That’s where we stand now.
It’s been 36 hours since the notice was served. Michael is still in the basement, but I can hear him moving around, packing things. He’s been going to the gas station to use their bathroom and charging his phone in his car.
Our parents have called me 15 times, but I haven’t answered. I know Michael’s given them his soba story version.
Tomorrow is day three, the deadline. David has already prepared the criminal trespassing complaint if needed. The locksmith is scheduled to come reky the basement door once Michael leaves.
I’ve also installed security cameras covering all entrances, just in case he tries to return.
I know some of you will think I’m being too harsh on family, but here’s the thing. Michael didn’t make a mistake or fall on hard times. He deliberately tried to steal my property through manipulation of laws he didn’t fully understand.
He was counting on family bonds to protect him from consequences. Well, he learned that family bonds don’t override property rights and criminal law.
I’ll update you all once the 72-hour deadline passes, whether he leaves voluntarily or in handcuffs. Michael is done living rentree in my basement.
Update 1 day 4.
OMG, the last 24 hours have been absolutely insane. I knew posting here would get some attention, but I didn’t expect the story to blow up like it did.
Thank you to everyone who offered support and advice. To those saying, “I’m heartless.” You’ve clearly never dealt with a manipulative family member who sees you as nothing more than a resource to exploit.
So, the 72-hour deadline came and went yesterday at 7 Hosro.
At 6:45 a.m., I was sitting in my kitchen with my laptop security camera feeds pulled up, coffee in hand, waiting. David was on standby, and I had the police non-emergency number ready to dial.
At 6:58 a.m., the basement door opened.
Michael emerged with his duffel bags, looking like he’d aged 5 years and 3 days. No shower, no shave, wearing the same clothes from when the utilities were shut off.
He stopped at the top of the stairs and stared at me through the kitchen window. I thought he might try to come in for some dramatic confrontation, but he just stood there for a solid minute before loading his stuff into his beat up Honda Civic.
But here’s where it gets interesting.
As he was about to drive away, another car pulled up. Our parents.
Mom got out first, Dad following slowly behind. Michael immediately ran to mom, and I could see him gesturing wildly, pointing at the house, clearly painting himself as the victim.
I knew this was coming. I’d been dodging their calls for 3 days, but I couldn’t avoid them showing up in person.
I stepped outside. Phone recording in my pocket. Single party consent state, perfectly legal.
Mom started immediately.
“James, how could you do this to your brother? He’s family. He’s homeless because of you.”
I stayed calm.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. Michael’s homeless because he tried to steal my house through fraudulent means.”
“Steal? Don’t be dramatic. He just needed a place to stay.”
“Then why did he change my locks? Why did he try to claim squatters rights? Why did he tell me I’d have to formally evict him?”
Dad finally spoke up.
“Boys have disagreements. You didn’t need to involve the police.”
I pulled out my phone and showed them the screenshots of Michael’s texts to his friend Brandon.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention this part.
After the police visit, Michael had been stupid enough to use my Wi-Fi before I changed the password to message his buddies about his brilliant plan to secure free housing for at least 6 months while the eviction processed.