“So?”
“It’s not suitable.”
“For two adults? It has two bedrooms.”
Denise slapped the table.
“This is insulting. Ethan is trying to build a family with you.”
“No,” I said. “He’s trying to build a payment plan.”
I opened the second folder.
Bank statements.
Mortgage documents.
Credit reports.
Ethan’s eyes snapped toward me.
“How did you get those?”
“You gave them to our mortgage broker when we discussed buying a house together. You authorized me to review the file.”
He had forgotten because he assumed I only checked the income page.
I had checked everything.
His condo was not the asset he claimed. It carried a large mortgage, a nearly maxed-out home-equity line, and overdue association fees. The Mercedes his mother drove was financed in Ethan’s name. So was a personal loan he had called “business debt.”
I tapped the final page.
“Forty-seven thousand dollars.”
Denise looked away.
