My Mom Harassed Me At My Job Until I’d Give My Home To My Sister. I Installed Hidden Cameras And Uncovered A Terrifying Plot To Make Me Homeless. How Far Should I Go To Protect Myself?

Update: Eyes on the Inside

It’s been 2 weeks since my original post, and things have escalated in ways I never imagined. After reading everyone’s comments and advice, I realized I needed to take protective measures. Several of you mentioned that my mother might have made copies of my keys over the years, and that thought kept me up at night, so I did two things.

I changed my locks and installed hidden cameras in my apartment. The locksmith came while I was off work last Tuesday. I also had him install a deadbolt that can only be locked and unlocked from the inside when I’m home.

The cameras were trickier. I wanted them to be completely invisible. I ended up getting tiny ones that look like smoke detectors and USB chargers. They record to a cloud server and send alerts to my phone when they detect movement.

I didn’t tell anyone about these changes—not my friends, not my co-workers, and definitely not my family. I figured if nothing happened, great, I just have some extra security. But part of me, the part that’s known my mother for 30 years, suspected something was coming.

I was right. This past Thursday, I was scheduled for an overnight shift at the zoo. We were monitoring a sick tapir, and someone needed to check on her every 2 hours throughout the night. It’s not unusual; overnight shifts are part of the job when you work with animals.

I’d mentioned it off-handedly to my mother earlier in the week when she called to guilt trip me again about the apartment.

“You work such terrible hours,” she’d said. “Another reason why your sister needs the apartment more. Her schedule is much more reasonable.”

Caught in the Act

At around 11 p.m., while I was sitting in the veterinary office at the zoo preparing medications, my phone buzzed with a motion alert for my apartment cameras. My blood went cold. I opened the app and there they were: my mother and sister, clear as day, standing in my living room.

My hands were shaking as I watched the live feed. They weren’t even trying to be subtle. The lights were on, and they were walking around like they owned the place. My mother was on her phone, and I could see her mouth moving rapidly; she was clearly talking to someone.

My sister had a measuring tape out and was measuring the walls, the windows, even the kitchen counters. But then it got worse—so much worse. The camera’s audio isn’t perfect, but it’s good enough. I turned up the volume on my phone and listened to their conversation.

My mother was apparently on the phone with a locksmith.

“Yes, we need someone first thing in the morning,” she was saying. “My son is away and we need to change the locks. He’s been having some mental health issues, and we’re concerned about his stability.” “Yes, we’re his family. I’m his mother.” “No, no, we don’t need to wait for him. This is for his own good.”

My sister was nodding along, and then she said something that made my stomach drop.

“Make sure to tell the super that he had a breakdown. That way when he tries to get back in, they’ll think he’s having an episode.”

They stayed for another hour, going through my closets, my drawers, even my refrigerator. My mother took photos of everything with her phone.

At one point, she picked up a photo of me with my co-workers at the zoo’s anniversary gala and shook her head.

“Such a waste,” she said. “He could have been so much more than someone who shovels animal droppings.”

My sister laughed. “Well, at least this apartment won’t be wasted on him anymore. I’ve already told my friends I’m moving in next week. Do you think he’ll actually try to fight it?”

“He won’t have a choice,” my mother replied. “Once we change the locks and I tell everyone he’s having mental problems, who’s going to believe him? I’m his mother. I know what’s best for him.”

Attempted Fraud and Legal Recourse

They finally left around 12:30 a.m. I sat in the zoo’s break room staring at my phone, feeling like I was in some surreal nightmare. My own mother and sister had broken into my apartment and were planning to illegally evict me by claiming I was mentally unstable. I couldn’t focus on work after that.

My supervisor noticed and asked if I was okay. I told him I was dealing with a family emergency, which wasn’t exactly a lie. He let me take a break, and I used that time to do several things. First, I backed up all the camera footage to multiple locations: my personal cloud, a USB drive, and I even emailed copies to myself.

Second, I called a lawyer friend from college and left him a voicemail explaining the situation. Third, I texted my building superintendent to confirm that no one under any circumstances was authorized to change my locks without my written permission.

The next morning, after my shift ended, I rushed home half-expecting to find myself locked out, but my key still worked. Apparently, they were planning to do it later that day. I found a business card slipped under my door from a locksmith with a note saying they’d be back at 2 p.m. as requested by the tenant’s mother for an emergency lock change.

I called the locksmith company immediately and explained that this was attempted fraud, that I was the legal tenant, and that no lock change had been authorized. The receptionist was horrified and assured me they would cancel the appointment and make a note in their system.

Then I sat down and watched the full footage again, this time taking notes of everything they said and did. The more I watched, the angrier I became. This wasn’t just about wanting my apartment; this was about control. My mother genuinely believed she had the right to orchestrate my life, to take what was mine and give it to my sister because she deemed it appropriate.

My lawyer friend called me back that afternoon after hearing the full story and reviewing some of the footage. His response was immediate: “This is breaking and entering, conspiracy to commit fraud, and potentially attempted theft. You need to file a police report today.”

But I hesitated. Despite everything, the thought of getting my mother and sister arrested felt extreme. So instead, I did something else. I called them both and asked them to meet me for dinner the next day to discuss the apartment situation. They both agreed eagerly, probably thinking I was going to cave.

I’m writing this update now, the night before that dinner. I prepared transcripts of their conversation from the video. I’ve printed screenshots showing them in my apartment without permission. I have everything ready to show them that I know exactly what they did and what they were planning.

Part of me hopes that confronting them with evidence will be enough to make them back off. But another part of me, the part that’s been dealing with this manipulation for 30 years, knows this probably won’t end well. My mother doesn’t handle being challenged well, especially when she’s caught doing something wrong. She tends to double down, to escalate, to rally family members and friends to her side with twisted versions of events.

I’ve also taken additional precautions. I’ve informed my supervisor at the zoo about the situation in broad strokes—that family members are trying to force me out of my apartment and it might affect my availability if legal issues arise. He was surprisingly supportive and told me to take whatever time I needed to sort it out.

Tomorrow’s dinner will determine how this all plays out. Will they apologize and back off when confronted with evidence? Will they try to gaslight me into thinking I misunderstood what I saw and heard? Or will they escalate even further? I guess I’ll find out soon enough.