When Julia and Helga’s father passed away, Helga fought their mother, Mrs. Hanson, for the inheritance. She said some horrible things, and Julie and Mrs. Hanson came up with a shocking plan to teach her a huge lesson.
“HOW DARE YOU?” Helga screamed at her mother, Mrs. Hanson, over the phone. Julia heard the entire thing from the kitchen, even though her mother was using the telephone in the living room and it wasn’t on speakerphone. Julia’s sister was angry that her mother had decided her will.
She would leave Helga 30% of the estate, while Julia would receive everything else. It wasn’t an equal division, but Mrs. Hanson felt that Julia deserved the money more than Helga because they had a better relationship. Helga and her husband had always been greedy and selfish, visiting or calling them only when they wanted something.
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But the older woman was being generous. At first, Helga would not receive anything due to how she spoke to her mother. However, they recently had a set of twin babies at a relatively old age, as Helga was 47 and her husband was 51. Therefore, Mrs. Hanson decided to give her something. Unfortunately, Helga was not happy about it.
“Helga, please don’t yell,” Mrs. Hanson told her daughter on the phone and watched as Julia approached. She decided to put the call on speakerphone from then on.
“I knew you would see reason, Julia. Our mother was so obstinate.”
“MOTHER! You can’t just give everything to Julia! She doesn’t even have children. Don’t you care about the twins? They deserve their share of the money!” Helga exclaimed, not knowing that Julia was listening.
“Helga, it doesn’t matter whether Julia has kids or not. She sacrificed so much of her life to take care of your father and me, whereas you didn’t. Also, you’re married. You have a support system. On the other hand, this is my money, and I get to decide who receives it,” Mrs. Hanson reasoned. But this wasn’t the answer Helga wanted.
“I DON’T CARE WHAT JULIA HAS DONE! YOU KNOW WHAT? I CAN’T WAIT FOR YOU TO DIE, AND I’LL SUE FOR MY SHARE! GOODBYE!” Helga screamed spitefully and ended the call abruptly.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Mrs. Hanson placed her forehead on her hand and breathed deeply. Julia was finally angry, but she couldn’t show it. She couldn’t believe her sister would say something so horrible to their mother.
“Mom, she’s just angry. She didn’t mean that,” lied Julia to console her mother, but Mrs. Hanson knew the truth. Helga meant it and would fight tooth and nail for a more significant share in the will. Luckily, their lawyer in Washington D.C. told them that as long as Helga received something, she wouldn’t be able to contest it.
Over the next few months, Helga called several times to persuade Mrs. Hanson to change her will. These conversations always ended in huge fights that took a serious toll on the older woman, and Julia became even angrier at her sister.
Finally, their mother died, and Helga made a scene at the funeral, pretending to be in so much distress over her passing. Fortunately, most relatives knew her real character, although they didn’t know how awful she had been during the last few months of Mrs. Hanson’s life.
After the funeral, Helga started calling Julia about the money. They both received their share, but it seemed like her sister was now going to be nasty to Julia until she complied and gave her some more money.
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Finally, Julia came up with a plan. During one phone call, she revealed her idea to Helga. “Ok, listen. I want to move to New York, so I’m going to sell Mom’s house for good. I’ll give you 50% of the sale, although the house is in my name. Does this seem fair?” she asked her sister.
“Oh, that’s fantastic, Julia! Thank you! I knew you would see reason. Our mother was so obstinate. You’re the best aunt to the twins ever. I swear this is all for their future,” Helga gushed over the phone. Julia didn’t know if she was genuinely planning on putting the money towards her children, but it didn’t matter because Julia was lying.
The sale of the house went quickly because it was located in a pretty great area of the capital, and there were tons of buyers. Helga was salivating at the idea of receiving half of the house sale. Julia thought she didn’t deserve it at all.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Ok, I’m going to place your part of the money in a bank account, and I’ll send you the details later. Is that alright?” Julia asked her sister when they had coffee right before she left for New York.
“Of course! Of course! Though, I’m going to miss you so much!” Helga said with a smile that Julia didn’t trust at all.
“Cool, well, goodbye,” Julia replied, standing up and giving her sister the most awkward hug in the world. But Helga placed all her acting chops on the embrace, pretending like she was indeed going to miss her sister.
A week after Julia left the state, she finally sent her sister the details to the safety deposit box.
“Your sister couldn’t just wire the money to our account?” Helga’s husband asked, thinking this procedure odd.
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“She’s an idiot. You know that. I’ll go to the bank right now and check things out,” Helga responded, smiling cattily.
But at the bank, she was taken to the safety deposit box and saw three $1 bills inside it. “That’s all?” she asked aloud and finally noticed the note inside next to the bills. It read: “That’s all you deserve.”
Helga’s screams and cries were heard through the entire bank that day. But Julia had blocked her, and they never saw each other again.
What can we learn from this story?
- Greediness leads to nothing. Helga treated everyone horribly and only wanted money. She received nothing in the end.
- Follow your relative’s wishes. Although Helga pestered her terribly, Julia didn’t want to go against her mother’s desires.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
The Neighbor of My Grandparents Took Part of Their Land for a Driveway — His Hubris Ended Up Costing Him Thousands
Sometimes, the most satisfying re:ve:nge doesn’t involve intricate schemes or legal battles. It’s simply knowing where to park an old, beat-up F-150 and waiting for karma to do its thing.
Have you ever heard the saying that you shouldn’t mess with the elderly because they’ve experienced it all? My grandfather, Lionel, is a perfect example of that.
For more than 40 years, my grandparents have lived in the same charming hillside home.
It’s among those places where every corner holds a story: the old oak tree they planted when my mom was born, the wind chimes Grandpa crafted with his own hands, and the stone steps Grandma still sweeps every morning. They loved their quiet spot overlooking the valley. The only neighbor for years had been a vacant lot next door, which was steep and untouched.
It was like that until the day the machines came.
Grandma called me the afternoon it started.
“Sweetheart, there’s a bulldozer chewing into the hill. And part of it… it’s our land,” she said in a shaky yet controlled voice.
“Are you sure, Grandma?” I asked, picturing the property I’d visited countless summers growing up. “Maybe they’re just clearing near the line?”
“Nathan, I’ve walked that property line every day for forty years. I know where our markers are. They’re cutting right through our corner lot.”
I made an effort to calm her down. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s just a mistake. Have you told Grandpa?”
“He’s at his doctor’s appointment. I don’t want to bother him yet.”
“Okay, okay. Let me know what happens when he gets home,” I said, completely clueless about the drama that was about to unfold.
I thought it was probably just some contractor error that would be fixed with a quick conversation. Man, was I wrong. As they got home from errands that day, a scar had been carved across their yard. It was the beginning of a switchback driveway leading up to the neighboring lot.
The driveway clearly cut through the corner of their property.
Confused but calm, Grandpa walked down the hill to speak with the excavator operator. “Hey there,” he called, raising a hand. “Any chance you’ve got a plot map? That corner of the drive… it’s on our land.”
The guy looked down from the machine, sweat and dust streaking his face. “Ain’t mine to argue, sir. I’m just following orders. You’ll want to call the guy who owns the lot.”
He handed Grandpa a business card with a scribbled name and number.
That evening, Grandpa called.
“Hi, this is Lionel. You’re building next door to us on Westridge. I think there’s been a mistake. Your crew cut across our lot.”
A pause.
After that the man on the other end replied, “No mistake. We checked the satellite images.”
Grandpa frowned. “Sir, we’ve got our property pins marked. Your driveway’s at least ten feet onto our land.”
“Well, then sue me. I’m not changing it now. Too late.”
The man on the other end hung up. Grandpa stood in the kitchen with the phone still in his hand.
“He hung up on me,” he said quietly.
Grandma, ever the calm one, touched his arm. “It’s just land, Lionel. Let’s not start a war.”
However that’s not what this was. This wasn’t about land. It was about disrespect.
When weeks passed, the driveway got longer. Crews worked six days a week, and no one knocked on the door in order to apologize or offer something as compensation.
It looked like they didn’t even acknowledge Grandpa’s concern. “We raised kids here,” Grandma said to me one afternoon while I was visiting. “That slope’s where we planted the garden every summer. And now he’s driving over it like it means nothing… It’s… it’s heartbreaking.”
I felt my blood boil as tears streamed down her cheeks. “Grandma, this isn’t right. Have you guys talked to a lawyer?”
She shook her head. “Your grandfather doesn’t want the stress. Says at our age, peace is worth more than a few feet of dirt. And to be honest, I agree with him.”
Deep down, I disagreed with what Grandpa thought. I understood that legal battles are expensive, and could drag on for years, but my grandparents deserved better than that in their golden years.
Then one day, my friend’s dad, Patrick, stopped by while he was out walking his dog. He’d known my grandparents for years and lived down the street.
“You heard about the new guy?” Grandma asked as she offered him a glass of sweet tea.
Patrick nodded. “Yeah. I’ve seen the mess.”
Grandpa filled him in on the phone call, the dismissal, and the ongoing construction. “What a piece of work,” Patrick shook his head. “This is unacceptable… But don’t worry. Let me think about it. I believe I can find a solution.”
That night, Patrick had a couple of beers and called Grandpa.
“Lionel. I’ve got an idea. But it’s a little… unconventional.”
“Patrick, I’m listening.” Grandpa’s voice perked up with interest.
“Do you mind if I park my old pickup across that chunk of driveway? Entirely on your land, of course. I’ll leave a note, and I promise it won’t be anything illegal. All I wanna do is give that man a message and I’m sure this would do the trick!”
Grandpa chuckled. “You know what, Patrick? Go right ahead. It’s about time someone stood up to this b:ully.”
As he told Grandma about Patrick’s offer, she laughed for the first time in weeks. “My blessings are with Patrick and that rusty truck of his,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Grandma called me the same night, whispering into the phone like she was plotting a bank heist. “Nathan, you won’t believe what Patrick’s going to do!”
She explained the plan. Then I couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t worry, Grandma. Everything will work out well. Guys like that neighbor always learn their lesson eventually.”
The next morning, a battered, rusty F-150 appeared across the driveway. It was parked neatly, squarely on the strip that crossed my grandparents’ land. A note on the windshield read, PRIVATE PROPERTY. TRESPASSERS WILL BE REPORTED.
By 8 a.m., the construction crew had arrived.
“What the hell is this?” one of the workers muttered, staring at the truck blocking their access.
As they called the number mentioned on the note, Patrick answered.
“Yeah, it’s my truck,” Patrick said confidently. “I’ve got permission to park there. You touch it, it’s theft. And by the way, I’ve called the police already to make sure it’s on record.”
The foreman sighed. “Well, we can’t carry two-by-sixes up this damn hill by hand. Let’s call the boss.”
An hour later, the new neighbor called Grandpa.
“Lionel! Move that damn truck or I’m calling a tow,” he barked into the phone.
“You go ahead and try,” Grandpa said, calm as ever. “You’re the one trespassing.”
“You’ll regret this, old man!”
Grandpa chuckled. “I already regret not charging you for an easement when you first started digging.”
The neighbor hung up again. Days passed, and the truck didn’t move. No construction happened, and rumors began floating through the neighborhood. People waved at Grandma like she’d done the best thing in the world. I drove up to visit that weekend and found Grandpa sitting on the porch, binoculars in hand, watching the idle construction site.
“Having fun?” I asked.
“More fun than I’ve had in years,” he replied with a grin. “Three different tow companies have come by. All of them left when Patrick showed them the property survey and explained the situation.”
Some days later, the neighbor called again.
“Fine,” he snapped. “What do you want?”
Grandpa didn’t hesitate. “An easement contract. Fair market value. In writing.”
“And the truck?”
“It’ll go the moment we have a signed agreement and a check.”
A week later, the papers were signed, and the check was cleared. Patrick immediately removed the truck when Grandpa gave him the green signal.
My grandparents used the money to finally fix their porch and donate to the local food bank.
Meanwhile, Patrick received three cases of beer and a thank-you card from my grandparents.
I visited the following month, and the new house was nearly finished. The neighbor avoided eye contact whenever my grandparents were outside.
“You know what the funny thing is?” Grandpa said as we stood outside the house. “If he’d just asked nicely in the first place, we probably would’ve let him use that corner for free.”
I smiled. “Some people have to learn respect the hard way.”
“And some learn it from a rusty old truck,” Grandma added with a wink.
That corner of land was not only dirt. It was forty years of memories and boundaries. And now, it was also the spot where my grandfather taught me that standing up for yourself doesn’t always need lawyers or shouting matches.
Sometimes, it just needs friends, patience, and knowing exactly where to park.
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