Chapter 9 - THE SEVENTY-ONE-THOUSAND-DOLLAR PLAN
Seeing the profit split made everything strangely simple.
This was not Dileia making one impulsive mistake.
It was a plan.
Dad found my property.
Dileia copied the key.
Gerald evaluated the building.
They created paperwork.
They found investors.
They decided what I would accept before asking me.
Then they planned to call my resistance selfish.
I sent the emails to Patricia.
“What do you want now?” she asked.
The same question from the beginning.
My answer had changed slightly.
“Accountability.”
Not destruction.
Not humiliation.
Accountability.
Patricia outlined the civil options.
The brokerage had its own process regarding Dileia.
The lender had questions for Dad.
Any allegations involving forged documents would be handled through proper channels.
My role was to cooperate and stop protecting people from the consequences of their own choices.
That last part was hardest.
Dad called me that evening.
“Gerald says your lawyer is threatening him.”
“My lawyer contacted him about my property.”
“You’re destroying a business opportunity.”
“You tried to make my house your business opportunity.”
“We would have paid you.”
“Forty thousand less than I paid.”
“You overpaid.”
I laughed.
Then why were they targeting a resale near $335,000?
He changed tactics.
“Your sister needs a win.”
“I am not an asset she can liquidate.”
“She’s drowning.”
“Then help her budget. Help her find consistent work. Don’t steal equity from me.”
Dad shouted:
“Everything is stealing to you now!”
“No.”
I lowered my voice.
“Taking things without permission is stealing to me.”
He hung up.
The next morning, something unexpected happened.
Dileia showed up at my office.
She did not come inside.
She texted:
I’m downstairs. I have something that belongs to you.
I met her in the lobby with a coworker nearby.
She handed me an external drive.
“What is this?”
“Everything.”
Emails.
Contracts.
Photos.
Investor messages.
Copies of Dad’s loan applications.
Queen City Equity records.
“Why give me this?”
Her eyes were swollen.
“My broker suspended me.”
I said nothing.
“Curtis won’t talk to me. Gerald says this is all my fault. Dad says I should take responsibility because I’m the agent.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
The answer surprised me.
Then she said:
“But I wasn’t the one who came up with Caldwell Street.”
“Dad?”
She shook her head.
“Gerald.”
That made sense.
Then Dileia whispered:
“Gerald didn’t find out about the duplex from Dad.”
My stomach tightened.
“How?”
“He already knew.”
“Why?”
She looked terrified.
“Because he knows Marcus.”
My buyer’s agent.
May you like
The man who had helped me find Caldwell Street.
And according to Dileia, Marcus had been feeding Gerald information about my property search from the beginning.
