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Authors: Jeremiah Healy
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“ Idaho , somewhere.”
A little vague, but I didn’t want to push my luck. “EDUCATION?”
“ University of Idaho .”
Smiling as warmly as I could, I looked up at her. “How did you two meet?”
“A party, when I was at BU.” A cocking of the head, as though she thought that was the strangest question yet. “Mr. Cuddy, why do you—”
Move to firmer ground. “Now, you said you’ve lived here for six years?”
“Almost six, yes.”
“Did you PURCHASE outright OR RENT?”
“Purchased, from the first developer.”
“The first?”
“Yes.” Stepanian seemed to redirect herself. “Well, I guess the only developer, technically. We were buying at a bad time, when it looked as though everything was going up and up and what we had in the bank was shrinking from about ten percent of a purchase price to more like five. Steven and I had almost given up hope on a normal life.”
“Normal?”
“Owning our own home.” The neutral voice again. “Then we saw Plymouth Willows, and really liked it, and so we offered the asking price on this unit and just beat two other couples to it. Or so we thought.”
“I don’t get you.”
“Well, the project was in trouble. The developer had kind of squirreled away some of the bills, getting people to buy in the hope that he could pay them off. But in the end, he had to sell at a discount to a lot of investor-owners, not owner-occupants.”
“So the absentee owners began to rent out to tenants.”
“And the developer did too. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, except it got to be more than fifty percent of the units.”
“At which point...?”
“The banks didn’t want to lend to new buyers if the current owners weren’t occupying, so the banks made the new buyers come up with twenty, even twenty-five percent down payments.”
“Which was tough.”
“And got worse. Once the real estate market went into a spin, the prices started tumbling, and the investor-owners couldn’t rent the places for what they were paying to carry them. We had trouble getting those owners to send in their monthly maintenance fees for the grounds and all, and once the foreclosures started, we had even more trouble getting our money.”
“The banks that foreclosed wouldn’t contribute the monthly maintenance?”
Stepanian wagged her head. “It was the developer who did most of the foreclosing, because he’d taken back mortgages from a lot of the original purchasers who were perhaps a bit... shaky on their financial statements? Then the owner-occupants we did have started losing their jobs to the recession, and that meant more foreclosures, and— Oh, it was terrible.”
I looked around. “You and your husband came through it well.”
“Oh, yes,” she said in the neutral voice. “The unit may never be worth what we paid for it, which kind of ties us to Plymouth Willows. And I do just temporary work, because I like to be in charge of my own schedule. But Steven is a research chemist, and fortunately, his job is quite secure. We get along nicely.”
A “normal” life, as she’d said before. I went back to the form. “Have you ever had any FAMILY MEMBERS come visit you here?”
The cocking of the head. “What difference would that make?”
“My clients want to know how the complex seems to outsiders so they can judge how potential purchasers would see their places toward resale.”
A pause as she considered something. “I wouldn’t be able to help you there.”
“No?”
“Steven’s parents are dead. And when we got married, him being Armenian-American, and me Mexican, as I said... well, let’s just say my folks back home didn’t approve.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
Stepanian again said it in her neutral way, without sarcasm or even irony.
I put my pen on the next question. “We’ve already covered OCCUPATION, SPOUSE. How about your DEALINGS WITH THE HENDRIX COMPANY?”
“Well, when the developer finally went broke, the units he
A little vague, but I didn’t want to push my luck. “EDUCATION?”
“ University of Idaho .”
Smiling as warmly as I could, I looked up at her. “How did you two meet?”
“A party, when I was at BU.” A cocking of the head, as though she thought that was the strangest question yet. “Mr. Cuddy, why do you—”
Move to firmer ground. “Now, you said you’ve lived here for six years?”
“Almost six, yes.”
“Did you PURCHASE outright OR RENT?”
“Purchased, from the first developer.”
“The first?”
“Yes.” Stepanian seemed to redirect herself. “Well, I guess the only developer, technically. We were buying at a bad time, when it looked as though everything was going up and up and what we had in the bank was shrinking from about ten percent of a purchase price to more like five. Steven and I had almost given up hope on a normal life.”
“Normal?”
“Owning our own home.” The neutral voice again. “Then we saw Plymouth Willows, and really liked it, and so we offered the asking price on this unit and just beat two other couples to it. Or so we thought.”
“I don’t get you.”
“Well, the project was in trouble. The developer had kind of squirreled away some of the bills, getting people to buy in the hope that he could pay them off. But in the end, he had to sell at a discount to a lot of investor-owners, not owner-occupants.”
“So the absentee owners began to rent out to tenants.”
“And the developer did too. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, except it got to be more than fifty percent of the units.”
“At which point...?”
“The banks didn’t want to lend to new buyers if the current owners weren’t occupying, so the banks made the new buyers come up with twenty, even twenty-five percent down payments.”
“Which was tough.”
“And got worse. Once the real estate market went into a spin, the prices started tumbling, and the investor-owners couldn’t rent the places for what they were paying to carry them. We had trouble getting those owners to send in their monthly maintenance fees for the grounds and all, and once the foreclosures started, we had even more trouble getting our money.”
“The banks that foreclosed wouldn’t contribute the monthly maintenance?”
Stepanian wagged her head. “It was the developer who did most of the foreclosing, because he’d taken back mortgages from a lot of the original purchasers who were perhaps a bit... shaky on their financial statements? Then the owner-occupants we did have started losing their jobs to the recession, and that meant more foreclosures, and— Oh, it was terrible.”
I looked around. “You and your husband came through it well.”
“Oh, yes,” she said in the neutral voice. “The unit may never be worth what we paid for it, which kind of ties us to Plymouth Willows. And I do just temporary work, because I like to be in charge of my own schedule. But Steven is a research chemist, and fortunately, his job is quite secure. We get along nicely.”
A “normal” life, as she’d said before. I went back to the form. “Have you ever had any FAMILY MEMBERS come visit you here?”
The cocking of the head. “What difference would that make?”
“My clients want to know how the complex seems to outsiders so they can judge how potential purchasers would see their places toward resale.”
A pause as she considered something. “I wouldn’t be able to help you there.”
“No?”
“Steven’s parents are dead. And when we got married, him being Armenian-American, and me Mexican, as I said... well, let’s just say my folks back home didn’t approve.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
Stepanian again said it in her neutral way, without sarcasm or even irony.
I put my pen on the next question. “We’ve already covered OCCUPATION, SPOUSE. How about your DEALINGS WITH THE HENDRIX COMPANY?”
“Well, when the developer finally went broke, the units he
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