“You have hundreds of thousands in business assets. Go buy a space heater.”
Her smile vanished.
“It’s not liquid cash. It’s capital investment. Mom and Dad are my seed investors. I’m going to quadruple their retirement in six months.”
“If they’re so wealthy, why did they sleep in a Buick?”
Arthur slammed his car door.
“That is enough! We only need to stay until the portfolio matures. Six months. A year at most.”
“A year? You expect me to let you squat in my house while she gambles with your life savings and drives a leased Porsche?”
“It’s not a lease!” Chloe snapped. “It’s a strategic financing vehicle. We’re temporarily illiquid.”
Illiquid. A polished word for broke. I told them to leave and went inside. Minutes later, a folded paper slid under my door. It was a “residency agreement” in my mother’s handwriting. My parents would take the main suite. Chloe would take the lake-view guest room for content creation. I would move my office into the unfinished basement. They would pay $300 a month while I continued covering the mortgage, taxes, and utilities. Family dinners would be mandatory, and I would cook five nights a week. They did not want shelter. They wanted my life.
