My Family Thought I Was a Burden. After I Inherited a Fortune, I Overheard Them Plotting to Evict Me — So I Taught Them a Lesson
I had about six hours until Dr. Smith arrived. Six hours until Jenna and Ryan made their final move to have me declared incompetent. My thumb hovered over Harrison’s name. I had to wait.
I couldn’t risk calling him again. He had his instructions. He knew what was at stake.
The hours dragged. 4 a.m. 5 a.m. The sky outside the glass walls began to turn from black to a sick gray color. I didn’t sleep.
I just sat on the pull-out sofa wrapped in my coat, my mind racing. What if Harrison couldn’t get the information? What if the doctor came and I had nothing? It would be my word against theirs.
The word of a confused old man against a concerned family and their professional friend. I would be finished. They’d have me in Golden Meadows by nightfall, and my eighteen million, my father’s eighteen million, would be theirs by the end of the week.
At exactly 6:15 a.m., the phone vibrated. A silent buzzing vibration against my leg. I snatched it up so fast I almost dropped it. The screen read, Harrison.
I flipped it open, pressing my thumb to the answer key. I didn’t say hello, I just whispered, «Talk to me.»
«Walter, thank God. I’ve been working all night.» Harrison’s voice was sharp, tired, and running on coffee. «Okay, listen close. The good news first. The very good news. The consortium bit. They bit hard. They wanted that parcel. The wire transfer cleared an hour ago. The irrevocable trust is funded, Walter. 4.5 million. It’s yours. It’s locked down. Legally, it’s safer than gold. Even if they get a guardianship order, they cannot touch that trust. You are protected.»
I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. The relief was so strong my knees went weak. I had to sit down on the lumpy sofa.
4.5 million. I had an escape.
«That’s the good news,» Harrison said. My stomach dropped.
«And the bad news?»
«The investigation you asked for, on Jenna Byrne.» Harrison let out a long, slow sigh. «Walter, it’s worse than you thought. It’s much worse.»
«Just tell me,» I said, my hand tightening on the phone.
«The team I hired, they’re good. They pulled her credit, her online activity, public records. You were right about the gambling. It’s not just a little habit, Walter. It’s a full-blown addiction. The $220,000 you overheard, that’s just the tip of the iceberg.»
I closed my eyes.
«It’s not just online casinos,» Harrison continued, his voice grim. «It’s markers, online sports betting, high-interest payday loans. She’s been taking them out against, well, against Ryan’s salary. My people think she’s been forging his signature on digital loan applications for months.»
«Forging signatures. My God.»
«But that’s not the worst part, Walter.»
«How?» I whispered. «How can it possibly be worse than that?»
«The house,» Harrison said. «The house you’re sitting in right now. Ryan and Jenna, they’re not just behind on the mortgage.»
«What do you mean?»
«I mean, Jenna took out a second mortgage on the property six months ago for $50,000. She did it secretly. Ryan… Ryan didn’t cosign. The investigators are almost certain she forged his signature on those documents, too.»
My mind was spinning. The house. The house Isla and I had helped them buy.
«She bet it all, Walter,» Harrison said quietly. «She lost the entire $50,000 in one weekend, and she has not made a single payment on that second mortgage. Not one.»
«So, the foreclosure,» I said. «The thirty days I heard them talking about.»
«That’s the problem, Walter,» Harrison said. «The thirty days. That was last week. The bank’s grace period is over. The house isn’t going to be foreclosed. It is foreclosed. The bank already owns it. The auction. It’s scheduled for this Friday. In three days.»
«Three days.» I looked around the glass walls of my prison. This house. It was already gone.
«Ryan,» I whispered. «Does… does he know? Does he know about the second mortgage?»
«Our guy doesn’t think so,» Harrison said. «He knows about the gambling. He knows about the debt. But he thinks they’re just late on the first mortgage. He has no idea she leveraged the entire roof over his head. He has no idea that in seventy-two hours the bank is going to kick them. And you. To the curb.»
I finally understood. Jenna’s panic. Her desperation. The doctor.
This wasn’t just a plan to get rid of me. This wasn’t just a plan to get my pension. This was a last-ditch, frantic Hail Mary pass. She wasn’t trying to get money. She was trying to replace the money she had stolen.
She was hoping to get guardianship, find some assets, any assets—maybe the nonexistent inheritance she thought I was hiding—and use it to plug the gaping, bleeding wound of their finances before Ryan found out she hadn’t just bankrupted them. She had made them homeless.
The doctor wasn’t just her key to Golden Meadows. He was her key to survival.
«Walter,» Harrison said, pulling me back. «Walter, are you there?»
«I’m here,» I said. My voice was perfectly calm. The rage was gone. The fear was gone. All that was left was a cold, perfect, terrible clarity. «What time is it in Wyoming, Harrison?»
«Uh, 6:30 a.m. Why?»
«I need you to do one more thing. I need you to call that consortium back, the one that just bought the farm.»
«What? Why?»
«I need you to buy something for me, here, in Ohio.»
«Buy what?»
«A house,» I said. «Or more specifically, a mortgage.» I looked through the glass door into the dark, quiet kitchen. «I need you to find out which bank holds the note on this property,» I said. «Both notes. The first and the second mortgage. And I want you to buy them. I want you to buy my son’s debt. Today.»
The doorbell rang at exactly ten o’clock in the morning. I heard it from the living room armchair. Jenna and Ryan had moved me there an hour earlier, guiding me by the elbows as if I were a piece of antique china that might shatter.
«Let’s get you settled in the comfortable chair, Walter,» Jenna had chirped, her voice sickeningly bright. «It’s warmer out here. We have a visitor coming and we want you to be comfortable.»
She fluffed a pillow behind my back. Her hands smelled like expensive floral lotion. I just slumped into the chair, letting my head hang, playing the part of the frail, defeated old man.
Ryan stood by the fireplace, his face pale and slick with a thin layer of sweat. He looked like a man walking to his own execution. He knew what this was. He knew it was wrong. But he was weak, a ship towed in the wake of his wife’s ruthless ambition.
«I’ll get it,» Jenna called out, clapping her hands together. I heard her greet him at the door. Her voice was thick with fake emotion.
«Greg, thank you so much for coming on such short notice. We’re just… we’re at our wit’s end. We’re so worried.»
«Of course, Jenna. Anything to help an old friend,» a man’s voice replied. It was smooth, confident, professional.
A moment later, Dr. Smith walked into the living room. He was exactly as I remembered from the barbecue two years ago. Mid-fifties, perfect gray hair, an expensive suit that probably cost more than my first car. He carried a polished brown leather briefcase.
He looked at me, and his practiced friendly smile clicked into place.
«And this must be Walter,» he said, extending a hand.
I just blinked at him, my eyes wide and watery. I didn’t take his hand. I let mine tremble in my lap.
His smile didn’t falter. He pulled the ottoman closer and sat down, leaning in his posture, a perfect imitation of concern. Jenna sat on the edge of the sofa, wringing her hands. Ryan continued to stare at the fireplace as if hoping to find an escape route in the bricks.
«Walter?» Dr. Smith began, his voice soft and soothing. «My name is Greg Smith. I’m a… a friend of Jenna’s, and she and Ryan have told me you’ve been going through a very difficult time.»
I just nodded, a small, weak movement.
«Losing your wife Isla, that’s a tremendous loss,» he continued. «And then this trip, your father’s funeral, and the difficult news about his estate. That’s… well, that’s a lot for any one person to handle.»
I looked at Jenna. She gave me an encouraging little nod, as if to say, It’s okay. He’s here to help.
«Jenna tells me,» the doctor went on, «that you’ve been, well, a little forgetful lately. Is that right? Sometimes feeling confused, maybe misplacing things?»
I could see the script laid out in front of me. He would ask me a few simple questions. What’s the date? Who is the president? Where are you?
I would answer them, and then he would twist it. He would say, «Your family says you’re confused and you seem agitated. You’re denying your symptoms, which is a symptom in itself.» It was the perfect, airtight trap.
Jenna jumped in. «It’s okay, Walter. Just tell the doctor. Tell him about the remote. Remember how you couldn’t find the remote control and how you lost your socks?»
I looked at the doctor. His eyes were kind, but his smile was a lie. This was my moment. This was the moment it all turned.
I took a slow, deep breath. The performance was over. The slumped, frail old man disappeared. I sat up straight in the armchair. My spine felt like steel.
I looked Dr. Greg Smith directly in his practiced, lying eyes. My voice when it came out was not the weak whisper of a confused man. It was the voice of a seventy-year-old who had run a factory floor for forty years.
It was cold, it was clear, and it did not tremble.
«You can go now, doctor.»
The smile on Smith’s face faltered. It didn’t fall. It just stuck. «I… I beg your pardon?»
Jenna’s face tightened. The fake concern vanished. «Walter… don’t be rude. This is Dr. Smith. He’s here to help.»
«No,» I said, my gaze still locked on the doctor. «He’s not. He’s here to sign a piece of paper. He’s here to commit perjury. He’s here to help you steal my pension and my Social Security.»
Smith’s face went from pale to a blotchy red. «Now see here, Mr. Byrne. That is a very serious accusation.»
«It’s a serious crime,» I said. «I know who you are, Greg. I remember you from the barbecue. You’re a family psychologist, not a geriatric specialist. And I am not your patient, so I’ll say it again. You can leave my house.»
«My… my house…» Jenna stammered, shooting to her feet.
Ryan finally turned from the fireplace, his face a mask of pure white-hot panic. «Dad, what… what are you doing?»
«This is my house, Walter!» Jenna shrieked, her voice cracking. «And you are… you’re confused. This is exactly what we were talking about. You’re paranoid. You’re having an episode.»
«Am I?» I turned my gaze on her. The cold anger I had held back for eight days finally washed over me. «Am I paranoid, Jenna? Or do I just have good hearing? Am I paranoid to know that you were planning to put me in Golden Meadows?»
The room just… stopped. The name. I had said the name. The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Jenna’s mouth opened, and a little «O» sound came out. She looked at Ryan, her eyes wide with animal panic. This wasn’t in her script.
Ryan looked like he was going to be sick. He stumbled forward.
«Dad, you… you heard us.»
«Every word,» I said, my voice like gravel. «Through the front door. ‘He’s a financial black hole.’ ‘Golden Meadows.’ ‘It’s him or us.’ Every single word.»
Dr. Smith didn’t need any more. He saw the trap he’d just walked into. He snapped his briefcase shut.
«I… I think… I’m in the wrong place. This is a private family matter. I… I should be going.»
«Yes,» I said. «You should.»
He didn’t walk to the door. He fled. We heard the front door open, and silence. It was just me, my son, and his wife.
Jenna stared at me, her face white. «You… you spied on us,» she whispered.
«No,» I said. «I listened. And then for eight days, I watched.»
«You… you pretended…» she shrieked, her rage coming back. «All week you sat there, pretending to be sick, pretending to be confused!»
«I didn’t have to pretend very hard, did I?» I said. I stood up from the armchair. I suddenly felt stronger than I had in years. «You made it easy. The cold room. The stolen remote. The scraps of food. You locked me in last night, Jenna.»
Ryan’s head snapped toward her. «What, Jenna? You locked him in?»
«It was for his own good!» she screamed. «He’s clearly not well. He’s senile. He’s… he’s lying. He’s making it all up.»
«Am I lying, Jenna?» I took a step toward her. «Am I lying about Golden Meadows?»
She flinched. She actually took a step back.
«You did all this,» I said, my voice quiet again. «You were willing to destroy my life. You were willing to throw me in a hole to die. All because you thought I was poor. Because you thought I was a burden.»
«You are…» she spat, her composure gone. «You are… you’re a leech. You came here with nothing but debts.»
«That,» I said. «That is where you are wrong.»
My voice was suddenly calm, and the calmness of it seemed to startle her more than if I had yelled. She stopped, her mouth still open, breathing hard.
«That is where you are wrong, Jenna.»
«What? What did you say?»
«I said you’re wrong,» I repeated. «And that’s why I lied.»
Ryan, who had been frozen by the fireplace, finally, finally looked at me. «Lied? Dad, what lie?»
I looked at Jenna. I watched her pupils, already wide with anger, narrow into confused slits.
«My father, Hector. He didn’t leave me any debts,» I said. I let the words land one by one like stones dropping into a deep, dark well. «He didn’t leave me taxes. He didn’t leave me nothing.»
«Then… what?» Ryan stammered, taking a half step forward. «Then what did he leave you?»
I held Jenna’s gaze. I didn’t look away.
«He left me eighteen million dollars.»
Silence. The word just hung in the air of the messy living room. Eighteen. Million. Dollars.
It wasn’t a sound. It was a physical object. It sucked all the air out of the room. Ryan’s mouth opened a little «O» of disbelief. He just… stared. He looked from me to Jenna and back to me as if he was sure he’d misheard, as if his senile old father had finally completely lost his mind.
Jenna’s face. It was a painting of disbelief. The rage just… froze. It solidified on her features, her face a white contorted mask.
«What? What did you just say?» she whispered. The word was hollow.
«Eighteen million,» I repeated, my voice flat. I was tired of playing a part. I was just tired. «Three farms in Wyoming with active natural gas leases, and a house on the ocean in Maine. The lawyer’s estimate is eighteen million.»
Jenna’s hand, which had been clenched into a fist, slowly uncurled. She looked at her own hand then back at me. She wasn’t processing it. I could see the gears in her head turning, trying to make the two realities fit. The leech in the sunroom. The eighteen million. They didn’t go together. It was a system error.
«You’re lying,» she said. It wasn’t an accusation. It was a plea. «You’re… you’re confused. You read it wrong. You’re senile.»
«I’m not confused, Jenna,» I said. «I’m not senile, and I’m not lying.»
And then it happened. The mask of rage and disbelief didn’t just fade. It shattered. It was like a dam breaking.
A sound tore out of her throat. It wasn’t a word. It was a high-pitched, strangled scream of joy. Her face, which had been paper-white, flooded with a blotchy red color.
«Eighteen million!» she shrieked the number, and it was a sound of pure, unadulterated, terrifying victory. «Ryan!» she screamed, spinning so fast she almost fell. She grabbed her husband’s arms. «Ryan, did you hear him? Did you hear him? Eighteen million!»
«I… Jenna… don’t…» Ryan stammered, his face still numb with shock. He couldn’t keep up with her emotional whiplash.
«Oh, Dad…» Jenna flew at me. Before I could so much as raise my hands, her arms were locked around my neck in a hug so tight it was suffocating. I could smell the floral lotion from her hands, the hairspray from her perfect ponytail.
«You were joking,» she cried. Her voice muffled in the shoulder of my old worn-out coat. «Oh, you were just joking. You terrible, wonderful, terrible old man. A joke. That’s what it was. The debts. The taxes. You were playing a joke on us.»
She pulled back her hands, gripping my shoulders. Her face was a terrifying picture of happiness. Tears streamed down her cheeks, washing away her mascara. But her eyes… Her eyes were dancing. They were bright, hard, and calculating.
