He Demanded To Be Added To The Deed—Then I Found Out Why He Was Rushing

My stomach hit the floor. I’d paid off the mortgage. No loans. No late payments. Nothing to refinance.

“Absolutely not,” I said, and the woman on the phone put a freeze on everything while my hands shook over the keyboard.

When Rami came home, I met him at the door. “Did you try to refinance the house?”

He went pale, then pasted on a smile. “Why would you say that?”

“The bank called.”

He skipped denial and sprinted straight to offense. “So now you’re spying on me? Checking my calls?”

I stared.

He pivoted again. “I was doing it for us. If we refinanced under both our names, we’d have more equity. We could take out a loan, maybe start that business you keep talking about.”

“I’ve never talked about starting a business.”

I slept in the guest room that night, my laptop glowing on the comforter. I pulled my credit report, checked county deed records, combed our joint statements with a highlighter. The picture that emerged made my skin prickle: frequent small withdrawals that added up to thousands and a handful of charges to a consulting agency I’d never heard of.

I called the agency, put on my best bright voice, and pretended to be him. “Just following up on the paperwork,” I said.

“Oh, for the investor visa?” the woman chirped. “Yes, Rochelle speaking—your application is almost ready.”

I hung up with my pulse pounding. Rami was born in Houston. An investor visa for who?

I called his sister, Naima. We weren’t close, but I needed something solid under my feet.

She sighed like she’d been waiting for the question. “You didn’t hear this from me, okay? He’s trying to help his friend get residency. Fake business. I told him it was stupid.”

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