The Audit I Started At 2:00 AM
That night, I didn’t sleep.
I sat at my desk with a yellow legal pad and did what I’d done for decades.
I audited.
Not the bank.
Not a business.
My own household.
I listed what I owned.
I listed what I’d paid.
I listed what I’d covered because “family helps family.”
- Nearly two years of free housing.
- Car repairs “just this once.”
- Credit cards “until we catch up.”
- School tuition “because the kids deserve stability.”
I didn’t need perfect numbers to see the pattern.
I’d been subsidizing their life.
And their repayment plan was to paint me as confused in front of my pastor and friends.
Then I opened my safe and pulled out what they really wanted.
The deed.
My name—sole owner.
Mortgage paid off.
I ran my fingers over the seal and felt the cold truth settle.
If the house was the prize, then the prize had to disappear.
I circled a date on the calendar.
December 23.
Two days before Christmas.
Before their little “intervention.”
They thought they were setting a trap.
They didn’t know I was already removing the floor beneath them.
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