American Home Mortgageforeclosure, lied about postponing auction

My complaint dates back to 2007. I owned two lovely homes, one in Cambridge, Ma. and the other in Wellfleet Ma. on Cape Cod.
I had well over $1 million equity in these properties, but was unable to access any of it due to my FICO scores. 15 years of perfect credit history, but never good enough scores to qualify for any conventional home loan product. I ended up losing everything— details of this are on my website,
A foreclosure auction was scheduled for July 10, but a 30 day stay of execution was granted to allow time to renegotiate the loan so I could keep my home.
I came home late on the night of July 9, to discover a voice message on my answering machine; it was American Home Mortgage in Texas, calling to tell me that they were reneging on their promise to talk about rerwriting the mortgage, and the foreclosure auction would take place the next morning.
I recorded most of the auction; the batteries in my camera quit halfway through so I ran into the house to replace them.
My elderly wife, who had Alzheimer's disease, stood bewildered at the front steps, while everyone in the neighborhood bore witness to the greatest shame I have ever known. A very wealthy landlord who had inherited millions of dollars in real estate from his daddy, who passed away in 1975, added my home to his portfolio for $660, 000. I owed $840, 000, and the last fee appraisal I paid for attempting in vain to refinance the property with another lender and get rid of the ridiculously high interest rate I was paying on the existing LIBOR indexed loan, was $1, 125, 000.

That sunny summer morning, I lost $285, 000 equity, and American Home Mortgage ate $180, 000, to say nothing of their costs of sale to the auctioneer, ads online and in several newspapers—and my wife and I lost our beloved home of over 13 years.

The situation "down the Cape" was even worse. My best friend was going through the ugliest divorce in modern history, he had been exiled for more than 3 years after coming out of prison from conviction of a bogus babysitter sex charge— this guy couldn't do twiddly-schitt in a courtroom, and I was constantly paying attorneys large sums of money to keep this poor grunt's ass out of the legal system designed to kill, once he was designated a level 3 sex offender. I attended one of his appeals refuting these charges, and after the jurors were polled one at a time, i felt strongly compelled to offer them golden investment opportunities in Florida real estate. My papa owned two condominiums in Haines City that he bought in 1981... and lost money when they wouldn't sell. The same year, he and I paid $91, 000 for ownership in a granite co-op building just outside Boston's combat zone, the top level of which I used for private studio and photo lab. We ended owning 6, 012 square feet, subservient to the master deed holder. There was no parking (biggest flaming pain in the ass you can possibly imagine)— it was about a mile away from my job at a major photographic supply company, so I often took custom darkroom work, and rented out the nicely equipped studio at $20/hour+ supplies, at times I was available. A bus from my rental house in Arlington ran door to door home to work, or I could park my little red BeetleBug in one of many parking lots within a block or two of the medical facilities 3 or fewer block away from work at $3 or $4 per day. The man we worked for couldn't offer custom jobs, so he insisted upon a 10% commission on any work my colleagues and I might accept from customers in his shop. We agreed, and at the same time turned a little photo shop next to the Charles St. jail into one of the finest and most reliable dispensaries of finest quality marijuana, hashish of various grades—- and the ever coveted Sensemilia (sic) meaning "Without seeds" in Spanish. Uncle Scratch suspected nothing ~ he paid starvation wages to one and all. I came to knew the innards of everything in that place, due to the calesthenic task of compiling endless inventory of stuff that never sells, or dancing to the "Dirty Box Shuffle." The subject of how cheap this [censored] was is better reserved for another thread— he was a cut above all the rest ~~ Milton Mishara... this [censored] is the kind you document tax fraud, then report to the IRS... the Friday before I quit, I compared his chevk to the one issued to me by my new employer. I had worked the same number of hours at each job, and showed Scratch my two weekly paychecks, one next to another. His bilingual son, who had been living in Québéc for many years, reminded his father to stop belittling and bawling out his employees. I'm fluent in French too~~ mine is European, his is Québécois. Sometimes when he was there, I would interject a comment in French. Usually dependent upon public transportation, I was often late for work~~ he took a note of the exact minute I arrived. Ok, I can't expect to be paid for time I wasn't there working, so I had no legitimate right of contention, until I caught this McPenispicker actually CHEATING on my minute. At an age approaching 80, he picked up some young girl out west— .. and last I heard, his family was tied up in court, fighting over Scratch's $130, 000, 000+/-!estate.
Milton was Jewish, but paid nothing more than lip service to his professed religion. Milton lived under the golden calf, licking its genitalia and cumming in unison as the metaphorical personification of greed ejaculated its foul cream into Milton Mishara's body when/wherever his penultimate stinginess found an
I'm self employed.

Dec 08, 2018

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