It went live a week later and let’s just say the timing was perfect because by then Jake was knocking at my door, literally.
And he was about to find out just how far I’d gone.
But he still hadn’t seen the final move.
The one that would change everything and take everything he thought he had left.
Jake showed up at my door just before 900 p.m. wearing that same gray hoodie he used to wear back in high school.
Back when he still thought he was invincible.
He knocked like he didn’t care whether I answered, but he lingered like he knew he had no other options.
I let him stand there for a few more knocks before I opened the door.
His smile was weak.
Not smug, not charming, just tired and desperate.
“Nate,” he said, eyes darting behind me like he expected backup. “Can we talk?”
I stepped aside without saying a word, and gestured to the couch.
He sat, leaned forward, elbows on knees like he had at my place months ago.
Only this time, the air was heavier.
He looked smaller somehow, like the years of coasting were finally catching up to him.
“Look, I know we’ve had our differences,” he started.
I stayed silent.
“But things are really bad, man. The house. If I miss one more payment, they’re taking it.”
I nodded like I was listening.
I was, but not in the way he hoped.
I wasn’t there to empathize.
He went on rambling about how the market tanked and contractors overcharged him and the bank moved the goalposts.
Every excuse in the book.
He never once admitted he’d messed up.
“I just need time,” he said finally. “That’s all. Just don’t block the sale and I’ll pay you back after the close. You’ll get your third, maybe more.”
I smiled faintly and walked to my kitchen, poured two glasses of water, brought one to him.
“You still think you’re in charge, don’t you?”
Jake blinked. “What?”
“You think this is a negotiation that you still hold the cards? But you don’t, Jake. You haven’t for a while.”
He stiffened.
“What are you talking about?”
I reached into a drawer and pulled out a file folder thick with documents, reports, screenshots.
I tossed it onto the coffee table.
“That’s a full timeline of everything you and Cara tried to do. The fake draft of the will, the mortgage fraud, the Vinmo scam, Carara’s little stunt with mom’s phone number, even the login attempts on my bank account.”
He didn’t touch the folder.
I leaned back, arms crossed.
“See, Jake, you thought you were running a hustle. That I’d always bail you out like this smart little brother who’d eventually cave. But I stopped playing that role.”
His jaw tightened.
“What do you want?”
I smiled.
There it is.
I let the silence stretch before answering.
“I want the house,” I said. “All of it. You sign your share and Cara is over to me. Clean. No money owed to either of you. I take over the mortgage. I fix it up. I sell it or rent it or burn it to the ground. Doesn’t matter. It’s mine.”
Jake looked like I’d slapped him.
“No way.”
“Then you default,” I said simply. “And lose it anyway. But instead of walking away clean, you get evicted. Your credit tanks. You get sued for damages and owe back taxes you can’t pay.”
“And Cara, she gets dragged in too because her name’s still on the deed.”
Jake’s breath hitched.
“You’d really do that to your own brother.”
“You tried to steal from me,” I said coldly. “Twice. You used mom’s death as leverage. You let Cara guilt me while you burned through the inheritance. You tried to rewrite the will, Jake.”