Monica Yant Kinney: The human face on a toxic asset

The heavily accented woman on the phone was panicky. She'd been trying to reach a Cherry Hill company called Hope Now Modifications.

Mavis Yeboah, 48, had cause for alarm. The nurse's aide from Ghana gave Hope Now Modifications $2,600 to modify the crippling loan on her Townsend, Del., home. As per the firm's advice, she stopped paying her mortgage while Hope staffers were to work their magic.

"They said it would take six weeks," Yeboah told me, "but it's been almost four months . . . "

I hate bearing bad news, but this time I felt I had no choice.

Earlier this month, New Jersey Attorney General Anne Milgram sued Hope Now Modifications for deception and fraud. Then the Federal Trade Commission filed suit, shutting the operation down.

Yeboah paused, as if contemplating each misstep she'd made.

"What happens now? Are we going to lose our home?"

The scam, as alleged in court and confirmed by victims, resulted from a clever name game.

In fall 2007, the Bush administration, concerned about the housing crisis, urged mortgage companies and credit counselors to work together to offer free foreclosure aid. The government-sanctioned effort was Hope Now Alliance (www.hopenow.com, 1-888-995-HOPE).

A year later, a South Jersey upstart, Hope Now Modifications, began promising to "Stop Foreclosure in its Tracks!," albeit for a hefty fee.

On its Web site, the firm posted a video of Bush, White House news releases, and a CNNMoney.com article - all of them about the real Hope Now Alliance.

The problem? Hope Now Modifications had zero affiliation with Hope Now Alliance.

Yeboah's husband, Kaakyire Amo, was referred to Hope Now Modifications by a Countrywide Financial worker he met on a job.

So the couple paid and spread the word among their cash-strapped friends and family. Eventually, five couples in three states gave Hope Now Modifications their funds and faith.

They weren't alone. By the time the FTC caught wind of the scheme, 2,200 homeowners had been hoodwinked.

Amo and his wife love the 3,750-square-foot, $419,000 house they somehow purchased with modest incomes and only $25,000 down.

Fellow Ghanaian Nicole Botchway lives nearby in a $444,000 place the home health aide and her cabbie husband can't afford, either.

"My monthly payments are $3,400," said Botchway, who hoped "they could get it down to $2,000."

Hearing the women talk, I understand why they fell for Hope Now Modifications' pitch. When you're knee-deep in debt, why not spend a little to cut your mortgage by a lot?

Ken Aita, the Haddon Heights-based attorney for Hope Now Modifications, admitted that only 200 of 2,200 clients received promised help. He told me the company "started with good intentions" but became overwhelmed by the "crazy" demand.

But what about the intentionally misleading name? And why advise people to risk ruin by not paying their mortgages? "That's a problem," Aita said. "I don't know what the rationale was."

By preying upon unsophisticated home buyers who'd already been duped by lenders, Hope Now Modifications engaged in what Attorney General Milgram calls an "unbelievable level of deception."

"And now," she frets, "the victims are in even worse financial shape."

Yeboah is dogged by calls from collection agencies about missed mortgage payments, and she didn't know where to turn. After I tell her about the real Hope Now Alliance, she dials the toll-free number.

CNN blares from a flat-screen TV in the couple's great room. The stock market is soaring on news of a plan to buy up toxic assets just like Yeboah's mortgage.

Once again, others are profiting from her mistakes. How rich.