When I agreed to fix my sister-in-law’s storm-damaged house, I thought I was just doing a good deed for family. I never imagined it would leave me nearly $20,000 in debt—or that I’d get to watch karma hit her harder than any storm ever could.
I’m 35, a dad from Michigan. My wife Sarah and I have two kids, ages six and three. Not long ago, I took a leap of faith and started my own contracting business. It was supposed to be my future, maybe even something I could pass down to my boys one day. That was the dream. But let me tell you, starting out has been brutal.
Bills stacked up like bricks. I juggled credit cards, loans, payroll, and material costs while undercharging clients just to stay competitive. My family lived modestly—not because we wanted to save money, but because there just wasn’t enough.
I’m not ashamed to admit it: I’ve skipped meals so I could pay my crew on time. That’s what a good boss does—you take care of your people. My oldest needed new sneakers for weeks, but I told him, “Soon, buddy. We’ll get them soon.”
That’s the kind of situation we were in when my sister-in-law Tanya called me.
Now, let me describe Tanya. She’s the type of person who’s always crying for help but somehow always has money for lattes, takeout, and new clothes. She’s single, no kids, no mortgage—her grandmother left her a house. And yet, she plays the victim nonstop on Facebook with posts like, “Some people should learn about loyalty” while holding a $7 coffee and wearing a new dress.
So when a brutal hailstorm ripped through our neighborhood, Tanya’s phone call came like clockwork.
Her voice was frantic:
“My roof is leaking! I’m seriously about to have a panic attack! The garage door won’t close, and my siding looks like a raccoon went full psycho on it! I can’t live like this!”
I’d just finished a patio job and wanted to spend my Saturday with the kids. But family is family, right? So I told her I’d come by.
When I got there, she was pacing her yard, phone in hand like she was waiting for lottery results. The damage was bad—shingles cracked, water pooling, siding hanging like torn flags.
She grabbed my arm, nearly in tears.
“Can you fix it? Please, I’ll pay you back the minute the insurance check clears. I promise!”
I hesitated. It was a big job. But I also knew I was probably the only contractor who wouldn’t make her wait weeks for a quote.
“Alright,” I said finally.
Her relief was dramatic. She kissed my cheek, called me a “lifesaver,” and even brought cookies for my kids while I worked. I thought, maybe this time she’ll be different.
For the next three weeks, I practically lived at her house. My crew and I replaced her roof with premium shingles, fixed her garage door, patched and painted the siding, redid the window frames, and installed custom gutters that cost more than I’d ever admit to Sarah.
We worked in 90-degree heat. I paid for everything upfront—no deposit, no contract, just a verbal promise between family. By the end, I had poured $18,800 of my own money into Tanya’s house.
She signed off on all the work. I sent the invoice on June 6th.
Her reply?
“Just waiting on the check. The insurance check still hasn’t arrived.”
I gave her time. June turned to July, then August. Still nothing.
“It’s the paperwork,” she claimed. “The adjuster messed it up.”
By September, I was sweating bullets, falling behind on bills. Sarah asked,
“Why didn’t you get her to sign a contract?”
I had no answer.
When I called Tanya again, she said casually,
“They sent the check to the wrong address. Don’t stress. Relax.”
Relax? I was drowning.
Then came the day everything snapped.
A shiny new SUV rolled into my driveway. Chrome trim, leather seats, moonroof—the works. My son sat on the porch eating canned ravioli, while I wondered who the flashy visitor was.
The driver’s door opened. Tanya stepped out, sipping Starbucks like she was in a commercial.
I walked straight up to her.
“Did your insurance come through?”
She smiled.
“Yeah, a couple weeks ago.”
My stomach dropped. “So where’s my payment?”
She laughed—laughed!—like I’d asked for her firstborn.
“Oh! I figured since you’re family and just starting out, this could be a portfolio piece. Exposure, you know? Don’t you already owe me for babysitting? That counts for something, right?”
Sarah stepped outside, face pale with fury. “You’re joking,” she said quietly.
Tanya waved like it was nothing.
“Well, I just came to show you my new car. But jealousy makes people nasty.”
Then she drove off.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. My crew still needed pay, my youngest needed school clothes, and my cards were maxed. She had tossed off $18,800 like it was optional.
I decided Tanya needed a lesson.
She loved hosting Pinterest-perfect parties. And she had a big housewarming bash coming up.
Perfect.
The day before her party, I sent two guys from my crew to do a “warranty check” on the roof. In front of Tanya’s friends, they asked,
“Would you like to upgrade any of the free services your brother-in-law generously donated?”
She turned beet red.
But I wasn’t finished.
That night, I made brochures with before-and-after photos of Tanya’s house. At the bottom, in bold:
“Total unpaid balance: $18,800.”
And in smaller print:
“Support local builders—especially the ones who show up for family.”
The next day, I dropped off 30 copies at her party. Guests whispered, stared, passed them around. Tanya saw me, but couldn’t stop it.
The next morning, she called, screaming.
“You made me look like a scammer!”
I asked calmly, “Did you not lie about paying me?”
Silence.
Later she texted Sarah: “I thought it was a gift! You guys are cruel!”
Sarah replied with one line:
“Enjoy your SUV.”
Karma didn’t waste time.
A week later, Tanya parked her SUV in front of our house, claiming she was “dropping off an apology card.” That same night, a guy hotwired it and drove away. Our security camera caught everything.
The kicker? Tanya had skipped comprehensive insurance to save money. She got nothing.
She begged for the footage. I handed it to the police myself. That was the last we heard from her.
Most of her friends dropped her after the party. Neighbors who’d seen the brochures actually called me for quotes. One even said,
“If you worked that hard for someone who didn’t even pay you, we know you’ll do right by us.”
Business picked up. And my son finally got his new sneakers—bright blue, with lights in the soles. When he put them on, I cried.
So yes, Tanya got exactly what she deserved. And me? I got my reminder: kindness is worth it, even if it costs more than you planned.