My Brother-in-law Raised His Glass And Bragged, “i’m Flipping The Family Beach House Easy Profit…

She put her head in her hands. “Oh my god. I’m sorry”.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said.

She looked up, her eyes wet. “What are you going to do?”

“I need to file a police report. The contractor’s already talking to a detective. This is fraud, Lauren. It’s a crime,” I explained.

“He’s my husband,” she said.

“I know.”

“We have two kids,” she added.

“I know,” I said again.

She was crying now, real tears. “How could he do this?”

“I don’t know. Was it just the beach house, or has he been lying about other things?” I asked. I hadn’t thought about that.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

She pulled out her phone and scrolled through something. “Six months ago, he said he’d gotten a promotion. That his salary was increasing. But we never saw the extra money. He said it was going into investments”.

“What kind of investments?”

“He wouldn’t give me details. Said it was complicated. Said I should trust him,” she said.

“Red flag. Big red flag,” I noted.

“Lauren, you should talk to a lawyer. Not about divorce necessarily, but about protecting yourself and your kids financially,” I advised.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered.

The Investigation and the Final Sentence

We sat there in silence while she processed. Other customers came and went, and the barista called out names.

Life continued around us while my sister’s world collapsed. “What happens next?” she finally asked.

“I’m going to file a police report tonight. The detective will probably want to talk to Ethan, and the contractor will likely sue for payment,” I said.

“Can he go to jail?”

“Possibly. Fraud, forgery, theft by deception. It depends on how the DA wants to charge it,” I answered.

She wiped her eyes. “Our kids.”

“I know,” I said.

“Everyone’s going to find out,” she added.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Dad’s going to be devastated.”

“Dad believed Ethan’s lie. That’s not on you,” I told her.

She looked at me, really looked at me. “Why didn’t you say something at the party when he was lying to everyone?”

“Because I needed to be sure. And because I wanted to give you a chance to hear it from me first,” I said.

“Thank you,” she replied.

“You’re my sister,” I said.

She started crying again. “I’m so sorry for all of it. For not asking about the house. For not checking with you. For just assuming”.

“Don’t. You didn’t know,” I said.

But she should have. They all should have.

They should have asked me, the quiet son, the overlooked brother, whether I’d done anything with grandma’s house. They should have wondered who’d been maintaining it or who’d been paying the taxes.

They should have paid attention, but they didn’t. Because Ethan was charming and confident and knew exactly what to say, and I was just Daniel.

I filed the police report that night. Detective Lauren Hayes from the property fraud division called me the next morning.

“Mr. Morrison, I’ve reviewed your report and the documentation you provided. This is pretty clear-cut fraud,” she said.

“I’m going to need to interview Mr. Collins,” the detective continued.

“He doesn’t know I’ve reported it yet,” I said.

“That’s probably better. Can you come down to the station this afternoon? I want to get your full statement on record”.

I spent two hours at the Riverside County Sheriff’s Station going through everything. Detective Hayes was thorough—mid-50s, 22 years on the force, patient and methodical.

“Has Mr. Collins attempted to contact you directly?” she asked.

“No. He doesn’t know I know,” I replied.

“And your sister?”

“I told her two days ago. She’s trying to process it,” I said.

“Has she confronted him?”

“I don’t know. I told her to talk to a lawyer first,” I answered.

Detective Hayes made notes. “We’re going to execute a search warrant on his residence. Look for evidence of the forged documents, communications with the contractor—anything that shows intent”.

“When?”

“Probably next week. I need to coordinate with the DA’s office,” she replied.

“What about the contractor, Mark Rivera?”

“He’s filing a separate civil suit, but his evidence supports the criminal case. Forged permits alone are enough for charges,” she said.

I left the station feeling strange, like I’d set something in motion I couldn’t stop. Which was exactly what I’d done.

Three days later, my father called. “Daniel, what the hell is going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Lauren called me crying. Said something about Ethan and fraud and the beach house. She wasn’t making sense,” he said.

I took a breath. “Dad, I own the beach house. I bought it from grandma’s estate five years ago. Ethan doesn’t own it. He never did”.

There was silence.

“He hired a contractor to renovate it using forged permits. The contractor’s three weeks into the job, and Ethan hasn’t paid him,” I continued. “I filed a police report. There’s an active investigation”.

More silence.

“Dad?”

“You’re telling me Ethan lied at my birthday party? In front of the whole family?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“And you knew?”

“I found out that night. The contractor texted me during the party,” I explained.

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“I wanted to have all the facts first. I wanted to talk to Lauren privately. I wanted to handle this the right way,” I replied.

“The right way would have been to expose him immediately,” he countered.

“So everyone could watch Lauren’s humiliation in real time?” I asked. That stopped him.

“She’s your daughter,” I said quietly. “I protected her as much as I could”.

Another long silence followed. “I can’t believe this,” he finally said.

“Neither can I,” I answered.

“What happens now?”

“The police investigate. The DA decides whether to press charges. The contractor sues. Ethan faces consequences,” I explained.

“And Lauren?”

“She’s talking to a lawyer about protecting herself and the kids financially,” I said.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” I said.

He hung up without saying goodbye. The search warrant came through on a Tuesday morning.

Detective Hayes called me at 9:47 a.m. “We executed the warrant at Mr. Collins’s residence. Found the forged permit templates on his computer, multiple drafts, email communications with the contractor where he explicitly claimed to own the property”.

“Financial records showing he’s underwater on credit card debt to the tune of $48,000,” she added.

“48,000?”

“He was desperate, Mr. Morrison. Probably thought flipping the house would solve his money problems. But he doesn’t own it, which is why it’s fraud and not just bad business,” she said.

“Is he under arrest?”

“Not yet. We’re building the case for the DA, but it’s coming,” she answered.

I sat down at my desk, phone pressed to my ear, trying to process the number. $48,000 in debt.

My sister had no idea her husband had been lying to her about everything. “There’s something else,” Detective Hayes said.

“What?”

“We found evidence he was planning to take out a home equity loan against your property. He had loan applications filled out, forged signatures—the whole thing,” she said.

My stomach dropped. “He was going to take out a loan against a house he didn’t own using forged documentation?”