Daniel wiped his grease-stained hands on a rag. He was fifty-eight years old, wearing a faded flannel shirt, worn jeans, and work boots that had seen decades of mud. His gray hair was thinning, and his face was weathered from a lifetime outdoors.
“This land has been in my family since 1895,” Daniel said softly, his slight Virginia drawl carrying over the quiet breeze. “It was here before your developer paved over the pasture, and it’ll be here when you’re gone. Have a good afternoon, Ms. Whitmore.”
Karen spun on her heel, her polished shoes crunching on the gravel. We’ll see about that, she thought.
Six months before the trial, Karen sat at her kitchen island, furiously sorting through the mail. She was busy. Between organizing the neighborhood block party, coordinating with the HOA's high-priced attorney, and maintaining her own image, she didn't have time for administrative clutter.
She opened an envelope from her mortgage lender, annoyed. She was currently four months behind on her payments—a temporary cash-flow issue due to a bad business investment and her penchant for maintaining a lifestyle she could no longer afford. She was confident she would catch up soon.
The letter was a formal notice: Notice of Servicing Transfer.
Her mortgage had been sold from First National Mortgage Group to a regional lender called Riverside Community Bank. Karen scoffed, annoyed at the bureaucratic jargon, and tossed the letter straight into the recycling bin without reading the second page.
It was the most expensive piece of paper she ever threw away.
Instead of worrying about her finances, Karen focused her energy on the lawsuit. The HOA had retained Mitchell Carver, a slick, forty-something lawyer who wore expensive charcoal suits, silk ties, and flashing cufflinks. He charged $450 an hour, and he promised Karen a swift victory.