The Investment Statement Put His Private Balance Beside Our Names

Chue's name appeared alone on the account.

The $19,240 was cash available for withdrawal, not a hopeful guess about what his investments might sell for.

Our lawyer had us check the transfer dates against the joint account statements. All seven $1,450 transfers matched. The $2,850 from the roof collections matched too.

Other deposits were his own. We did not claim them.

Mom asked to see the page without anyone explaining it first. She put on her reading glasses and found the matching dates herself.

"I understand this," she said.

It sounded like an answer to something Chue had been telling her for years.

"He said it was gone," Bao said.

"Now we have a record that says otherwise," the lawyer answered.

At his sworn deposition, Chue called it a reserve fund.

I sat behind our lawyer with my palms resting on my notebook. I had permission to attend as a party, but I wished I could leave my ears outside.

"A reserve for what?" she asked.

"The family."

"Why was it held only in your name?"

"Somebody had to manage it."

"Did you tell the people making these payments that you were investing the mortgage money?"

"They wouldn't have understood."

She waited.

"No," he said.

She showed him the association's letter.

"Was there a special roof assessment?"

He looked toward his lawyer.

After a break, he admitted there had not been one.

The seven printed payment pages came next. He said he had scheduled the transfers and canceled them because he thought he could earn more first. He admitted adding PAID before bringing the pages to Odette.

His explanation took a long time. The answer beneath it was small.

He had kept our money while letting his wife believe the mortgage was safe.

When asked about my invoice, he admitted using an old copy from my work area as a model. He had changed the amount and sent it to the client to make me stop pressing him.

My lawyer marked his message as the next exhibit.

Nobody shouted. A court reporter took down each answer.

Afterward, I went to the courthouse restroom and washed my hands even though they were clean.

I had wanted the truth. Hearing it had not made the years before it easier to understand.

Settlement talks began two weeks later.

I did not attend the meeting between Yer and Chue about their marriage. Their lawyers worked out a property agreement that required a later refinance and a transfer of his interest at closing.

My sister told me she had chosen separation and filed for divorce. She did not ask me to choose for her.

"I can miss the man I thought he was," she said. "I can still read what he signed."

The proposed settlement in our repayment case required $13,000 returned from the investment account. Mom would receive $4,450, Bao $3,050, and I would receive $5,500.

Those were separate claims from the mortgage. Returning our contributions would not magically bring the loan current. The lender still needed payment from the borrowers, and Yer's new loan would have to cover the verified payoff.

I read that section twice.

Chue also had to send a signed correction to my client and the relatives who received his claims. The correction would state that the invoice was false and that the mortgage accounting was supported by records.

No one promised to erase his testimony or destroy the evidence.

Our lawyers agreed on costs. I waived disputed late fees in the mortgage payoff rather than spend another season arguing over them. I did not waive the debt or sign anything saying the default had never happened.

Chue would receive $20,000 for his ownership interest under the separate property agreement. Yer had accepted that number with her own lawyer's advice. Paying him to leave felt bitter to her, but it gave her a fixed price and an end date.

He wanted the repayment money held until after he moved.

Our lawyer said no. Payment would be funded before we dismissed our claims.

He wanted me to tell the relatives it was all a misunderstanding.

I said no myself.

Finally, he wanted the settlement to require me to use the back door whenever I visited.

His lawyer stared at him.

"There will be no term about my sister's guests using a service entrance," Yer's lawyer said.

That was the only moment I nearly laughed.

Instead, I tapped the edge of my notebook. Three taps, then three.

"You can't buy respect," Chue told me.

"Then stop billing everyone for yours."

He looked away first.

The agreements went through another round of edits. The refinance lender reviewed the final numbers and conditions. Nothing was finished just because someone said it would be.

On a cool September morning, Odette called while I was checking page numbers.

"The signed settlement just arrived," she said. "Now we make sure the money follows the signatures."