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TODD WAS STUCK with an outfit called Scholar Support Partners, or SSP. Or simply SS, as Todd and many other students called it. It was based in Philadelphia and had a dismal record handling loans. Todd had found at least three lawsuits across the country in which SSP had been sued for abusive debt collection practices. The company had been caught tacking on unwarranted fees to its loans, and had already paid fines. Nonetheless, the DOE stuck with it.
His “counselor” was a real smart-ass named Rex Wagner, a bully Todd would love to punch if he ever had the chance, which of course he never would. He envisioned Wagner stuffed in a cubbyhole in a boiler room in some low-end basement office, probably fat and eating chips with headphones stuck to his bald head as he hounded kids on the phone and fired off pissy e-mails.
His latest read,
Dear Mr. Lucero: Down the home stretch now with graduation right around the corner, so it’s time to talk about repayment, which I assume you have no desire to discuss since, based on our last correspondence a month ago, you still have not found “meaningful legal employment.” I hope this has changed. Please update me on your latest efforts to get a job. I’m afraid I will not be able to accept a repayment plan predicated on your apparent desire to work only as a bartender. Let’s talk, and the sooner the better.
Most recent installment: $32,500, Jan. 13, 2014; total principal and interest: $195,000.
Sincerely, Rex Wagner, Senior Loan Counselor
To which Todd eventually replied,
Dear SS Senior Loan Counselor Wagner: I can make more money tending bar than you can harassing students. I’ve read about your company and all its lawsuits and abusive tactics, but I’m not accusing you of any abuse, yet. I am not in default, hell I haven’t even graduated, so back off. No, I don’t have a real job, because there aren’t any, at least not for graduates of low-end for-profit schools like FBLS, which, by the way, practically lied to us way back then when we were thinking about signing on. Boy, were we stupid.
Give me some time and I’ll work out something. Todd Lucero.
Wagner replied,
Dear Mr. Lucero: I would like to keep things positive. I’ve worked with many students who struggled to find work, but they all eventually did so. It just takes a lot of gumption and shoe leather to get out there and knock on those doors. D.C. is full of great law firms and well-paying government jobs. I’m sure you’ll find a rewarding career. I will ignore the fact that you used the words “abuse” and “harassing.” All of our e-mail correspondence will become public and I suggest we choose our words carefully. I would like to discuss this with you on the phone, but of course I do not have your number.
Regards, Rex Wagner, Senior Loan Counselor
Todd replied,
Dear SS Senior Loan Counselor Wagner: My apologies if I offended you. I’m not sure you realize the pressure I am under at this point in my life. Nothing has gone as planned and the future looks awfully bleak. I curse the day I decided to go to law school, and especially the one at Foggy Bottom. Do you realize that the Wall Street dude who owns the school nets $20 million a year from it? And it’s just one of eight in his portfolio? Fascinating. Looking back, I should’ve bought myself a law school instead of enrolling in one.
No, you can’t have my phone number. According to the numerous lawsuits against SS, the worst abuse was over the phone, where it’s almost never recorded. Let’s stick with e-mail, where every word matters.
We’re still pals. Todd Lucero.
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THEY SPENT ALL of Saturday cleaning, painting, and hauling away sacks of garbage. Zola’s “suite” was actually three rooms: one for the bed, one for the den/office, and a utility closet that had potential. They convinced Maynard to allow them to move a wall and add a door. One of Maynard’s cousins was an unlicensed contractor who did odd jobs without bothering with the permit routine, and for a thousand bucks cash he said he could jerry-rig a small shower, commode, and vanity and convert the utility closet to a bathroom. Todd and Mark doubted that Zola would be impressed, but she really had no choice.
She had not agreed to join the partnership, but it was only a matter of time.
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THE DAY WAS cool and sunny, and Zola needed fresh air. She left her apartment early Saturday morning and walked to the Mall, where she sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and watched the tourists. Gazing at the Washington Monument and the Capitol in the distant background, she thought of her parents and brother locked away like prisoners in a miserable detention center, awaiting removal. Her view was majestic, with every building and monument a symbol of unbridled freedom. Their view, if they had one, was of fencing and razor wire. Because of their sacrifice, she had been given the gift of citizenship, a permanent status she had done nothing to earn. They had worked like dogs in a country they were proud of, with the dream of one day belonging. How, exactly, would their removal benefit this great nation of immigrants? It made no sense and seemed unjustly cruel.
She tried to keep Gordy out of her thoughts. His tragedy was behind her and dwelling on it served no useful purpose. They’d never had a future together and she had been foolish to think otherwise. But he was still there and she couldn’t shake the guilt.
She drifted past the Reflecting Pool and tried to envision the place packed with about 250,000 people back in 1963 when Dr. King described his dream. Her father always said that the greatness of America was that anyone could pursue any dream, and through work and sacrifice the dreams could come true.
Now his dreams had become nightmares, and she was helpless.
At the Washington Monument, she fell into a long line for the ride to the top, but soon got bored and left. She loved the Smithsonian and spent a few hours lost in American history. At no time throughout the day did she waste time thinking about law school or the pursuit of “meaningful legal employment.”
Late in the afternoon, Todd sent a text and suggested “another fine dinner.” But she declined, saying she had plans. She read a novel, watched an old movie, and went to bed just after eleven. The apartment building was rocking with loud music and rowdy students coming and going. Saturday night in the big city. An argument in the hallway woke her around one, but she managed to drift off.