{"id":6304,"date":"2026-08-25T23:02:57","date_gmt":"2026-08-25T23:02:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dmnews168.store\/?p=6304"},"modified":"2026-08-25T23:02:57","modified_gmt":"2026-08-25T23:02:57","slug":"the-bank-manager-arrived-at-sunset-with-foreclosure-papers-my-nephew-was-laughing","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dmnews168.store\/?p=6304","title":{"rendered":"The Bank Manager Arrived At Sunset With Foreclosure Papers \u2014 My Nephew Was Laughing\u2026"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\n
\n
That Evening, A Bank Manager Knocked On My Door With Foreclosure Papers. My Nephew Stood By The Driveway, Laughing And Shouting: \u201cSay Goodbye To The Lake House, Old Man \u2014 It\u2019s Mine Now!\u201d I Calmly Looked At Him And Asked One Question. His Hand Started To Shake.<\/div>\n<\/header>\n
\n
\n

Part 1<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

The bank manager arrived at sunset with a foreclosure notice in her hand and my name printed across the top.<\/p>\n

My nephew was laughing.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

He stood at the edge of my driveway, leaning against a rented black Cadillac, holding his phone sideways so he could record every second of what he apparently believed would be my humiliation.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

\u201cSay goodbye to the lake house, Uncle Frank,\u201d he called. \u201cIt\u2019s mine now.\u201d<\/p>\n

A few neighbors had already stepped onto their porches.<\/p>\n

Up here on Lake Mercer in northern Michigan, people notice when a bank vehicle stops in front of a house that has belonged to the same man for three decades.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

I didn\u2019t answer my nephew.<\/p>\n

Instead, I looked at the woman on my porch.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Her name was Susan Palmer. She wore a navy blazer despite the September warmth, and the papers in her hand fluttered slightly in the wind coming off the lake.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

She looked uncomfortable.<\/p>\n

That was important.<\/p>\n

People carrying routine paperwork usually look bored.<\/p>\n

Susan looked nervous.<\/p>\n

I glanced once toward the water, where the sinking sun had turned the surface copper, then back at her.<\/p>\n

\u201cBefore you hand me that,\u201d I said, \u201ccould you tell me who the county lists as the sole occupant of record for this property?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her eyes shifted.<\/p>\n

My nephew\u2019s laughter stopped.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd,\u201d I continued, \u201ccould you tell me whether that occupancy disclosure was filed before or after the loan secured against this house?\u201d<\/p>\n

Susan\u2019s fingers tightened around the papers.<\/p>\n

She flipped through several pages.<\/p>\n

Then she went pale.<\/p>\n

That was when my nephew finally pushed himself away from the Cadillac.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is he talking about?\u201d<\/p>\n

Susan didn\u2019t answer him.<\/p>\n

She stared at one page, then another.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Carter,\u201d she said quietly to me, \u201cI think we may have a serious problem.\u201d<\/p>\n

My name is Franklin Carter.<\/p>\n

I was sixty-eight years old that evening, a retired structural inspector, and I had lived in that cedar-sided lake house for eleven years full-time, though my wife, Evelyn, and I had started building it nearly thirty years earlier.<\/p>\n

Evelyn had picked the lot.<\/p>\n

I had argued for one farther up the hill because drainage would be better.<\/p>\n

She had stood between two white pines, looked at the water, and said, \u201cFrank, if we\u2019re going to spend our lives somewhere, I want to see the lake from the kitchen.\u201d<\/p>\n

She won.<\/p>\n

She usually did when she was right.<\/p>\n

Cancer took her six winters before the foreclosure papers arrived.<\/p>\n

Afterward, the house changed.<\/p>\n

Same cedar walls. Same stone fireplace. Same squeaky third stair.<\/p>\n

But every room seemed larger because only one person was moving through it.<\/p>\n

For months I still reached across the bed in my sleep.<\/p>\n

For years I sometimes caught myself starting a sentence before remembering there was nobody in the kitchen to hear the end of it.<\/p>\n

I never had children.<\/p>\n

Evelyn and I had tried. Doctors, specialists, procedures, disappointments.<\/p>\n

Eventually we built a life around being the two of us.<\/p>\n

So when my younger sister, Margaret, died unexpectedly eight years before that September evening, her only son became the closest thing I had to one.<\/p>\n

His name was Logan.<\/p>\n

He was twenty-two when his mother died.<\/p>\n

He showed up at my house with two garbage bags full of clothes, a cracked laptop, four hundred dollars to his name, and enough anger to fill every room Evelyn\u2019s absence had left empty.<\/p>\n

I opened the door.<\/p>\n

No conditions.<\/p>\n

No lectures.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou stay as long as you need,\u201d I told him.<\/p>\n

He stayed nearly three years.<\/p>\n

I gave him my old pickup so he could get to community college.<\/p>\n

I paid two semesters of tuition.<\/p>\n

When he quit halfway through the second year, I told myself he was still grieving.<\/p>\n

When he bounced between jobs, I helped with rent.<\/p>\n

When he needed money for a certification program he never completed, I wrote the check.<\/p>\n

Every time someone suggested I was doing too much, I gave the same answer.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s Margaret\u2019s boy.\u201d<\/p>\n

That sentence excused more than it should have.<\/p>\n

Four years before the foreclosure attempt, Logan married Vanessa Cole, a real estate agent from Grand Rapids.<\/p>\n

At first, I liked her.<\/p>\n

Vanessa had a way of entering a quiet room and making it feel occupied.<\/p>\n

She would bring wine, rearrange food on my refrigerator shelves, complain that I wasn\u2019t eating enough vegetables, and tell me I should replace my old recliner because it made the living room look like \u201ca hunting lodge from 1987.\u201d<\/p>\n

I mistook familiarity for affection.<\/p>\n

That was my first mistake.<\/p>\n

My second happened on a rainy Thursday in April.<\/p>\n

Logan and Vanessa came to dinner.<\/p>\n

They barely touched the pot roast.<\/p>\n

Halfway through the meal, Logan folded his hands on my kitchen table and said, \u201cUncle Frank, we\u2019re in trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n

And the way he said it made me put down my fork.<\/p>\n

Because for the first time in years, my nephew looked exactly like the frightened twenty-two-year-old boy who had once stood on my porch holding two garbage bags.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t know it yet, but the performance had already begun.<\/p>\n

And I was about to sign away the house Evelyn and I had built together.<\/p>\n

### Part 2<\/p>\n

Rain tapped steadily against the kitchen windows while Logan explained how close he and Vanessa supposedly were to losing everything.<\/p>\n

Vanessa sat beside him with both hands wrapped around a coffee mug she never drank from.<\/p>\n

Her eyes were red.<\/p>\n

At the time, I thought she had been crying.<\/p>\n

Looking back, I\u2019m not sure.<\/p>\n

\u201cHer brokerage got hit with a lawsuit,\u201d Logan said. \u201cClients left. Commissions dried up.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanessa lowered her eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re three months behind on the mortgage.\u201d<\/p>\n

I felt something tighten in my chest.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow bad?\u201d<\/p>\n

Logan exhaled.<\/p>\n

\u201cBad enough that the bank is talking foreclosure.\u201d<\/p>\n

He said they could lose their house.<\/p>\n

Their vehicles.<\/p>\n

Almost everything they owned.<\/p>\n

Then he mentioned Vanessa\u2019s daughter, Lily.<\/p>\n

Lily was ten then, a skinny kid with freckles across her nose who spent Thanksgiving afternoons sitting beside me at the dining table drawing horses while the adults talked.<\/p>\n

Her biological father lived out of state and saw her irregularly.<\/p>\n

I had grown fond of her.<\/p>\n

Logan knew that.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf we lose the house,\u201d he said, \u201ceverything with Lily gets complicated.\u201d<\/p>\n

That sentence did exactly what he intended it to do.<\/p>\n

I stopped thinking like an inspector.<\/p>\n

I started thinking like family.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you need?\u201d<\/p>\n

Logan didn\u2019t ask for money.<\/p>\n

That should have bothered me immediately.<\/p>\n

I had savings.<\/p>\n

Not millions, but enough to help them through several mortgage payments if the emergency was genuine.<\/p>\n

Instead, he leaned forward.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s another way.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanessa finally spoke.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt wouldn\u2019t cost you anything.\u201d<\/p>\n

Logan called it a \u201cfamily equity bridge.\u201d<\/p>\n

He said it slowly, as if it were a familiar financial term I simply hadn\u2019t encountered.<\/p>\n

According to him, the lake house could temporarily be transferred into a holding arrangement under his control. He could then use some of the equity as collateral to refinance their existing debt.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019d still live here,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing changes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou still pay your property taxes like normal. We\u2019re not selling anything.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanessa added, \u201cIt\u2019s really just paperwork.\u201d<\/p>\n

Logan nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cFamilies do this all the time.\u201d<\/p>\n

I remember watching rainwater crawl down the window behind him.<\/p>\n

Something felt wrong.<\/p>\n

I had spent more than thirty years inspecting bridges, commercial towers, parking structures, and public buildings.<\/p>\n

Steel gives warnings.<\/p>\n

Concrete gives warnings.<\/p>\n

People do too.<\/p>\n

Sometimes it\u2019s barely visible\u2014a hesitation, a phrase used too carefully, an explanation polished beyond necessity.<\/p>\n

Logan\u2019s explanation was very polished.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not just let me loan you the money?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

For half a second, nobody answered.<\/p>\n

Then Vanessa smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat could create tax complications.\u201d<\/p>\n

Logan jumped in immediately.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd we need to move fast.\u201d<\/p>\n

There it was.<\/p>\n

Urgency.<\/p>\n

I should have stopped.<\/p>\n

Instead I pictured Lily being told she might have to leave her school.<\/p>\n

I pictured Margaret, my sister, sitting beside me at our parents\u2019 kitchen table forty years earlier.<\/p>\n

Before she died, she had never actually asked me to care for Logan.<\/p>\n

But grief has a way of inventing promises.<\/p>\n

I had convinced myself she had.<\/p>\n

Four days later, Logan returned with a notary.<\/p>\n

The young man introduced himself as Mason Reed.<\/p>\n

He couldn\u2019t have been more than thirty.<\/p>\n

He smelled faintly of cigarette smoke despite chewing peppermint gum hard enough that I could hear it click against his teeth.<\/p>\n

He kept looking at Logan before explaining anything to me.<\/p>\n

That bothered me too.<\/p>\n

The documents were thick.<\/p>\n

Logan had placed small yellow tabs beside signature lines.<\/p>\n

\u201cInitial there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSign here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis one just confirms residency.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat one is estate language.\u201d<\/p>\n

I skimmed pages.<\/p>\n

I did not read them.<\/p>\n

There is a difference.<\/p>\n

A dangerous one.<\/p>\n

At one point I stopped on a page filled with dense legal language.<\/p>\n

\u201cShould Gerald look at this?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gerald Bishop was an old college friend who had practiced property law before retiring.<\/p>\n

Logan\u2019s expression didn\u2019t change, but his hand stopped moving.<\/p>\n

Only for a second.<\/p>\n

Then he laughed.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can absolutely have him review it. But the refinancing deadline is Monday, and his cabin is what, an hour away?\u201d<\/p>\n

Vanessa touched my arm.<\/p>\n

\u201cFrank, we would never do anything to hurt you.\u201d<\/p>\n

That sentence decided it.<\/p>\n

I signed.<\/p>\n

Mason stamped the final document.<\/p>\n

Logan hugged me so hard his chin bumped my shoulder.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou saved us.\u201d<\/p>\n

For the next two months, nothing happened.<\/p>\n

My life went on.<\/p>\n

I planted tomatoes.<\/p>\n

I repaired a loose board on the dock.<\/p>\n

I took my fishing boat out twice without catching anything worth keeping.<\/p>\n

Then one Saturday, my friend Harold Quinn stopped me in the hardware store.<\/p>\n

\u201cFrank,\u201d he said, \u201cLogan finally buy himself that Bayliner?\u201d<\/p>\n

I frowned.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat Bayliner?\u201d<\/p>\n

Harold smiled.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat new twenty-two-footer at the marina. Saw him putting it in yesterday. Beautiful boat.\u201d<\/p>\n

My stomach went cold.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow new?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBrand-new.\u201d<\/p>\n

I drove home without buying the screws I had gone there for.<\/p>\n

Three days later, Lily\u2019s school accidentally called me because my number was still listed as an emergency contact.<\/p>\n

The secretary apologized and mentioned that Lily had transferred.<\/p>\n

\u201cTo where?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Langford Academy in Grand Rapids.\u201d<\/p>\n

I knew the school.<\/p>\n

Private.<\/p>\n

Expensive.<\/p>\n

Very expensive.<\/p>\n

I thanked her, hung up, and sat staring at the kitchen wall.<\/p>\n

People losing everything don\u2019t buy new boats.<\/p>\n

They don\u2019t suddenly pay private-school tuition.<\/p>\n

And when the numbers stop matching the story, there are only two possibilities.<\/p>\n

Either the numbers are wrong.<\/p>\n

Or the story is.<\/p>\n

### Part 3<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t call Logan.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

That surprised even me.<\/p>\n

Twenty years earlier, I would have driven straight to Grand Rapids and demanded an explanation.<\/p>\n

But thirty years inspecting structural failures had taught me something anger never does.<\/p>\n

Never strike a damaged structure before you understand which part is carrying the load.<\/p>\n

So I waited.<\/p>\n

The following Tuesday, I drove to Logan and Vanessa\u2019s house.<\/p>\n

I knew Logan would be away at what he called his \u201cconsulting job,\u201d though he had never managed to explain what he consulted on.<\/p>\n

I brought a birthday card for Lily as an excuse.<\/p>\n

Vanessa\u2019s SUV wasn\u2019t there.<\/p>\n

I knocked twice.<\/p>\n

Nothing.<\/p>\n

I walked around the side of the house.<\/p>\n

The gate was unlocked.<\/p>\n

I should tell you I knew I was crossing a line.<\/p>\n

I crossed it anyway.<\/p>\n

Through the kitchen window I saw white marble countertops that hadn\u2019t been there six months earlier.<\/p>\n

A built-in wine refrigerator occupied one side of the island.<\/p>\n

New pendant lights hung from the ceiling.<\/p>\n

I moved toward the garage.<\/p>\n

Through a narrow window I saw the trailer.<\/p>\n

On it sat Harold\u2019s Bayliner.<\/p>\n

Beside the boat was a Cadillac Escalade with temporary plates.<\/p>\n

For a moment, I heard nothing but my own breathing.<\/p>\n

Not because I cared whether Logan owned a boat.<\/p>\n

Because suddenly I remembered something.<\/p>\n

That rainy Thursday, he had never asked me for money.<\/p>\n

Not once.<\/p>\n

He had wanted the deed.<\/p>\n

I drove home with both hands locked around the steering wheel.<\/p>\n

Every sentence from that dinner replayed differently.<\/p>\n

Temporary.<\/p>\n

Formalities.<\/p>\n

Family equity.<\/p>\n

Nothing changes.<\/p>\n

Trust us.<\/p>\n

That evening I sat at my kitchen table with a cup of black coffee cooling between my hands.<\/p>\n

Evelyn\u2019s empty chair was across from me.<\/p>\n

For six years, loneliness had made me softer.<\/p>\n

Not kinder.<\/p>\n

I had always been kind.<\/p>\n

Softer meant easier to pressure.<\/p>\n

Easier to convince.<\/p>\n

Easier to make afraid that questioning somebody was the same thing as insulting them.<\/p>\n

Sometime after midnight, something in me became very quiet.<\/p>\n

The next morning, I called Gerald Bishop.<\/p>\n

He answered on the fourth ring.<\/p>\n

\u201cFrank?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI need you to look at something.\u201d<\/p>\n

There must have been something in my voice because he stopped joking.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not sure yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gerald lived in a small cabin two lakes west of mine.<\/p>\n

By noon, we had every document spread across his dining table.<\/p>\n

He put on his reading glasses and began.<\/p>\n

I sat across from him.<\/p>\n

Ten minutes passed.<\/p>\n

Then twenty.<\/p>\n

At first, I watched him.<\/p>\n

Eventually, watching him became worse than waiting, so I stared through the window instead.<\/p>\n

Pine branches swayed over the water.<\/p>\n

Somewhere outside, a woodpecker hammered at a tree.<\/p>\n

Finally Gerald removed his glasses.<\/p>\n

\u201cFrank.\u201d<\/p>\n

I turned around.<\/p>\n

His voice had changed.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is not an equity bridge.\u201d<\/p>\n

My mouth went dry.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n

He slid one page toward me.<\/p>\n

\u201cA quitclaim deed.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at it.<\/p>\n

The legal language might as well have been another language entirely.<\/p>\n

Gerald tapped one paragraph.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou transferred ownership of the property to a limited holding company.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhose?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou already know.\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n

He pulled another page.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe company was registered by Logan five weeks before you signed.\u201d<\/p>\n

Something inside me seemed to drop several inches.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo he owns the lake house?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOn paper?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gerald hesitated.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked around his cabin.<\/p>\n

For a strange second, I noticed ridiculous things.<\/p>\n

The steam rising from his coffee.<\/p>\n

A crack in the leather chair beside the fireplace.<\/p>\n

A fly tapping repeatedly against the window.<\/p>\n

Anything except the sentence I had just heard.<\/p>\n

My house.<\/p>\n

Evelyn\u2019s kitchen.<\/p>\n

Our dock.<\/p>\n

The white pines she had chosen.<\/p>\n

I had signed them away.<\/p>\n

Then Gerald said, \u201cThere\u2019s something else.\u201d<\/p>\n

I turned slowly.<\/p>\n

He was reading page four again.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis reference.\u201d<\/p>\n

He pointed to a section labeled Supplemental Estate Documentation.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt mentions an insurance policy.\u201d<\/p>\n

I frowned.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat insurance policy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I\u2019m wondering.\u201d<\/p>\n

I had ordinary life insurance when I was working.<\/p>\n

That policy had expired years earlier.<\/p>\n

Gerald made several calls.<\/p>\n

Most went nowhere.<\/p>\n

Then his old professional credentials got him transferred to someone willing to confirm enough details to make his face harden.<\/p>\n

He put the phone down.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gerald stared at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cA new life insurance policy was opened six weeks ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

I felt my fingertips go cold.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow much?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFour hundred thousand dollars.\u201d<\/p>\n

I knew what I was going to ask before the words came out.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho gets it?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gerald\u2019s silence answered first.<\/p>\n

\u201cLogan.\u201d<\/p>\n

I stood.<\/p>\n

My chair scraped loudly across the wood floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cI never opened that policy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI never signed an insurance application.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n

The application had supposedly been notarized.<\/p>\n

By Mason Reed.<\/p>\n

The same man who had sat in my kitchen.<\/p>\n

I walked to the window.<\/p>\n

For several seconds I couldn\u2019t speak.<\/p>\n

Then a much worse question came to me.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happens,\u201d I said, \u201cif I die soon?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gerald did not answer immediately.<\/p>\n

That frightened me more than if he had.<\/p>\n

I turned around.<\/p>\n

His eyes were fixed on mine.<\/p>\n

\u201cFrank, from this moment forward, you don\u2019t confront anybody.\u201d<\/p>\n

And that was when I realized we were no longer talking about stolen property.<\/p>\n

We were talking about why my nephew might have been financially interested in me not being around to reclaim it.<\/p>\n

\u00a0NEXT PART Gerald connected me with an attorney named Rachel Monroe.<\/a><\/h1>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

That Evening, A Bank Manager Knocked On My Door With Foreclosure Papers. My Nephew Stood By The Driveway, Laughing And Shouting: \u201cSay Goodbye To The Lake House, Old Man \u2014 … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":6307,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6304","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-news"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/dmnews168.store\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6304","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/dmnews168.store\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/dmnews168.store\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dmnews168.store\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dmnews168.store\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=6304"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/dmnews168.store\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6304\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6310,"href":"https:\/\/dmnews168.store\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6304\/revisions\/6310"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dmnews168.store\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/6307"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/dmnews168.store\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6304"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dmnews168.store\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6304"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dmnews168.store\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6304"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}