Winning a bet against Mom
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Losing The House But Winning Mom 07 free porn video
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*
Angelo Mozilo of Countrywide Bank helps Jennifer and Michael buy a house.
The next day, November 1st, other than the fact that they were living in a motel room instead of their home, was like any other day. As if they were a couple on their Honeymoon, they enjoyed the afterglow of sex while reading through the Sunday newspaper. While looking for a place to live, Jennifer looked through the real estate section. She was looking to rent a home instead of an apartment. She saw several homes and a few condos for rent in her budget. Then, as if she was meant to see it, she saw a mansion for sale.
Way out of her price range, she recognized the mansion at first glance. She had seen it many times before when Googling his house. Only, it wasn’t just any mansion. It was Angelo Mozilo’s mansion, the co-founder and ex-chairman of the board and the ex-chief executive, financial officer of Countrywide Bank.
He was selling his beautiful mansion. She couldn’t believe he was selling his beautiful mansion. Only, instead of fleeing the country, living in the Cayman Islands or in Belize, he was moving to Santa Barbara.
She stared at the picture of the mansion while remembering that he bought a new mansion in Santa Barbara. As if she was as stalker stalking him or a fan enamored with him, she read that somewhere. She had been following his moves for some time, ever since he was exposed as one of the prime players in the stock market crash and banking meltdown. Countrywide was her old bank, the bank that gave her the mortgage for her house before Bank of America took over the bank and foreclosed on her house.
‘The bastards,’ she thought without verbalizing it.
An exclusive area, the mansion was located in Thousand Oaks, California in the Sherwood Country Club Estates. She knew it was his house because she had previously looked up his address on the Internet to write him her plea to stay in her home and not be evicted. Only, she wrote the letter but she didn’t mailed the letter because she knew the bank’s decision was no longer up to him. Countrywide was now a defunct bank having been bought out by Bank of America.
Interestingly and coincidentally enough, there was an open house tomorrow, Sunday. With the open house giving her inspiration, she had an idea. A long shot, but she had a good feeling about what she was about to do. If nothing else, perhaps what she planned to do would give her some closure. If nothing else, perhaps hoping to meet him in person would make her feel better to give him a piece of her mind and to show him what he and his bank did to good people like her and her son.
With his house not far from where she used to live, she dressed in the best clothes that she had packed and headed out with Michael in the truck. Maybe, if she met with Mr. Mozilo in person, he’d give her more than his sympathy but his help. Maybe there was something that he could do personally to make things right for her and her son. Only, chances are, he wouldn’t even be at his own open house. Chances are he’d be on his yacht in Belize counting the money he stole from good, honest, hardworking people or he’d be at his new, bigger, and even more exclusive mansion that he just bought in Santa Barbara.
‘God he was such an asshole,’ she thought to herself without saying that out loud.
* * * * *
The next day, she enlisted Michael to drive her to the open house. It wasn’t just a gated estate, it was an exclusive, private property and part of an entire gated community. They pulled on the property of the Sherwood Country Club Estates feeling as if they were interlopers and invaders who dared intrude on the very rich, the superrich, and the powerful, the super powerful. There was even a guard with a guardhouse and gate. People who entered the property had to sign in on the log. Jennifer had never been on any property where she had to sign a log to gain admittance.
‘Hi,’ he said looking in their truck as if looking for weapons of mass destruction. ‘What’s your business?’
Instead of trying to pass for potential buyers, with them sitting in a beat up, old, pickup truck, they had a better chance of passing as landscapers. The guard looked at them as if they were trying to get in the country illegally or in this instance on the estate under false pretenses. Of course, in their case, that was true. They had no intention of attending the open house. They had no intention of buying Mr. Mozilo’s mansion. Jennifer hoped that Angelo Mozilo would be there supervising or giving personal tours of his estate. A longshot but worth a try, armed with her cliché in mind, nothing ventured, nothing gained, she was hoping to get Mr. Mozilo alone to talk to him.
‘We’re here for the open house. My car, a brand new Jaguar, broke down and my son was kind enough to drive me in his truck,’ said Jennifer giving the guard a smile.
Not responding to her story that her new Jaguar broke down, the guard ignored her car problems.
‘The realtor is already at the house. Stay to the right and follow this road for about mile,’ he said pointing. ‘The house is straight ahead. You can’t miss it. It’s the biggest house in the complex.’
The guard called ahead of their arrival and Jennifer gave the guard her best sexy smile, the same sexy smile that she had been giving to her son.
‘Are their open house signs with balloons?’
The guard made a face as if he had just swallowed a bug.
‘We don’t allow signs and/or balloons here lady,’ he said shaking his head and waving his hand as if it was a mini stop sign.
The guard opened the gate and Michael drove his truck down the road and to the mansion. There were already several cars parked in the lot. One couple was just entering the mansion as another couple was just leaving. It seemed like a decent turnout for a mansion that was selling for an asking price of more than 3 million dollars. Instead of parking their truck, they followed the parking lot to the back of the house. Then, instead of walking up the front stairs to go in the front door, they parked the truck and walked up the back stairs to enter through the rear entrance.
* * * * *
Jennifer read online that Mr. Mozilo and his wife Phyllis were selling their 6,200 square foot, five bedroom and 5 ½ bath house to live permanently in Santa Barbara, California, where he bought a 12,700 square foot estate. Compared to the new house, his old house was cottage like. He could easily fit two of these homes in his new home. Especially at his elderly age, now 77-years-old, he’d need a staff of maids and butlers to maintain the massive home and see to his and his wife’s needs. One would think, especially at his advanced age that he’d want to go smaller instead of bigger. Only, Angelo Mozilo was a man with an ego as big as his mansion.
Jennifer couldn’t believe her eyes when she walked up the stairs. A longshot, she was right in her intuition to go to the open house. Not expecting to see him, Mr. Mozilo was sitting on his veranda sipping coffee. He looked just like his picture on the internet. As if he was an Arabian king, with his greyish, white hair framing his face, he was so tanned.
‘Mr. Mozilo. Hi. I’m Jennifer and this is my son, Michael,’ she said continuing to scale the steps as if she was scaling a tower to present herself at the sacrificial altar.
Never shy, had she been born a man instead of a woman, with her big brain, confidence, and outgoing personality, she would have been more successful in her career than she was. Only, it was a man’s world and all the players who ruined the economy were men, old, white men. All the players who brought Wall Street, the banks, and the insurance companies to their knees were mostly elderly, Caucasian men.
He looked up from the newspaper he was reading to give her a look as if trying to recognize her from somewhere. He stared at her for a long moment
before looking away. When he didn’t recognize her, he returned his attention to his newspaper again. Instead of giving her welcome, he gave her his discontent.
‘You’re not allowed back here,’ he said in the voice that had the practiced tone of a banker denying her a loan or her opportunity to refinance the house that she no longer owns. ‘This is my private residence. The open house is on the other side,’ he said without even looking up at her. ‘Please leave.’
Jennifer continued climbing the rest of the steps until she was standing on his imported, marble tiled veranda.
‘We’re not here for the open house. I could never afford a house as grand as this,’ she said looking up at the back of the house that looked just as spectacular as the front of the house and as if she was looking at a palace.
Unable to control herself and to stop herself from doing so, immediately she started to cry and immediately, being the gracious gentleman that he is, he stood to comfort her. Perhaps if Jennifer wasn’t so pretty and so sexy, he would have asked them to leave. Instead, he offered her a chair.
‘There, there, now. There, there. Sit, have a seat. Relax. It’s a beautiful day,’ he said patting her shoulder. ‘Allow me to give you something to drink or eat. What would you like? James,’ he said calling his butler.
Jennifer looked up at the butler.
‘Water for me, please,’ she said.
Michael waved off the butler who hovered over him.
‘Nothing for me. Thank you,’ said Michael to the butler and to Mr. Mozilo.
He was so tanned. He was so well mannered. He was so polished. If she didn’t know he was Angelo Mozilo, the son of a butcher, and a successful banker, she would have thought he was Ralph Lauren. By his polished look and the cut of his clothes, periwinkle, silk lounging pajamas with a matching silk robe, and leather slippers, he looked like the very rich man that he was.
‘For my security,’ he said bowing his head in apology. ‘May I see your identification?’
Jennifer removed her license from her purse and Michael removed his license from his wallet and handed them to the butler. As if memorizing their names, he checked their photos against their faces and made copies of their licenses with a small pocket camera that he retrieved from his pocket before returning their ID’s.
‘Now with that formality over, how may I help you?’
Angelo patted Jennifer’s hand.
‘We lost our house to foreclosure. Our original mortgage was with Countrywide Bank then when Bank of America took charge of our mortgage, our adjustable rate mortgage continued to climb higher. With the value of our house sinking lower, drowning underwater in a sea of debt, we no longer could afford the mortgage payments. Having never missed a payment and never late on a payment before, the bank wouldn’t allow us to refinance either,’ said Jennifer sobbing in her hands.
He gave her a look as if he was genuinely interested in her story.
‘I see,’ said Angelo.
He handed her a box of tissues that were within his reach.
‘Thank you,’ she said accepting a tissue to dry her eyes. ‘They said that we didn’t have enough equity in our home and with our home going down in value, throwing good money after bad, they weren’t about to renegotiate our old mortgage for a new mortgage. Bank of America took our home yesterday.’
As if his guilty conscience was coming home to roost, with Jennifer and her son putting faces on the injustice that his bank had done them, Angelo looked at her horrified. Obviously the reality of their personal loss was much more terrifying than a senate sub-committee called to investigate him, his former bank, and bank fraud. These were real people sitting in front of him. These were victims of what he and his cronies did to the American middleclass.
* * * * *
‘There, there now. There, there,’ said Angelo standing over Jennifer. ‘I’m sorry you lost your house. The real culprits in all of this were the Federal Reserve with their series of interest rate hikes,’ he said returning to sit and lean back confidently in his chair after throwing the Federal Reserve under the bus. As if he was about to give a speech at Bloomberg Financial, he looked from Jennifer before looking at Michael and before returning his focus interest to Jennifer. ‘If what the Federal Reserve did wasn’t enough there were the crooked real estate speculators, falling housing prices, and regulators attacks on interest only and other subprime mortgages,’ he said immediately posturing in a defensive position.
Not really knowing what all of that meant and how any of it fit in with her losing her home, Jennifer looked at Mr. Mozilo with confusion. Seemingly blaming everyone but himself, throwing everyone else under the bus and not taking any personal responsibility of his actions, even with his bank holding 41 billion dollars in subprime, junk loans, Angelo failed to mention the banking industries loose lending policies. He failed to mention liar loans which loaned borrowers at higher rates without even verifying their incomes. It was as if the banks didn’t care if the buyers didn’t pay their loans. It was as if the banks were hoping that buyers would default and have their houses foreclosed. He failed to mention that his bank, in the way of the loose rules of the Rich Dad Poor Dad game, was a major player in causing the banking crash.
‘Even though there are a small army of others responsible for the financial crisis, being that your original loan was with my bank, I somehow feel responsible,’ he said suddenly sounding like Donald Trump posturing before a podium. ‘Now that this financial crisis is over, I’ve been trying to make amends by starting new businesses and giving people jobs,’ he said with pride while suddenly taking on the persona of a superhero instead of a deviously despicable banker.
Jennifer stopped crying to look up at him with hope.
‘Can you help us?’
He sighed and rolled his eyes.
‘I can’t help every person who comes to my door but I have helped others keep their homes. Being that you’ve already lost your home, too late for that now, perhaps I can help you with a job instead,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately, out of my hands, I can’t get your house back. Much in the way that they took ownership of your house, Bank of America took control of my bank,’ he said with a shrug of his shoulders.
As if he was the victim too, he failed to mention that he personally made tens of millions of dollars in the sale of his bank. With his health insurance guaranteed for him and his wife by the Bank of America as part of their buyout agreement, he didn’t have the worries that the average person had who lost everything their jobs, their savings, and their homes because of him. With him her last hope, she looked at him with disappointment.
‘You’re right. It’s too late anyway. The bank took out house yesterday,’ she said again.
Something Michael never expected to see from Angelo Mozilo, he looked genuinely sorry for their loss. Ready to leave, at least they got to talk to him. He knew that this face to face conversation would give his mother some closure and would go a long way in making her feel that she fought the good fight to keep her house.
‘That’s a shame.’ Then, he blurted out what she was thinking, hoping, and wishing he’d say. ‘Perhaps I can help buy you a new house,’ he said giving her a big, white, toothy smile.
At first she looked at him as if he was kidding her. Then, looking at him with skepticism, she looked at him as if he was nuts. Finally, looking at him as if he was her grandfather or a Mafia Godfather, she looked at him with excitement.
‘Really? You’d do that for us? People you don’t even know?’
He shrugged.
‘Sure. Why not. It’s only money. I’m an old man,’ he said. ‘With everyone I know and love financially set, what else am I going to do with my money? I can’t take my money with me when I die. Why not contribute
to a good cause and to someone who really needs the money? Besides, you look like good people, a single mom looking out for her son.’
‘If only he knew they were lovers,’ thought Michael. ‘What would he say then? A single, trailer trash Mom having incestuous sex with her son and a perversely perverted son having incestuous sex with his mother, he’d never give them money to buy a house then.’
‘The federal government has had me under investigation for years,’ he said with sadness. ‘They’re trying to sue me civilly to recoup some of the monies that I earned legally and on monies that they’ve already collected taxes. No doubt they’ll win. They’ll be taking most of my money anyway,’ he said looking into Jennifer’s green eyes. ‘Why not give some of that money to you?’
Jennifer gave him a smile and reached across the table to take hold of his hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jennifer letting go of his hand.
Then, he said something insightful and something she didn’t expect him to say.
‘Instead of going after me, I wish they’d go after some of the others. I’m not the only one responsible for the financial crisis. I didn’t singlehandedly bring down Wall Street, the banks, and the insurance companies. I had plenty of help from others,’ he said nodding his head in solemnness. ‘Yet, as if I’m the only culprit,’ he said giving her a poor, woe is me look, ‘I’m the one the press put a face to the financial meltdown blame.’
Thinking that he was the biggest player and the one most responsible for the financial meltdown, she was surprised when Mr. Mozilo educated her otherwise.
‘Others? What do you mean? Tell me. I’d really like to know. Who were some of the others responsible for the market crash, the failed banks, and for taking down Wall Street?’
As if he wanted to tell her all and as if he wanted to confess all of his sins and secrets to someone, he gave her a confident look before taking her in his confidence.
‘When it comes time to lawyer up and defend myself, without going into detail, I can name some names, if that means that I keep the government’s lawyers and civil lawsuit at bay. I’ve been transferring whatever assets I have to family members as my way to protect myself and giving money away to friends,’ he freely admitted. ‘I’ve even given plenty of money away to folks, strangers actually, those in need as my penance to soothe my soul with the hopes of righting any wrongdoings I may have done unintentionally.’
He made himself sound so innocent. He made himself out as a victim too. Then, he paused as if taking a drag of his cigarette or taking a long, thoughtful sip of his wine but he wasn’t smoking a cigarette or drinking wine. He was drinking coffee.
‘My motto that quickly became my philosophy and was correctly quoted by the New Yorker,’ he said leaning forward in his chair to rest his elbows on the table. ‘You need to make dust or eat dust and I don’t like eating dust. Once called the smartest man in the world, with too many of the so called financial wizards underestimating me, I left them all in my dust,’ he said with a laugh as if he was having a private joke.
An interesting man, a man of insightfulness, and a man of keen intellect, Jennifer eyed him with interest.
‘You said there were others to blame. You said that you could name names. So tell me about the others responsible for the financial market crash,’ said Jennifer more interested in learning about him as he seemed interested in learning about her. ‘Please name some names. I’d like to know who some of the other who were responsible for the financial catastrophe.’
* * * * *
He wrinkled his face and nodded at her as if about to tell her a secret.
‘Truthfully, with people quick to blame the Republicans, the financial mess started with the Democrats. The financial meltdown began with President Clinton and his free-wheeling capitalism with the Gramm-Leach-Bliley Act, which repealed the Glass-Steagall Act of 1933.’
He looked from Jennifer’s to Michael’s look of confusion before returning his look to Jennifer with an explanation.
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