“You what?” Dad growled.
“You didn’t even know.” I looked between them. “The letters were piling up. I called the bank from my hotel room and wired the funds.”
“You went behind my back,” he roared. “You think you can just throw money around like you own the place?”
“I didn’t want you to lose the house.”
“You know what? Get out right now. You want to act like the big shot? Go live like one. You’re not welcome here anymore.”
I stared at him. “You’re serious?”
He stood up, veins bulging at his neck. “Get out. Go sleep in the gutter. Hot shot.”
I felt my chest go hollow, but I didn’t say anything. I just stood, walked to the guest room, packed my bag, and left. No dramatic goodbye, no parting shot. I just walked out the front door, got in my rental car, and drove off.
My phone buzzed with a text from my assistant. Our Munich client had just signed the renewal. I forwarded her a thank you, and kept driving.
And that should have been the end of it, except 3 weeks later, I got a call from someone I never expected: their landlord. And that’s when I knew the tables were about to turn.
I didn’t pick up the call from the landlord the first time. I was in the middle of a quarterly review call with my legal team going over some updated terms for a long-term client. When I saw the missed call from a number back in my hometown, I assumed it was a spam call or a telemarketer.
Then I saw the voicemail, a gruff, uncertain voice.
“Uh hi, this is Todd Granger, landlord for 2125 Whitman Street. I’m calling about a lease renewal situation. It’s probably best we talk soon. It’s kind of urgent. Thanks.”
Whitman Street. That was my parents’ house.
At first, I thought he had the wrong number. I had no formal connection to the house anymore. I hadn’t lived there since I was 19, but then I remembered I’d used my company’s legal department to pay off the mortgage balance anonymously.
The bank had been days away from triggering proceedings. I didn’t want them to lose the house, especially not without knowing. Now, it sounded like something else was going wrong.
I called him back.
“Mr. Granger,” I said once he picked up.
“Yeah. Is this Liam?”
“Yes. You mentioned a lease.”
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yeah. I know you’re not listed as the tenant, but I was told you were the one handling payments.”
“Not exactly,” I said carefully. “I helped clear their mortgage a few months ago, but I’m not a resident.”
“Well, the thing is,” he said, “your dad hasn’t paid rent in over 2 months.”
I blinked. “Rent? I thought they own the place.”
Granger made a low whistling noise. “They don’t own anything. This house was foreclosed and bought out back in September. Your parents are renting it monthtomonth. I’m the property manager for the company that acquired it. Been lenient since winter, but I can’t hold off much longer.”
That hit like a punch to the gut. They’d lied. All of them. The pride, the arrogance, the way they looked down on me for not owning a home. They’ve been renting the whole time and not even paying on time.
He continued, “They kept promising that some money was coming from you, that you were covering it. But when nothing showed up, I figured I’d call you myself.”
I gripped the phone tighter. “I haven’t agreed to pay anything since December. If they told you otherwise, that’s not on me.”
Granger paused. “Got it. Well, I gave them one last notice. They’re on final warning. If I don’t get this month’s rent by Friday, I’ll be showing up with the eviction paperwork.”
“I understand.”
“Just wanted to give you a heads up.”
And then, just as I was about to thank him and hang up, he said something that made my blood run cold.
“Funny thing though, I walked in last week to do a plumbing inspection. Place was packed. Looked like they were setting up for a party. Even saw your name written on a sign on the kitchen island. Some kind of celebration dinner.”
My mouth went dry.
“They said it was your birthday or something. Whole family was coming. You know anything about that?”