Chapter 6 - Permission to Leave
The bank's representative, Henry Sloane, called before I finished reading Evan's email.
“Our loan depends on possession and commencement,” he said. “You certified the site ready for work. Are you telling us that representation was false?”
“I'm telling you there are thirty-one people who need safe housing before construction continues.”
“Then give us a new schedule in forty-eight hours.”
Celia brought our lawyer to an afternoon meeting. On the table lay nineteen documents titled VOLUNTARY RELOCATION CONSENT. The language sounded generous. A payment for lodging. Permission to retrieve belongings. An acknowledgment that the signer had no further right to occupy the property.
“This lets us help quickly,” Celia said. “Otherwise every household requires individual legal advice.”
“Exactly why shouldn't they get it?” I asked.
“Because Monday will become November.”
I called a residents' meeting without first contacting a tenant attorney. I was tired, afraid of losing the financing, and convinced I could explain a document I had only skimmed. I told everyone the forms would make the temporary arrangement simpler.
Marisol read to the final paragraph. “This isn't permission to leave. It says we agree we were never tenants.”
A man named Darnell stood. “My brother signed his already.”
I looked at Celia, who said, “The document describes the company's position. Nobody is being forced.”
“You told us the rooms wouldn't be paid for unless we signed,” Darnell said.
I had heard a hotel clerk repeat something similar. I had assumed the clerk was mistaken.
“Stop the signing,” I said. “Nobody loses lodging for refusing this.”
But the damage had been done. One family had already moved their boxes into a rented van because the agreement appeared to waive their right to return. They had paid a deposit on an apartment they couldn't afford. Another family worried that refusing would make the hotel remove them.
Marisol took the stack of forms, held them flat, and pushed them toward me.
“You brought a pen to a meeting where we needed answers. You keep telling us you want to do better, then you let someone else put a trap in your hands.”
I had no defense. I had signed the authorization permitting Celia to use the form that morning. The mistake was mine.
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That night I sent nineteen households a written commitment: hotel rooms would remain covered for thirty days while qualified counsel reviewed each resident's rights. I copied the city housing coordinator and our board. Celia replied with four words: YOU EXCEEDED YOUR AUTHORITY.
By the next morning, she had scheduled a vote about whether I should remain chief executive.
