My Roommate Used A Fake Lawyer To Evict Me And Got Me Fired. He Didn’t Realize I Found Proof His Girlfriend Had A Secret Apartment. Now They Owe Me $45,000.

The Legal Ambush

For about a week, everything felt normal again. But that didn’t last long. Last Thursday, I came home from work around 6:00 in the evening. When I walked through the door, Brock and Sienna were sitting at the kitchen table looking serious.

But there was a third person with them: a man in a full business suit, briefcase open, documents spread across the table. I gulped before anyone even said a word. Brock’s face was completely cold and expressionless. Not the friendly roommate I’d had that conversation with last week.

“This is our attorney, Harrison,”

Brock said flatly, his voice like ice. Sienna sat there with her arms crossed, not even looking at me.

“I’m sorry, what?”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe properly.

“Attorney? What’s going on? I thought we worked this out.”

Harrison adjusted his glasses and spoke in this formal, completely detached tone.

“I’ll get straight to the point. Sienna has been residing at this address for over 60 days, which establishes legal tenancy in this state. She has full tenant rights under state law, but she doesn’t pay rent.”

I could hear my voice getting higher and more desperate.

“She’s not even on the lease!”

“Payment isn’t required for tenancy establishment,”

Harrison continued calmly, like he was reading from a script he’d memorized.

“Duration of stay is what matters legally. Once someone has lived somewhere continuously for 60 days, they’re considered a legal tenant with all associated rights.”

Harrison slid a stack of papers across the table toward me. I saw my own text messages printed out, highlighted in bright yellow. The conversation where I told Brock that Sienna needed to pay or leave, other texts where I’d complained about her being there constantly.

“We have documentation of your repeated harassment of our client,”

Harrison said coldly.

“Demanding she leave the premises. Confrontational conversations creating a hostile living environment for a legal tenant. Harassment.”

My hands were shaking badly now.

“I was just asking for things to be fair! I’m paying half of everything while she lives here completely free!”

“You were demanding a legal tenant vacate without proper cause; that constitutes harassment under tenant protection laws.”

Harrison pushed an official-looking document toward me. It had a gold seal stamped at the top.

“You have 30 days to vacate these premises voluntarily. If you refuse, we will file for formal eviction through the courts.”

“Eviction? I’m on the lease! I pay my rent on time every single month!”

My voice cracked with emotion.

“Which is precisely why we’re offering the voluntary option first,”

Harrison said without any emotion whatsoever.

“An eviction on your record will make it nearly impossible to rent anywhere else.”

I looked directly at Brock.

“This is my home.”

Brock’s voice was ice cold.

“I’m the primary leaseholder. My name is first on the lease. I have full authority.”

“We agreed!”

I felt tears starting.

“You said we’d figure it out together.”

Brock shrugged.

“I said I’d handle it. I am.”

Fighting Back From Rock Bottom

I had 30 days to leave my own apartment. I can’t afford a lawyer. How is this happening? I barely sleep that night. I sit on my bed with my laptop open, typing “roommate eviction laws” and “primary leaseholder rights” into Google until my eyes burn.

Every website I find talks about landlords evicting tenants or tenants suing landlords, but nothing addresses what happens when your roommate is trying to kick you out. I click through page after page of legal jargon that doesn’t apply to my situation. My hands shake so badly I have trouble typing.

The reality keeps hitting me in waves. I might actually be homeless in 30 days. I have nowhere to go. My savings account has maybe $800. First and last month’s rent anywhere else would cost at least $3,000. I keep searching, getting more desperate with each useless result.

Around 2:00 a.m., I find a tenant rights forum buried in the search results. Someone posted about a roommate dispute 3 years ago. I scroll through the responses, and one comment makes me stop breathing. A user named Tenant Advocate 2019 wrote that most lease modifications require all parties’ signatures, not just the primary leaseholder.

I screenshot the comment immediately. My heart pounds as I read it again and again. Maybe Brock doesn’t have the unilateral power he claims. Maybe Harrison was lying about everything. I screenshot the entire forum thread and save it in three different places on my phone and laptop. It’s the first spark of hope I’ve felt since Harrison dropped those papers on the table.

I spend another hour searching for information about dual signature lease requirements, but I can’t find anything definitive for my state. I finally pass out around 4:00 a.m. with my laptop still open. My alarm goes off 3 hours later for work. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. My head throbs and my eyes feel like sandpaper.

I call out sick because I genuinely can’t function. My supervisor sounds annoyed but approves it. I spend the entire morning calling every free legal aid clinic in the city. The first one has a waitlist of 6 weeks. The second one says my income is slightly too high to qualify for their services. The third one doesn’t handle landlord-tenant disputes. The fourth one is only taking domestic violence cases right now.

I call 17 different places by noon. Most of them have similar responses: booked solid for weeks, income requirements I barely exceed by a few hundred, or wrong type of case. One paralegal at a clinic actually stays on the phone with me for a few extra minutes. She sounds genuinely sympathetic as she tells me off the record that tenant-on-tenant evictions are really complicated and I really need a real attorney, not just legal aid.

She gives me three names of attorneys who handle housing disputes. I call all three immediately. The first one doesn’t return my voicemail. The second one’s assistant says they’re not taking new clients. The third one is Craig Monahan. His assistant schedules me for a consultation the next afternoon.

The consultation fee alone is $200. I check my bank account three times before confirming the appointment. I can barely afford this, but I can’t afford not to try. I spend the rest of the day gathering every document I can find: my copy of the lease, every utility bill from the past 6 months, bank statements showing my rent payments, the papers Harrison gave me, and screenshots of my text conversations with Brock.

I put everything in a folder and can’t stop checking to make sure it’s all there. The next day I take a long lunch break and drive to Craig’s office downtown. It’s in a nice building that makes me feel even more out of place. The waiting room has expensive-looking furniture and legal books lining the walls.

Craig is probably in his 50s with gray hair and reading glasses. He shakes my hand and gestures for me to sit down. I hand him the folder, and he spreads everything across his desk. He reads through my lease first, then the utility bills, then Harrison’s eviction notice. I sit there sweating through my shirt while he reviews everything. My entire future hangs on whatever he’s about to tell me.

After what feels like an hour but is probably 10 minutes, Craig’s face changes. He looks up at me with something like relief in his eyes. He taps the lease with his finger and says:

“My roommate can’t evict me unilaterally because this lease requires both primary and secondary tenant signatures for any modifications or terminations, and Brock would need my agreement or a court order based on legitimate cause.”

I almost cry right there in his office. The relief is so intense I feel dizzy. But then Craig keeps talking and explains the bad news. Even though I have a strong case, I need to file a formal response to prevent Brock from pursuing eviction through the courts. His retainer is $5,000 upfront.

I feel my face fall before I can stop it. $5,000 might as well be $50,000 given my current financial situation. Craig sees my reaction and his voice gets gentler. He suggests I could try filing the paperwork myself, but he warns that one mistake could cost me everything. Courts are very particular about formatting and deadlines and legal language.

I leave his office with a stack of forms and instructions. I feel simultaneously hopeful and terrified. I have legal standing to fight this, but I’m going up against Brock who apparently has unlimited access to legal help through Harrison.