My Parents Gave My Sister A Luxury Villa And Gifted Me An Abandoned Parking Lot. Now I Own Their Foreclosed Home. Am I The Jerk For Making Them Pay Rent?
The Request for Help
It started with a phone call. I was in my office, a small converted shipping container at the edge of my thriving food truck business, when my phone buzzed. Mom. I stared at the screen for a second before declining the call.
A minute later, another one. Then another. I smirked. They needed something.
By now, my food truck park was the hottest spot in town. We had live music, weekend events, VIP sections, and influencers lining up to get in. I was pulling in more money in a month than I used to make in a year at the auto shop. And suddenly, my family, who had laughed in my face, couldn’t stop calling.
A few days later, I was at the lot overseeing a delivery when I heard a voice that made my skin crawl.
“Logan.”
I turned around. Emily. She stood there, her arms crossed, but she didn’t look smug this time. She looked desperate. I raised an eyebrow.
“Well, you actually came to the parking lot. What, did your car break down?”
She exhaled sharply.
“I need to talk to you.”
I checked my watch.
“I’ve got five minutes. Make it count.”
Her jaw clenched, but she swallowed her pride.
“I need to sell the beach house.”
I blinked.
“The same beach house you gloated about?”
She ignored that.
“The market is trash right now and I need money fast.”
I smirked.
“Let me guess. Too many luxury vacations, designer bags, and overpriced lattes?”
She stiffened.
“It’s complicated,” she muttered. “Just say you’ll help.”
I leaned against a food truck, crossing my arms.
“Help how?”
She hesitated.
“I need $200,000 to cover debts before I can even list it.”
I whistled.
“Oh man, that’s rough.”
I turned back to my delivery and waved over the driver.
“Anyway, good luck with that.”
She grabbed my arm.
“Are you serious? You have the money.”
I pulled away.
“Oh, now my business is real enough for you to beg for a loan?”
Her face turned red.
“Logan, we’re family.”
I laughed.
“Funny. Last time we talked, you told me I was a joke. Where’s all that energy now?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
“I’ll pay you back,” she finally said, voice quieter. “Please.”
I stared at her for a long moment. Then I leaned in and said no. Her eyes widened.
“No?”
I smiled.
“That’s right. The same way you and Mom and Dad said no when I needed support. The same way you all laughed in my face. So no, Emily. I won’t bail you out.”
She took a step back, actually shocked. Then her rage came flooding in.
“Are you serious? You’re just going to let me fail?”
I shrugged.
“That’s not my problem.”
And I walked away.
The Parents Intervene
But it wasn’t over. A week later, I pulled into my lot and saw my parents standing there. Mom looked irritated. Dad just looked tired.
“Logan,” Mom started. “We need to talk.”
I sighed.
“Let me guess. Emily ran crying to you, and now you’re here to talk some sense into me?”
Mom pursed her lips.
“This is a serious situation.”
Dad finally spoke.
“We need your help, son.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Son? Oh, now I was a son again.”
Mom sighed.
“Your father’s business isn’t doing well. We’re in financial trouble.”
I fought the urge to smile.
“Oh,” I said, acting surprised. “You mean the family that handed my sister a mansion and gave me a piece of concrete is struggling? Who could have seen that coming?”
Mom’s nostrils flared.
“Don’t be childish, Logan.”
I tilted my head.
“Childish like laughing in someone’s face when they’re struggling?”
Dad groaned.
“We don’t need a lecture. We need a loan.”
There it was. The golden moment. I rubbed my chin.
“How much?”
Mom swallowed.
“500,000.”
I actually laughed.
“No way. Half a million?”
Dad nodded, looking exhausted.
“You’re successful now. You can afford it.”
I crossed my arms.
“Oh, so now I’m successful.”
Mom snapped.
“Don’t be a brat, Logan. We are your family.”
I let that hang in the air. Then I smiled.
“Let me tell you something about family.”
I took a step closer.
“Family doesn’t mock you when you’re struggling.”
Another step.
“Family doesn’t treat you like a joke.”
And one more.
“Family doesn’t show up only when they need something.”
Mom’s face turned pale. Dad muttered.
“Logan, please.”
I exhaled and shook my head.
“You made your choices.”
I gestured to my lot. My success. My empire.
“And I made mine.”
Then I stepped back.
“I’m not giving you a cent.”
Mom gasped.
“You ungrateful person.”
I held up a hand.
“No. We’re done.”
I turned to go.
“Logan,” Dad called. “If you walk away from this…”
I paused, turned back.
“If I walk away?” I repeated. “You mean like you walked away from me?”
Silence. Then I nodded.
“That’s what I thought.”
And I left them standing there.
