My BIL Bragged, “I’m Flipping The Family Beach House. Easy Profit.”…

The Revelation

Tomorrow we met in a cafe halfway between her house and the city. She was dressed in athleisure and sunglasses as if she had just finished yoga.

“You look stressed,” she commented as she sat down.

“I am.” I replied.

“What’s happening?” She asked.

I took out my laptop.

“I need to show you something.” I said.

I gave her the deed, county papers, tax payments, and five years of proof that I own the beach house. She gazed at the screen.

“I do not comprehend.” She said.

“I purchased it from grandma’s estate five years ago. I have been renting it out seasonally. It’s been generating revenue.” I explained.

“But Jackson stated…” She said.

“Jackson lied.” I stated.

The Reality of Betrayal

Her face turned pale.

“No, he said the family was handling the estate transfer. That it was complicated.” Lauren said.

“There was no transfer. I purchased it outright in 2019. The estate was closed seven months later. Everything has been settled for years.” I explained.

“So why would he?” Lauren asked.

I showed her the contractor’s texts, photographs, and falsified permits.

“He used bogus papers to pay someone to refurbish a house he did not own. That contractor is four weeks into the project and Jackson owes him $18,000.” I said.

Lauren’s hands began trembling.

“This was a mistake. He probably just…” She said.

“Lauren, check the permission numbers.” I told her.

I examined them on the county’s database. They do not exist.

She glanced and I saw her expression shift as realization sank in.

Picking Up the Pieces

“How long did you know?” she whispered.

“Since Dad’s birthday party. The contractor phoned me that night.” I answered.

“And you did not notify me?” She asked.

“I needed proof first. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t mistaken.” I said.

“Are you wrong?” She asked.

“No.” I replied.

She rested her head on her hands.

“Oh my god. I’m sorry.” Lauren said.

“Don’t. Do not apologize. You did not do anything wrong.” I said.

She glanced up, her eyes watering.

“What are you planning to do?” She asked.

“I need to fill out a police report. The contractor has previously spoken to a detective. Lauren, this is fraud. It is a crime.” I stated.

“He’s my husband.” She said.

“I understand.” I replied.

“We have two children.” She said.

“I know.” I replied.

Deeper Lies

She was weeping now, real tears.

“How could he do this?” She asked.

“I do not know. Was it simply the beach home or did he lie about other things?” I asked.

I hadn’t considered that.

“I don’t know.” She said.

She took out her phone and looked through stuff.

“He stated he earned a promotion and his income was going up six months ago. But we never received the increased money. He stated that it was going into investments.” She said.

“What type of investments?” I asked.

“He wouldn’t offer me any specifics. Said it was complicated. Said I should trust him.” Lauren said.

“Red flag. Big red flag.” I said.

“Lauren, you should speak with a lawyer. Not necessary for divorce but to protect yourself and your children financially.” I advised.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” She said.

The Cost of Silence

We sat there in quiet while she processed. Other customers came and went, the barista called out names, and life carried on around us while my sister’s world fell apart.

“What will happen next?” she finally asked.

“I’m going to submit a police report tonight. The detective will undoubtedly want to speak with Jackson and the contractor will likely sue for payment.” I told her.

“Can he go to jail?” She asked.

“Possibly. Fraud, forgery, and stealing via deceit. It depends on how the DA intends to charge it.” I said.

She wiped her eyes.

“Our kids.” She said.

“I know.” I replied.

“Everyone’s going to find out.” She said.

“Yeah. Dad will be devastated.” I noted.

“Dad trusted Jackson’s lies. That’s not on you.” Lauren said.

She stared at me.

“Really? Really? Why didn’t you speak out at the party when he was lying to everyone?” She asked.

“Because I needed to be sure and because I wanted to give you a chance to hear it from me first.” I explained.

Reporting the Crime

“Thank you. You are my sister.” I said.

She began weeping again.

“I really apologize for everything. For not inquiring about the house, for not checking with you, for simply presuming you didn’t know.” Lauren said.

But she should have. They all should have.

They should have asked me, the quiet son and neglected sibling, if I had done anything with grandma’s house. They should have inquired who had been maintaining it and paying the taxes.

They should have listened. But they didn’t because Jackson was charming and confident and he knew precisely what to say, and I was only Michael.

I submitted the police report that night. Detective Sophie Hayes of the property fraud section phoned me the next morning.

“Mr. Morrison, I studied your report and the supporting evidence you supplied. This is very obvious fraud. I’ll need to interview Mr. Foster.” Detective Hayes said.

“He doesn’t know I reported it yet.” I told her.

“That is probably better. Can you come to the station this afternoon? I’d want to get your entire statement recorded.” She asked.

The Investigation Begins

I spent two hours in the Riverside County Sheriff’s Station going over everything with Detective Hayes who was in his mid-50s and had been on the police for 22 years. He was patient and meticulous.

“Has Mr. Foster tried to contact you directly?” she inquired.

“No. He does not know.” I replied.

“I understand. And your sister?” Hayes asked.

“I told her two days ago. She’s trying to process it.” I said.

“Has she confronted him?” Hayes asked.

“I do not know. I urged her to see a lawyer first.” I replied.

Detective Hayes made notes.

“We’re going to execute a search warrant at his home. Look for indications of fraudulent paperwork, communicate with the contractor, anything that demonstrates intent.” Hayes said.

“When?” I asked.

“Perhaps next week. I need to cooperate with the district attorney’s office.” Hayes replied.

The Fall of the House of Cards

“How about the contractor, James Carter?” I asked.

“He is pursuing a separate civil claim but his evidence supports the criminal case. Forged permits alone are enough to warrant prosecution.” Hayes answered.

I exited the station feeling odd, as if I had started something that I couldn’t stop. Which is precisely what I had done.

Three days later my father phoned.

“Michael, what the heck is happening?” He asked.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“Sophie called me weeping. Said something about Jackson, fraud, and the beach home. She was not making sense.” Dad said.

I took a breath.

“Dad, I own the beachfront house. I purchased it from grandma’s estate five years ago. Jackson does not own it. He never did.” I stated.

A Family Divided

Silence.

“He hired a contractor to renovate it with forged permits. The contractor is four weeks into the project and Jackson has yet to pay him. I submitted a police report. There is an active inquiry.” I explained.

More silence.

“Dad, are you telling me Jackson lied at my birthday celebration in front of the entire family?” I asked.

“Yes.” Dad replied.

“And did you know?” He asked.

“I found out that night. The contractor texted me during the party.” I answered.

“And you didn’t respond?” Dad asked.

“I wanted to know all the facts first. I wanted to speak to Sophie quietly. I wanted to handle this properly.” I told him.

“The proper approach would have been to expose him immediately so that everyone could witness Sophie’s humiliation in real time.” Dad said.

That halted him.

“She’s your daughter,” I murmured gently.

“I protected her as much as I could.” I said.