At 87, George Miller landed in a San Antonio hospital after a heart scare. He called his daughter, Diane, in Atlanta, hoping she’d help him return to his home. Diane’s job kept her away, so she sent her son, Steven, and his wife, Karen, to prepare George’s house. George thought his family had his back, but his homecoming revealed a greedy plot. After a week of tests, doctors gave George medications and told him to rest. He took a cab home, expecting Steven’s help, but found his furniture dumped on the lawn and his door ajar. Inside, his house was stripped—his tools, photos, and antiques gone, with plastic sheets covering the floors like a work in progress.
George shouted, and Steven emerged from a bedroom, looking uneasy. George, thinking burglars had hit, hugged him in relief. “What happened?” he asked. Steven muttered, “No break-in.” Karen appeared, her smile stiff, and they said they were renovating to surprise George. “Your stuff’s in storage, and we’re replacing some old things,” Steven explained. George, moved by their effort, thanked them and walked to a nearby pharmacy for his pills. Coming back, he overheard Karen’s angry voice. “You said he was done for, Steven! We spent our money on this house, thinking it’d be ours!” George’s jaw dropped. Steven replied, “It’ll be ours eventually.” Karen hissed, “Forget it! We’re out of here tomorrow!”
George realized they’d banked on his death to take his home. He acted like he’d just arrived, keeping things light as they ate burgers on the bare floor. Over dinner, he spoke. “Steven, I’m moving to a care facility soon,” he said. “You two should have this house.” They grinned, showering him with thanks. For weeks, they fixed up the house, throwing out some of George’s belongings. When it was done, George threw a party, inviting their Atlanta friends. Amid the chatter, George stood. “Thanks to Steven and Karen for fixing my house,” he said, “because I’m living here for years to come.”
Steven’s face fell. “Grandpa, what?” George’s voice sharpened. “I heard you. You thought I was dying, so you took my stuff and claimed this place. When I came back early, you were ready to ditch me.” The guests gasped. “My will’s changed. This house goes to charity.” Karen blushed, silent. George bellowed, “Get out, or I call the police!” The crowd scattered, and Steven begged, but George roared, “Leave!” The next day, he told Diane everything, breaking her heart. She backed his decision but was hurt by Steven’s actions. George warned her to be wary. He enjoyed his home for 13 more years, and when he passed, his estate went to a charity for seniors, as he’d declared.
