not straightened out. There wasn’t even enough money for gas. Do what you need to do, but I still need a break.”

     Greg followed her out of the living room and down the hall. “Nicole, you can’t leave. We’re married—for better or worse, remember? It’s not Christian.”

     She turned and glared at him, hand on hip. “It’s not like I’m not divorcing you, Greg.” Though the way she said it, it hit him as if it might actually come to that. “I just need some space. Look, you want to do the macho thing and run the whole show? Okay, do it. Maybe you’ve got a great plan that’s going to make you rich like you want, but maybe you don’t. All I’m saying is I can’t stay in the middle of this chaos. When it’s over, let me know.”

     Turning on her heel, she left him standing alone in the hallway.

* * * *

Greg didn’t really believe she’d leave, but for the next hour he heard Nicole rustling around in their bedroom and then going upstairs, packing bags for herself and the kids. When Nate and Becky came home just before 4 p.m.—just as the trading on TopOps closed—he heard her tell them they were going over to Grandma’s for a sleepover.

     A short while later Nicole stood once more in the archway into the living room. Her face was puffy and blotchy, mascara smeared a little under one eye. “There’s some lasagna from last week in the freezer and leftover chicken soup in the fridge. Since I shopped this morning, most things are stocked up.” She stopped, and then in a husky voice added, “I’ll call.”

     “Nicole!” he said as she headed for the back door. “Wait!”

     She came back around the corner, but the look on her face told him she wasn’t going to change her mind. Still, he had to try. “You don’t need to do this, you know. We can work it out.”

     “Yeah, maybe, but not right now. I’m taking the car.” And then she was gone.

     He wanted to run after her. Instead, he paced around the living room trying to resist the anger that surged within him. The old Kenny Rogers song started playing in his mind:
“You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille . . .”
He rewound the refrain a couple of times, inserting Nicole’s name. It fit. Was that what was really happening? Was his wife making her move for that playboy, that Lincoln Paddock, just setting it up so it seemed like his fault?

     Greg wasn’t much of a country-music fan, but that song said it all and left him thoroughly intoxicated with self-pity. Refreshing his computer screen, he searched the Web until he found the lyrics so he could sing all the words. But the end of the third verse stopped him. The man “Lucille” was trying to pick up in the bar walked away from the affair rather than break up a family.

     Were there men with a conscience? Did Lincoln Paddock have one?

     Greg wasn’t about to beg, but he wasn’t going to let Paddock have his wife without a fight. Maybe he should go down to that McMansion right now and say . . . something! Going out onto the front porch, he looked down the block to the dead-end where Paddock’s big house sat. No cars out front. Probably not home.

     But for the next hour, he cast around in his mind for what he might say that could make a difference. No . . . what he really needed to do was win his wife back. He had to make himself more attractive than Paddock. And given how upset Nicole had gotten about the maxed-out credit card and the financial stress, he figured the first thing he needed to do was make her feel more secure.

     And to Greg’s way of thinking, that meant success . . . money!

     Settling down at the computer once more, he called up his credit card account on the Web, but was shocked to see the notice: “Overdrawn, insufficient funds. Call your bank immediately.” What? His balance showed that he owed $5,046.96. How could that be? After adding a hundred, there should have been about $138 available, and Nicole said her groceries were $93 something.

     He quickly calculated the numbers in his head. There should still be about $40 left. So why was he overdrawn? He could understand why Nicole wasn’t approved at the gas pump. They probably anticipated a full tank costing fifty or sixty bucks. But where did these extra charges come from that put them past their limit?

     Greg looked more closely at the activity on his card. Today was the billing cycle, which meant the bank had added $56.20 of interest to the total he owed. That put him over the $5,000 limit—and for that infraction, they’d also charged an additional fee of $35, a penalty that would be added again and again, a notice said, for every day he remained over his limit.

     “Argh!” he screamed and grabbed his head.

     Okay, okay, he needed to think. Fast. He checked the time. Five-thirty. Was the bank still open? He called the number on the screen. It rang and rang until finally someone answered, “One moment please. Can I put you on hold?” which she did before Greg had a chance to protest.

     Finally, after ten minutes of scratchy elevator music, the woman came on the line asking him how she could help. He had to go through a whole process of confirming his identity—password, mother’s maiden name, etc.—before he could explain the situation and ask his question. “What can I do?”

     “Mr. Singer, you’re going to have to pay off your credit card before we can release it for use again.”

     “I understand. But we’ve got some money in our checking account. Can you transfer that over by phone to free this up?”

     “We’ll need a check for that, and I’d suggest you come in tomorrow morning rather than mail it so you don’t continue to incur those daily fees until it arrives.”

     “Okay, I can do that.” Except it suddenly hit Greg that Nicole had the car. “But just to be sure, if I get there before ten, how much would I need? I mean, by what time tomorrow would another fee kick in?” Greg knew the checking account was low, but he thought there’d be enough to bring the balance down and give him a little margin with which to work TopOps.

     “Well, if you got here right away, I think I could get special approval to wave tomorrow’s fee. So, let me check . . .” She was quiet for a moment. “That would be $5,046.96.”

     “What? No, no, that’s the whole amount I owe. I understand, but I’m just asking how much I need to release the card.”

     “That
is
the amount. You see, Mr. Singer, once you’ve gone over your limit, the bank doesn’t want to risk that continuing to happen. So the policy is, you need to clear the entire balance on the card. It was all there in your credit card agreement when you signed up.”

     Greg was choking on air. He’d never read the fine print, and every few months they changed it anyway, sending out some amendment. But she couldn’t be right. It didn’t make any sense. “I’ve never heard of a policy like that! What’s the point of it?”

     “I admit it catches some people by surprise, but ever since the recession, banks have instituted a number of new policies designed to help people avoid getting overwhelmed by debt. It’s for the good of the customers. This is just one of those changes that’s really in your own best interest, Mr. Singer.”

     “But I . . . I can’t pay the whole thing off just like that. And until I do, you’re going to keep hitting me with these daily penalties. That’s not fair!”

     “Oh, you misunderstood. As soon as you bring it down below your $5,000 limit, the daily fees stop. But the card can’t be activated for new charges until it’s fully paid off.”

     “All right!” Greg managed, then slammed down the phone. He couldn’t talk to the woman any more. He felt as if his life was snowballing. He could’ve dealt with any problem by itself, but it was one thing on top of another, each compounding the other.

     What was he going to do? He didn’t have that kind of money. And he didn’t know anyone he could borrow it from either—not his parents, certainly not Nicole’s mother. And the only asset they had was the Cherokee—they’d be lucky to get that much for it. Besides, they had to have a car. And of course the house, but you can’t sell a house overnight—

     He stopped midthought. Wait just a minute. They had a preapproved home equity line of credit. In fact, it had come with a checkbook.

     That was it! That’s all he needed to do!

Chapter 38

Nicole woke up in her childhood bed. Her mom hadn’t preserved the room like some shrine, but it still had her old single bed, bookcase, desk, and posters of Sting and Michael Jackson. She was amazed her mother left them up. She’d never approved of either singer and probably wasn’t even aware of Michael’s death. She’d been right: They hadn’t made very good role models. Nicole took them down before Becky and Nate started asking who they were.

     Sticking her toes into her slippers, she slipped down to the basement where the kids were “camping out” with sleeping bags on air mattresses in the old family room—at least that’s what they used to call it when Nicole was growing up. Now it was mostly used for storage, except the old orange shag carpet still covered the floor and the familiar olive green rocker gathered dust in the corner. The kids had left the purple lava lamp on all night, giving the place a 1970s feel—even before Nicole’s time. But the kids always liked to play down there when they came over to Grandma’s house.

     Nicole smiled at the lumps inside the sleeping bags and decided not to wake them.

     “There’s fresh coffee in the pot,” her mother said when Nicole came back upstairs. Frida Lillquist broke an egg into the blueberry muffin batter she was mixing. “Whatever gave you the idea of having a sleepover? I think it’s delightful. You know, as much as I love us living so close, that’s one thing I miss. Whenever we get together it’s usually for such short periods of time. I’m tempted to keep you here for a week! There are so many things we could do with the kids.”

     “Well, you might get the chance.” Nicole shrugged, as though her coming or staying was nothing more than a whim.

     “Remember when we drove to Boston to see my folks when you were nine or ten? That was such a great vacation. We stayed two weeks.”

     “Yeah, that was fun.” Nicole stirred cream and sugar into her coffee, then leaned against the counter where her mother was working. “Say, Mom, is that old computer Greg set up for you still working?”

     “Ha, I have no idea. Oh my, I think the last time I used it was last year before Christmas. Never could stand that awful squeal every time I tried to connect it to the telephone—that modem thingy. And it didn’t make any sense to me. If I want to talk to someone, I can always call them. If I want to write someone, my mailman still comes around every day except Sunday. I couldn’t see the use of the thing. Though I know the younger generation loves them.”

     “Mmm, right. Well, you wouldn’t mind if I tried using it, would you?”

     “Of course not. It’s still in that back storage closet, right where Greg set it up. But you’ll have to move the coats. I hung them back up in there.”

     Nicole sighed with relief. The large storage closet, converted to an office cubicle, had nothing but a small table as a computer desk and a straight-backed chair. A bare bulb hung down from above, and she’d have to leave the door open in order to pull the chair out and sit in it. But it would work. Nicole had brought the thumb drive with the project on it she’d been doing for Lincoln. She was almost finished. And as soon as she could turn it in, she could get paid. It was obvious she couldn’t depend on Greg for cash at this point.