My Father Lived In My House Rent-free For 9 Years, Then Changed The Locks To Kick Me Out. I Evicted Him And Accidentally Bought His Only Backup Home. Am I The Jerk For Leaving Him Homeless?

Reclaiming the House

That first night after they moved out I walked through my house in complete silence. 9 years of having other people living there and suddenly it was just mine again. Should have felt good but instead I felt this hollow emptiness.

I went into my room and found they’d already started moving my stuff out. My clothes were in garbage bags. My desk had been moved to make room for a bed they’d ordered for Becca.

They’d been so confident I’d cave to their demands that they’d already started giving away my space. And just like that any doubt I had at that moment disappeared completely. These people had been planning to steamroll me regardless of what I said.

The lock change was just step one of a calculated plan to take over my house entirely. Meanwhile, the locksmith who changed my locks got absolutely destroyed by the licensing board. Turns out this wasn’t his first time doing shady work without proper verification.

His license got suspended for 6 months. He had to pay a massive fine and his business reputation was ruined when the local news picked up the story. The guy actually called me begging to drop the charges claiming he didn’t know dad wasn’t the owner.

Voice shaking, talking about his kids and his mortgage, how this would destroy his livelihood. I felt bad for about 10 seconds. Then I remembered that professional locksmiths are supposed to verify ownership before changing locks.

This is basic stuff. If you’re going to change locks make sure the person hiring you actually owns the property. Pretty simple concept.

Ignorance isn’t an excuse for not following basic professional standards. I told him:

“Maybe next time you’ll do your job properly.”

The harsh reality was that his sloppy work had enabled my father to lock me out of my own house. If I let it slide, what message did that send to other contractors who might cut corners in the future?

Dad got charged with criminal mischief for the lock situation plus trespassing for refusing to let me access my own property. During his court appearance, he showed zero remorse and kept insisting he had rights to his son’s property. The judge was not having it.

“Mr. Johnson, you illegally locked your son out of his own property then broke into another property he owned. Your son didn’t steal anything. He inherited property legally and you committed crimes trying to take it.”

Dad actually stood up during sentencing and gave this whole speech about ungrateful children and family loyalty. He claimed I was stealing his inheritance and turning my back on family by enforcing property rights. Watching him make that speech was one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life.

The man who raised me was standing in court blaming me for his own criminal behavior. Part of me wanted to stand up and say:

“Dad just stop talking. You’re making it worse.”

But I stayed quiet. Let him talk. Let him twist it however he wanted. And in the end, he dug his own grave.

He got eight months. Five for breaking and entering. Another three for tampering with the locks.

Not exactly a standing ovation moment but satisfying in its own way.

Uncle Derek’s Gamble

While he was busy dealing with court dates and legal headaches, things took another weird turn. About a month after the eviction my phone rings. It’s Uncle Derek and the man sounds like he’s in full-blown panic mode.

No small talk, just jumps straight to it. He needed to sell his house immediately. Won’t say why, just asks if I’m interested in buying.

Now here’s the part Derek didn’t know. And this is where it gets good. The house he was trying to offload, that was actually my great-grandparents’ old place, the one Grandpa Rex grew up in.

Grandpa had handed it down to Derek years ago but he later told me he regretted that decision. Said Derek let it fall apart. Didn’t take care of it like he should have.

Grandpa even told me that if I ever got the chance to get it back I should take it. Said it belonged with someone who’d actually respect the family history. And Derek, he had no idea who he was calling.

In his mind, I was still just that college kid who lucked out with one inheritance. He didn’t know I’d built a real estate empire while he wasn’t paying attention. I offered him 40% of market value knowing he was desperate.

He said it was too low but I could hear the panic in his voice. Same offer but all cash, close next week, and I’ll cover all legal fees and moving costs. I countered the desperation; one deal, and I mean business is business.

If Derek was desperate enough to sell that fast, that was his problem to solve. After Derek signed the house over and took off with the cash I figured that was the end of it. Quick sale, no questions asked.

But about a week later I got a call from an old neighbor near Derek’s place. She’s chatting with me about the house and then casually drops:

“Funny I thought your dad was buying. That’s what he told everyone.”

“Wait what?”

That little comment sent me down a rabbit hole. I started putting pieces together, made a couple quiet calls, and yeah, turns out Derek had originally been planning to sell the house to my dad. They’d been talking for weeks.

My dad had been scraping together whatever money he could before he got himself arrested, thinking he’d slide right back into his childhood home like nothing ever happened. And let me clarify things here. Dad didn’t go to jail immediately after the first arrest.

He was booked, denied bail, and held in county for weeks while the court sorted everything out. But before formal sentencing came down, he managed to scrape together bail through Derek who sold him out later. That’s how he got out long enough to try and buy Derek’s place.

And when Derek told him:

“Your son bought it instead,”

my dad apparently assumed I’d done it for him like it was some kind of peace offering. This man who I had evicted fully believed he was automatically entitled to live in any property I owned because what, being my father equals lifetime access to free real estate?

Without even realizing it I’d blown up his plan B. The house he was banking on gone, snapped up by the one person he never saw coming: me. But the thing is he’d used the last of his scraped-together money to post bail.

Money that was supposed to go toward buying that house from Derek. So now he’s out, broke, and apparently still thinking there’s a way in.