Part 3: The Shift — The Owner Update

The Orlando sales office was stunning—modern, sleek, like stepping into a Manhattan skyscraper. But the illusion shattered as soon as we were led past the lobby and into a cramped, noisy conference room full of cubicles. It was New Hampshire all over again—loud, chaotic, and overwhelming.

Our assigned salesperson, Josh, was charming. He gave us tips on attractions, showed us an app for members, even told us how to score discounted tickets. For a while, it felt like we were chatting with an old friend.

But then came the “fix.”

Josh explained that because the company had recently been bought out, we needed to “fix” our contracts. If we merged them, we could leverage “equity” from the contract we’d already paid off, roll everything into one, earn more points, and even lower our maintenance fees.

He also suggested opening a timeshare credit card—just for paying maintenance bills, which we’d pay off right away while earning rewards. It sounded logical. For once, we thought, maybe this update really was about helping us.

Hours later, we were led downstairs to finalize paperwork in a stark, windowless room. The closing agent was detached, flipping through papers with little explanation.

Then came the gut punch.

She handed me paperwork for a new credit card—with a $17,000 balance. My stomach dropped. Then she handed my husband his paperwork: another card, this one with over $20,000 charged.

We were stunned. My husband hadn’t even applied for a card, and I had only agreed to one for maintenance fees—not thousands in surprise charges.

When we questioned it, the agent brushed us off and called Josh back in. The “friend” we’d met earlier was gone. He returned cold, annoyed, and impatient. When we pressed for answers, he told us bluntly the cards were being used to cover part of the $55,000 purchase we were supposedly making.

We were floored. “What $55,000 purchase?!”

Josh calmly explained that merging contracts and adding points came with a $55,000 price tag. The “equity” he’d promised? Just marketing jargon. Nothing like real estate.

We refused to sign. He brought in his manager, who tried to push three “alternative deals.” Each one was just another pitch. By then, I was drained and near tears.

After more than five hours, we were finally walked out. Josh didn’t look at us. The manager was cold. The closing agent gave us a hollow smile and disappeared.

We no longer felt like valued members. We were simply the people who didn’t take the deal.

We thought the nightmare ended when we walked out that day. In reality, it was only the beginning.