My Daughter-in-law Billed Me $200 To See My Grandkids. As A Retired Cpa, I Sent Her A Counter-invoice For $247,900. Who Is The Greedy One Now?

Monday morning, I drove to Michael and Jessica’s house. Jessica answered the door in her business suit, briefcase in hand, clearly about to leave for work.

“Robert.” She said.

“You wanted to discuss the arrangement?” Michael asked as he appeared.

I handed her the envelope. “This is my response to your proposal.” I said.

She opened it right there on the doorstep. I watched her face as she read the first page.

The confidence faded by the second page. Her expression had gone cold by the third page, which listed every expense in categories with dates and amounts.

Her hand was shaking. “This is ridiculous. These were gifts. You can’t retroactively bill for gifts.” She screamed.

I kept my voice calm. “Actually, Jessica, I can, just like you can’t retroactively charge for access to grandchildren.” I replied.

“The difference is I have documentation for every single expense: receipts, bank statements, credit card bills, and contracts. Everything.” I stated.

“Can you show me documentation proving these were intended as gifts with no expectation of maintaining a relationship with my grandchildren?” I challenged.

She looked up from the invoice. “You’re not serious about this.” She said.

“I’m as serious as you are about your $200 fee.” I answered.

“Here’s my proposal: you withdraw your access fee, we maintain the existing arrangement where I see Sophia and Oliver regularly at no cost, and I’ll consider these expenses what they were always intended to be, which is investments in my grandchildren’s lives made out of love.” I proposed.

“Or you can proceed with your fee structure, and I’ll proceed with debt collection.” I added.

Her face went red. “This is extortion.” She hissed.

“No, this is negotiation. You set the terms when you decided to put a price on my relationship with my grandchildren. I’m just playing by your rules.” I countered.

Michael appeared behind her. “Dad, what’s going on?” He asked.

Jessica thrust the invoice at him. “Your father is trying to bill us for a quarter million dollars!” She yelled.

Michael read through it, and I could see him processing each line item: the fishing boat, the summer camps, the college funds.

These were things he’d never questioned, never asked about, and just accepted as what grandparents do.

His voice was quiet. “Dad, you paid for all of this?” He asked.

“Every penny, documented, dated, and provable.” I replied.

“I never mentioned it because family doesn’t keep score. But apparently, we’re keeping score now.” I added.

Jessica grabbed the invoice back. “You’ll never collect on this! Any judge would see these were voluntary gifts.” She snapped.

“Maybe. But you’re a lawyer, Jessica. You know how expensive legal battles get.” I said.

“You know how much time they take. You know that even if you win, the discovery process alone would be embarrassing.” I continued.

“Every gift, every expense, every time you accepted my help while planning to charge me for access to my own grandchildren—all of it would be public record.” I stated.

She slammed the door in my face. Through the window, I could hear her yelling at Michael.

The Petition for Visitation

I drove home and made a phone call to Frank Martinez, a lawyer I’d known for 20 years. We’d worked together on estate planning for mutual clients.

He’d retired from his big firm and now took select cases, mostly for friends. “Frank, I need advice about grandparents’ rights in Colorado.” I told him.

He listened while I explained the situation. When I finished, he was quiet for a moment.

“Robert, I’m going to be straight with you. Grandparents’ rights cases are tough. Colorado law favors parental authority.” He explained.

“But there’s something called the psychological parent doctrine. With eight years of regular, consistent involvement in these kids’ lives, you might have a case, especially if cutting off access would harm them.” He added.

“What do I need to do?” I asked.

“Document everything. I know you already have the financial records, but I need more: photos with the kids, videos, letters, cards, any communication that shows the relationship.” He instructed.

“I need testimony from witnesses who can speak to your involvement, school records if they’ve ever listed you as an emergency contact, and medical records if you’ve taken them to appointments.” He continued.

“I have all of that, of course.” I said.

“Of course you do. Here’s the thing, Robert: your daughter-in-law is a lawyer. She’ll know the law, but she’s also emotionally involved, and that makes people make mistakes.” Frank noted.

“If you want to fight this—really fight this—you need to be prepared for it to get ugly.” He warned.

I thought about Sophia showing me her science project on volcanoes, her face lit up with excitement.

I thought of Oliver teaching me the card game he’d learned at school, being patient when I forgot the rules. I remembered the way they ran to me when I picked them up and the trust in their eyes.

“I’m prepared.” I said.