“You selfish, ungrateful little bastard! I am your father. You owe me your life!”

“I’m thirty-six years old. I owe you nothing. Get off my property.”

Then a white locksmith van pulled into the driveway. Arthur waved cash at the driver, who stepped out with a drill. I ran to the window and shouted.

“Do not touch that door!”

Arthur shouted over me.

“My son is unstable. He locked himself in. Drill the lock. I’ll pay double.”

“I am the legal homeowner,” I yelled. “That man is trespassing. If you damage my lock, I will take legal action.”

The locksmith backed away immediately.

“No proof, no service. Call the police.”

He left. Arthur, shaking with rage, grabbed a ceramic garden gnome and threw it at my window. It cracked the glass. That was the end. This was no longer family drama. It was property damage. I called 911.

Part 3

“911, what is your emergency?”

“I need a sheriff’s deputy at my residence. Three hostile trespassers are refusing to leave and have damaged my property. I’m concerned for my safety.”

“Do you know them, sir?”

“Yes. They’re my parents and my sister.”

Twenty minutes later, Deputy Miller arrived. I had already downloaded the footage of Arthur cutting the power, trying to hire the locksmith, and throwing the gnome. I also printed my deed. Arthur rushed forward immediately, using his respectable voice.

“Officer, thank God. My son is having a breakdown. He locked us out of our own home.”

Miller looked at me.

“Morning, Carter. What’s going on?”

“They don’t live here. They arrived uninvited after selling their home in Ohio. They have never been allowed inside, and I am denying entry.”

Martha began crying.

“We’re his parents. We had an agreement.”

“Do you have a lease? Keys? Mail delivered here?” Miller asked.