7 The Real Game of Missing Money I. Prologue: Philadelphia (December 1950– May 1978) “Who is that as***le?” ~ Catherine Austin Fitts as a child contemplating a foreclosure sign by order of the Assistant Secretary of Housing-FHA Commissioner M y childhood home was a brick row house in West Philadelphia at 48th and Larch- wood. My father bought our home with a Veterans Administration (VA) insured mortgage after returning from service as a surgeon in WWII. Ours was a city neigh- borhood filled with families and children who lived and played on our porches, stoops, and sidewalks. When I was a young girl, there were four boarded-up home foreclosures on the city block catty-corner to our own. The boarded-up houses had been financed with Federal Housing Ad- ministration (FHA) insured mortgages. They had large foreclosure signs that boldly announced, “By order of the Assistant Secretary of Housing-Federal Housing Commissioner.” There was a family of six people living in a one-bedroom apartment in a house across 48th Street. My young mind could not understand why four perfectly good houses could be boarded up and lie empty for years, while six people—who would appreciate and take good care of a home—lived in a one-bedroom apartment. I intuitively understood that dense living conditions and empty homes were harmful for both productivity and equity values in our neighborhood. Whenever I walked by the foreclosure signs, I would look at the long title, “By the order of the Assistant Secretary of Housing-Federal Housing Commissioner,” and think, “Who is that as***le?” In 1989, when I was sworn in as the Assistant Secretary of Housing-Federal Housing Commissioner in the first Bush Administration, I realized immediately, “Uh-oh, I’m the as***le.”