In this series, Kate Tellers writes about buying her first house. Read earlier posts here.
Beyond the tears, securing a mortgage was the single largest obstacle between our lives as renters and our next lives as homeowners. We chose a reputable bank that was referred to us by our seller’s broker (also a bank whose name features prominently in a 1957 Meredith Wilson musical that I also happened to star in in my senior year of high school) (not that we chose the bank for this reason but when we left a meeting with our broker I did whisper to my husband that it was “a sign”). Our future lay in the hands of the man who wrote this email:
And yes,
con·gen·i·tal, adjective
Present from birth (esp. of a disease or physical abnormality).
That is not a loan. Our mortgage broker “left the bank” shortly after this error.
Yesterday my husband received an email from our former broker’s replacement which included the entire mortgage application of a stranger, including all of said stranger’s personal and financial data.
This bank is Trouble with a capital T.
