Wonderful News!

To echo and alter the wise words of Mrs. Gump, opening my mailbox is like a box of chocolates, only never quite so sweet. I’ve grown accustomed to stink-bombs in the mail. The most recent one came from an attorney who is representing someone that backed out of a contract to purchase the first house I ever owned. That would be the Progresso Park property; the next quadrant of Florida real estate predicted to BOOM that went POOF instead. Mr. Buyer wanted his $5,000 escrow deposit returned. A deposit dating back to August 21, 2008.

“Ooooh, yeah,” I muttered under my breath as I adjusted my eyes on the attorney’s letter. I was remembering how my broker, Daniel Howards, told me that this guy put in an offer on my property and a few others that Daniel represented. Mr. Howards figures that once the transactions had started, the buyer did some research on our beloved broker and saw that he has a record for “domestic violence.” Let me explain that a little further. Daniel (who stands at 6’2”, weighing approximately 190 lbs is Buff Boy thru and thru) and his live-in-boyfriend (is a mere 6’4”; not as solid but very able bodied), just a year before, got into an ugly lovers’ brawl. Teddy, the boyfriend, had some more powerful municipal connections and beat Daniel to the punch (pun totally intended) and pressed charges. Whatever happened, I’m sure neither one of those boys are wearing halos. According to Daniel, that’s why the buyer didn’t want to do business anymore. Also according to him, a buyer losses their deposit when they terminate a contract. Security deposits are the same as escrow. That kind of deposit money, I learned only until reading the attorney’s letter that day, does not rightfully go back to the home owner unless the buyer “executed a release of escrow form.” And of course, my buyer did not do that. Not only that but the buyer was “protected from any rejection of the offer AS PRESENTED to the short sale lender, or if the Buyer cancels the contract prior to any confirmation of short sale from the Lender.”

Have your eyes begun to cross from this jargon yet? Welcome to my world.

The letter demanded I return any of the escrow money that I may have received. Well, that’s easy, I haven’t seen didley from any of my properties since 2005. Daniel swore that he had initiated the process to apply for the escrow money which he guaranteed to be legally mine. He said we would split the money when everything cleared. As stated by this letter, the attorney’s client, Mr. Buyer, had made several attempts to reclaim the deposit, which as far as I can tell, is rightfully his anyway. But then again, my melon gets totally twisted on all this legalese and grown-up speak. Further, the letter gave me a deadline - 8 days to advise the attorney’s office as to whether or not I will “execute this return of escrow, thus demanding that the Howard’s Group to return funds to [the attorney’s] client.” Meaning, I sign this paper saying that I, Tara Shea Ananda, don’t want anything to do with this money. I was further warned that the client was prepared to move forward with a legal action, blah, blah, blah, “PLEASE GOVERN YOURSELF ACCORDINGLY.” So I called the lawyer directly.

He did his best to explain what the letter meant without providing any legal advise. Basically, if I don’t sign this request for return of escrow, I could be personally held accountable for the $5000. (Which is almost laughable. Have you ever heard of blood being drawn from stone?) His only suggestion was to get myself a lawyer. Resourceful as I can be at times, I remembered a yoga friend of mine who specializes in real-estate law. As she reviewed the letter and enclosures, she shook her head, “How do people do that? How can he be getting into the escrow money?” I’m not sure if she was speaking logistically or consciously. “Sign it,” she said referring to the form relinquishing my interest to the monies. “You could contest the demand. But do you think $5000 is worth the stress of a law suit? Save yourself the burden and walk away.” I nodded, “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been feeling too.”

My next stop was to the attorney’s office who generated the letter. He and a witness met me in the conference room to discuss and sensationalize the situation at hand.

A few weeks before the delivery of the most recent stink-bomb in my mailbox, the mortgage broker who had been working on the short sale of a property in Boynton Beach and the Tree House called to let me know that she quit working for Daniel and The Howards Group. Twilah is a soulful, christian woman who has confided in me much about her personal life and her struggle to lose weight and gain respect. “Girrrrl,” she warns, “that Danny boy, he up to no good. I couldn’t take it no moe. I qui.” Twilah often avoided the consonants in her words. “He werk me too hard and don’t pay me enuff. He jus mean. And you know,” she added in a hushed voice, “he be takin escrow money.” You know the cliche....all stories have at least two sides. It’s not that I didn’t believe her, I just needed to investigate a little further on my own. At that moment, I was more worried about where she was going to work next. “I dunno,” she responded to my concern, “I’m jest prayin.” “Please keep me updated, Twilah, okay?” “You got it, Baby Cakes.” I knew it wouldn’t be long for her to find another office to hang her license. She is a short sale miracle worker. Several days before my visit to the attorney’s she called me again, “I gotta place,” she announced. “Can you finish my files?” I asked. “Yeeeaahhh,” was all she said calmly with a little squeak. After some silence she said, “Well, you’ll hafta fill out some papuh werk to release The Howard’s Group.” “Okay, let’s do it,” I was eager to get going on the plans to take my Tree House off the MLS (“market”) for a short sale and apply for a loan modification. In other words, the bank might be willing to adjust my monthly payments and allow me to keep the property. “Lemme call you tomorrah and we’ll arrange a time.” She didn’t call, didn’t answer and never returned my calls. That was, until I was leaving the friend’s office, gearing up for my next destination.”

“Soooo, when can I see you?” I asked Twilah. (I am so slow to learn sometimes.)
“Where you at now?”
“Just west of 441 on Commercial.”
“Oh, girl. You right by me,” she might sound informal, but this woman knows her shit when it comes to working with the banks.
“Well, I’m on my way east. Why don’t I come by now before my next appointment?” I’m juggling a steering wheel, mobile phone and pen and paper ready to write directions.
“Can’t right now. Maybe this afternoon or tomorrah.”
“Okay, Twilah. You just let me know.”

That was it for me. Of course it was several weeks before I heard from her again. Even if she did call me back the next day, I had decided I was not going to work with Twilah. I don’t have anymore time to waste. According to my most recent notice from the bank, I only had 40 days to foreclosure unless I can generate a contract or stop the process by applying for a loan modification.

While meeting with Mr. Attorney I learned that his client is fighting for over $20,000 in escrow money to be paid back by Daniel. “But he backed out of those contracts, didn’t he?” I asked about the buyer. “As the letter states, Ms Hendrick, those funds were never to be released by my client, except to his possession, as he never executed any release of escrow form. In addition, Mr. Howards never fully executed a contract and never returned any phone calls or correspondence after the checks were made out to escrow.” And really, that’s the catch, a contract on the property was never fully executed by my broker. He said, she said, yadda, yadda, let me just sign the flippin paper to release my interest and be done with this. And so I did.

With Twilah no longer working on my files, another mortgage broker, the soft spoken Monica, has stepped in trying to pick up where the other left off. From what I understand, Twilah was making a deeper cesspool of the Progresso Park property and hadn’t touched the other two. *Sigh* What do I know about anything.(?)

I do know this; according to an email that I got from Monica this morning, Mr. Daniel Howards is in the clink. Yeup. Grand theft. “Of what?” you ask. ESCROW FUNDS.

Turns out stink-bombs have gone digital.