After Grandma “Mama E” passed, my brother and I vowed to fulfill her dying wish: sell her house and use the money to start an animal shelter.

Then Aunt Sheryl returned—frail, weeping, claiming late-stage cancer and nowhere to go. Out of guilt and family loyalty, we gave her the house, no questions asked.One week later, we saw her strutting out of a boutique, laughing into her phone about conning us. The “cancer”? Fake. The house? Sold for cash. And the red Tesla in the parking lot? Hers.We didn’t sue. We plotted.