My Daughter Tried To Institutionalize Me To Steal My Life Savings. Little Does She Know, I Secretly Own The Mansion She Lives In. Who Is Getting Evicted Now?
The Final Trap
Two days later, I stood in the hallway outside the main conference room of Powell and Associates. I adjusted my crimson silk tie in the reflection of the glass. I checked my watch. It was a Patek Philippe, another secret indulgence I had kept hidden in a safety deposit box for a decade. It was exactly 10:00.
“Time to demolish the building,”
I whispered.
I pushed the heavy glass door open and stepped into the room. Sarah was pacing. Michael was slumped in a chair. They both looked up. They were looking for the shuffling, cardigan-wearing, confused pensioner. Instead, they found a CEO. I walked to the head of the long oval table moving with the fluid, powerful stride of a man in his prime. I pulled out the leather chair and sat down.
“Good morning, Richard,”
I said, my voice deep and resonant.
“Shall we begin?”
Michael stared at me, blinking rapidly.
“Joseph?”
Michael stammered.
“What… what is this? You look different.”
“I look like myself, Michael,”
I replied, cold and sharp.
“The man you met the other night… that was a character. You didn’t like the script, so I rewrote it.”
Sarah stepped forward, her face flushing with anger and confusion.
“Dad, stop this acting. The police report, the restraining order… it is ridiculous. We know you are sick.”
“Sit down, Sarah,”
I commanded. The authority in my voice was absolute. It was the voice I used to order the evacuation of a collapsing tunnel. She sat.
“We are not here to discuss my health,”
I said.
“We are here to discuss your eviction.”
Michael let out a short, incredulous laugh.
“Eviction? Dad, you don’t even know where you live half the time. You can’t evict anyone.”
“Now about the eviction,”
Richard continued, sliding a document across the polished mahogany table. It stopped right in front of Michael.
“This is a notice to quit,”
Richard explained.
“It effectively terminates the tenancy at will agreement for the property located at 124 Crestwood Drive.”
Michael looked at the paper but didn’t touch it.
“What are you talking about? That is my house. I own it. I have the deed.”
“You have a forgery,”
Richard corrected him.
“A clumsy one at that. The actual deed, the one on file with the Registry of Deeds, lists the owner as Catalyst Holdings LLC.”
“So what?”
Michael snapped.
“That is some investment firm. I pay them rent. Or… I mean, I have an arrangement.”
“Yes, you do have an arrangement,”
I said, leaning forward.
“You have an arrangement with the sole managing member of Catalyst Holdings.”
Michael looked at me. The realization hit him like a physical blow.
“You,”
He whispered.
“You own the house?”
“I bought it 15 years ago,”
I said.
“When you were broke and Sarah was pregnant. I set up the LLC to protect it from your incompetence. I gave you a lease for $1 a year so you could feel like a man. And how did you repay me? You tried to sell it out from under me to a loan shark.”
“I… I didn’t sell it,”
He stammered.
“I just… I needed a bridge loan. I was going to pay it back.”
“You forged a deed transfer,”
I said.
“That is a felony, Michael. But I am not sending you to jail for that. Not yet.”
Richard slid another document across the table.
“The notice to quit gives you 30 days to vacate,”
Richard said.
“However, given the hostile actions taken against the landlord—specifically the attempt to have him institutionalized—we are filing for an accelerated eviction based on nuisance and danger to the property owner. You have 7 days.”
“7 days?”
Sarah shrieked.
“We can’t move in 7 days! Where will we go?”
“That is not my concern,”
I said.
“You have a Mercedes. You can sleep in that.”
Michael was shaking his head, muttering to himself.
“Omega Capital… they won’t let you do this. They have a lien.”
“Ah yes,”
Richard said, a shark-like smile spreading across his face.
“Omega Capital. We should talk about them.”
He pulled the final document from his briefcase. He placed it gently in front of Michael.
“It was a transfer of note and lien,”
Richard said.
“When Joseph offered to buy the note for cash, they accepted immediately.”
Michael read the header: Assignee: Joseph Bennett. I watched the color drain from his face until he was gray.
“You bought my debt,”
He rasped.
“I own you, Michael,”
I said softly.
“I am the bank. I am the collection agency. And I am the foreclosure court. You owe me $1.2 million plus interest, plus penalties. And unlike Omega Capital, I am not interested in a payment plan.”
I stood up, towering over them.
“I am calling the note,”
I declared.
“The full amount is due immediately.”
Michael slumped forward, putting his head in his hands. He began to sob.
“Please,”
He choked out.
“Please, Joseph. I can’t pay that. I don’t have it.”
“I know,”
I said.
“That is why I am taking everything else. I am taking the cars. I am garnishing your future wages. I am seizing your bank accounts. I am going to strip you down to the studs, Michael. By the time I am done, you won’t even be able to afford a plastic spoon.”
Sarah stood up, tears streaming down her face.
“Dad, please,”
She begged.
“You can’t do this. We are your family. We made a mistake. We are sorry.”
I looked at her hand. The hand that had turned the gas knob.
“You tried to bury me, Sarah,”
I said.
“You stopped being my family the moment you decided my life was less valuable than your lifestyle.”
I picked up my folder. I turned to Richard.
“File the papers,”
I said.
“Start the eviction. Execute the lien.”
