Money Changes People
They say money is the root of all evil, but in truth, it doesn’t change people—it simply reveals who they truly are. Some use it for selfish gain, while others see it as a tool for good. The following stories show how three people faced life-changing situations involving money.
One woman tried to control her husband’s life and finances by kicking his son out of the house. Another used money to reunite a broken family. And one man? Well, he faked his own death for a life insurance payout. Read on to see how these stories unfolded…
1. My Stepmom Tried to Kick Me Out—But She Didn’t Expect What Happened Next
I came home exhausted. College classes during the day, my shift at the gaming store at night—it felt like I was running on fumes. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t even have a part-time job. My dad made enough money to support us, but my stepmom, Karen, insisted.
“It’ll teach him responsibility,” she had told my dad. What she really meant was, ‘I don’t want him around.’
I barely had time to set my bag down before she pounced.
“Why are you late?” Karen’s arms were crossed, her sharp gaze cutting into me. “You were supposed to clean today!”
I took a deep breath, trying not to snap. “I had a long day. I’ll clean tomorrow.”
Karen scoffed, shaking her head. “Tomorrow? That’s not how responsibility works, Marcus.”
I clenched my jaw. “You’re home all day. Is cleaning really that hard?”
Her face turned red with anger. “How dare YOU speak to ME like that!”
Just then, Dad walked into the room, his eyes flicking between us. “What’s going on?”
“Marcus refuses to clean,” Karen said, her voice dripping with fake disappointment.
“I didn’t refuse,” I shot back. “I said I’ll do it tomorrow. I’m tired.”
Dad sighed and turned to Karen. “He’ll do it tomorrow. Let’s leave it at that.”
Relieved, I headed toward my room, but Dad stopped me. “Don’t go anywhere tonight, son. We have something to tell you.”
Nodding, I dragged myself upstairs. My gut told me I wouldn’t like what was coming.
Later, when Dad called me down, I found a cold plate of leftovers waiting at my spot at the table. As I picked at the food, I felt Karen and Dad’s eyes on me.
“What’s the big news?” I asked, looking between them.
Dad exchanged a glance with Karen. Then they said it together: “We’re pregnant!”
I froze, my fork slipping from my fingers. “Uh… congrats,” I managed, forcing a smile.
Dad beamed with excitement, but Karen’s expression remained icy.
Then Dad’s face turned serious. “Son, I don’t know how to say this, but…”
Karen cut in sharply. “Actually, Marcus, YOU need to move out.”
I blinked, my heart pounding. “What? Dad, what is she talking about?!”
Karen leaned forward, her voice firm. “With a baby coming, we need space. You’ll just be in the way.”
I turned to my dad, desperate. “Where am I supposed to go? I can’t afford rent! I’m a student! This is my home too!”
Dad hesitated. He glanced at Karen, then looked at me. But he said nothing.
The betrayal hit me like a punch to the gut. “You know what?” I snapped. “You two can go to hell!” I stormed off to my room, slamming the door behind me.
Lying in bed, I felt lost. They couldn’t just throw me out like this. My mind raced, searching for a way out. Through the walls, I heard their muffled voices.
“Maybe he should stay until he finishes school,” Dad said hesitantly.
“No, Tom,” Karen hissed. “We’ve been over this. He has to go.”
A moment later, my door burst open. Karen stood there, arms crossed. “You have three days to figure it out.”
I sat up, fury boiling in my chest. “I’m a student with a part-time job! I can’t just find a place in three days!”
But Karen just turned and walked away.
Then, I remembered someone who might help.
With shaking hands, I dialed my grandmother’s sister, Rose. “Grandma Rose?” My voice wavered.
“Marcus? What’s wrong?”
I told her everything, barely holding back tears.
She listened quietly, then her voice turned firm. “Do nothing, sweetheart. I’ll be there soon.”
The next morning, she arrived. Rose was a small woman, but when she stepped inside, she carried the weight of a storm.
“Everyone to the living room. Now.” Her voice left no room for argument.
Karen folded her arms. “We don’t need to—”
Rose cut her off. “I said NOW.”
Karen and Dad sat down, and I followed. Rose turned to Karen, her eyes blazing.
“How DARE you throw a child out of his own home?”
Karen scoffed. “Marcus isn’t a child.”
Rose smiled coldly. “Until he finishes school, he is. But none of that matters. This is Marcus’s house. He isn’t going anywhere.”
Silence fell over the room.
I frowned. “What?”
Rose’s next words shattered everything. “My late sister left the house to Marcus before she passed. It’s been his since he turned eighteen.”
Karen’s face twisted with rage. “That’s a LIE!”
Rose pulled out a folder and dropped it on the table. “Here’s the deed. It’s in his name.”
I was stunned. The house… was mine?
Karen sputtered, searching for words. Then Rose delivered the final blow.
“By the way, Karen, how’s that wine you were drinking this morning?”
Karen’s face drained of color. “W-what?”
Rose smirked. “Odd for a pregnant woman.”
My dad sat up straight. “What?”
Karen stammered, “How do you—”
“I saw you at the café with your friend. There is no baby, is there?”
Karen’s mouth opened, then closed. Then she snapped, “FINE! There is no baby!”
Dad turned to her, his face blank with shock. “You lied? You were going to kick my son out over a LIE?”
Karen opened her mouth, but Rose’s voice cut through. “Pack your things and leave.”
Within the hour, Karen was gone.
Dad turned to me, his eyes full of regret. “I’m sorry, son. I don’t know what came over me.”
For the first time in weeks, I felt safe. I hugged him, relief washing over me. I was finally home.
2. Hate Tore My Family Apart Until My Grandmother Brought Us Together One Last Time with a Great Revelation
The cold air bit at my cheeks as Scott and I stepped out of the car. We had just arrived at Grandma Eleanor’s house for her 80th birthday. It was the first time in years that the whole family was gathering under one roof. But it wasn’t because we loved each other—it was because we hated each other. Scott slammed the car door shut and grumbled, “I still don’t get why we’re here.”
“It’s Grandma’s birthday,” I reminded him, my breath visible in the chilly air. “She’s the only truly kind person in this family, and she wanted us all together.”
He sighed, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “I could be working right now. You know we need the money.”
“It’s one evening,” I said, instinctively patting my stomach. “Do you think they’ll notice?”
Scott chuckled, his mood lightening just a bit. “If I didn’t know, I wouldn’t notice. But what about telling your grandma?”
“Maybe at the end of the night,” I whispered, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves.
As we walked toward the front door, my brother Michael and his wife, Stacy, called out from behind us. “Hey! Wait up!”
Stacy hobbled awkwardly in her high heels, complaining loudly, “I can’t run in these!”
Scott and I exchanged a look, rolling our eyes. We both knew Stacy only stuck around for Michael’s money. She wasn’t exactly subtle about it.
Scott nudged me to press the doorbell. “Can we just get this over with?”
The door swung open, and there stood Grandma Eleanor, her warm smile lighting up her face. She hugged each of us tightly, her embrace feeling like a safe haven in the storm of our family drama. Inside, the dining table was loaded with food—roast turkey, mashed potatoes, pies, and more. It was a feast fit for a king.
“Why did you make so much, Grandma?” I asked, touched by the effort she had put into the meal.
“Oh, I love doing this,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “It’s not every day I get to have my whole family together.”
As we settled in, Michael glanced around and asked, “Mom’s not here yet?”
Grandma’s smile faltered just a bit. “She’s not sure she can make it,” she replied, a touch of sadness in her voice.
“Typical,” I muttered under my breath. “She never has time for us.”
Michael shot me a sharp look. “Stop. She’s our mom.”
“Yeah? And she hasn’t wished me a happy birthday in years,” I snapped back, my frustration bubbling over.
Michael’s face hardened. “You act like you’re perfect, Camilla! She had her career as an actress to focus on!”
“And she put it before us every time because it’s the only thing she cared about!” I fired back, my voice rising.
Scott put a hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me down. “Camilla, maybe just…”
I ignored him, my anger boiling over. “You only have those restaurants because Uncle handed them to you!”
Michael clenched his fists, his face turning red. “You’ve always been jealous of me, haven’t you?”
“Jealous of what? That you’re alone with a wife who’s only there for your money?”
“And you have it so good?” he sneered. “Your husband can barely hold a job, and how long have you been trying for kids… five, ten years?”
“Go to hell!” I shouted, standing up so fast my chair nearly toppled over.
“Enough!” Grandma Eleanor’s voice cut through the chaos like a knife. She stood, her frail frame trembling with emotion. “This is my birthday. I brought you here to celebrate… not to argue! And as for the inheritance…”
My head snapped toward her. “Inheritance?”
Eleanor’s voice was stern, her eyes piercing. “Your grandfather left something, and I have plans for it too. But I’m not leaving a penny to either of you until you prove you deserve it and earn my trust.”
“What?” Michael demanded, his voice rising. “How do we prove it?”
“Show me you deserve it,” she said quietly, then turned and left the room, leaving us all in stunned silence.
Needing air, I walked outside, my hands instinctively cradling my stomach. Michael followed me, his footsteps heavy on the porch.
“So we might have an inheritance,” he said, glancing at me.
“If you hadn’t ruined things as usual,” I shot back, my voice bitter.
“Me?” He looked stunned. “You started it!”
“Michael, I need this inheritance. Scott and I…” I hesitated, my hand resting on my stomach.
He raised a brow, his expression softening just a bit. “Why should I step aside? I need it too. Stacy’s about to leave if I don’t fix things at the restaurants.”
“Maybe she should,” I muttered, turning back toward the house. “I’m not giving up on this.”
Michael followed me back inside, muttering under his breath, “Not fair, Camilla.”
I found Grandma in her room, sitting on the edge of her bed. “Grandma, I’m sorry we ruined tonight. Let me help you with anything.”
She looked at me with a raised brow. “Is this how you think you’ll win an inheritance?” she asked. “Do you really need it, Camilla?”
I placed a hand on my stomach, my voice trembling. “Because…”
Just then, Michael burst in, interrupting. “Camilla’s lying about me, Grandma!”
“We weren’t even talking about you,” she said dryly, her tone sharp.
As we returned to the dining room, the front door swung open, and in walked our mother, swooping in with open arms. “My darlings!” she exclaimed, as if she hadn’t been absent from our lives for years.
“Oh, Camilla,” she said, eyeing me critically, “have you gained weight?”
I rolled my eyes and turned back to the table, biting my tongue to keep from saying something I’d regret. More bickering followed between my brother, me, and our mother as we tried to prove who deserved the inheritance most. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Then, suddenly, Grandma’s face turned pale. She clutched her chest, and we heard a loud thud as she collapsed to the floor.
“Grandma!” I screamed, rushing to her side. I clutched my stomach, feeling a sharp pain. “Call an ambulance!”
Scott rushed to my side, gripping my hand tightly. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s starting,” I gasped, my voice trembling.
Scott’s eyes widened in panic. “Labor?”
“Yes!” I shrieked, the pain intensifying.
Michael shouted, “You were pregnant?!”
Our mother’s eyes widened in shock. “I’m going to be a grandma?!”
“Call 911!” I demanded, my voice breaking.
We had become so estranged that I didn’t even want to tell them when I got pregnant. I didn’t want to bother because I knew Mom would ignore her grandchild just like she ignored me. The madness in our family is why Scott and I moved far away. The only person I truly loved was my Nana. She was there for me all the time, the only light in this crazy family, and now she might be gone.
At the hospital, I refused to give birth until I knew about Eleanor. Scott pleaded with me, “Camilla, focus on the baby!”
After an agonizing hour, our baby girl was born. When I woke up, Michael entered the room, his face somber. That’s when I found out Grandma had passed away while I was in labor.
“We found a note addressed to the family in your grandmother’s belongings,” a nurse said as she handed it to us.
The note revealed that Nana had known I was pregnant all along. She had left her entire inheritance to Scott and my child. She urged Michael to divorce his wife, who had opted to stay behind at the house. And lastly, she pleaded with our mom to do better for us and her grandchild.
Michael looked at me, his eyes filled with remorse. “I’m sorry for what I said, Camilla.”
Our mom looked guilty, her voice barely a whisper. “Could I… be a real grandma?”
“Maybe,” I said, holding my newborn daughter close. I felt like our family was finally turning a new leaf. With tears in my eyes, I announced, “Her name is Eleanor.”
And in that moment, I knew that Grandma’s love had brought us together one last time, giving us a chance to heal and start anew.
3. I Thought My Father Was Dead, Only to Discover a Sinister Truth When We Tried to Bury Him
The day was gray and heavy, like the weight pressing down on my chest. I stepped out of the car, standing in front of the old church, and felt the crushing reality of losing my dad. Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought, We couldn’t even give him a proper funeral. Dad had died from a rare infection, and because of it, his casket was roped off. No touching, no final goodbye. Just a cold, distant farewell.
Suddenly, Bella, Dad’s loyal dog, started barking wildly from the car. She was usually calm, always content to wait patiently, but not today. Her barks were sharp and urgent, like she was trying to tell me something.
“Bella!” I turned to see her pawing at the window, her eyes wide and frantic. I gave her a hand signal to calm down, and she reluctantly lay back, but her gaze never left me.
“Stay, Bella,” I whispered, reaching through the window to pat her head. She whined softly, her tail thumping against the seat. I hated leaving her like that, but I had to go inside.
The church was quiet, save for the soft murmurs of mourners. Dad’s casket sat at the front, surrounded by flowers. I took my seat beside my mother, who was clutching a tissue, her face pale and drawn. The service began, and the final hymn started to play. That’s when chaos erupted.
Bella’s barking echoed through the church. I turned to see her bounding down the aisle, her paws skidding on the polished floor. Before anyone could stop her, she leaped onto the casket, knocking flowers to the ground as she barked and scratched at the lid.
My heart raced. Something was wrong. I jumped to my feet. “Open the casket!” I shouted, my voice cutting through the stunned silence.
People gasped and murmured, but I didn’t care. I rushed to the casket and threw it open myself. My stomach dropped. It was empty.
The room erupted in gasps and whispers. My mother let out a cry, her knees buckling. I caught her just in time, holding her up as she fainted in my arms. My mind was spinning. How could Dad’s body be missing? I thought, my voice trembling as I whispered, “What’s going on?”
That night, I called the police. Detective Bradshaw arrived at our house, her expression serious as she listened to my story. “The coroner confirmed your father’s death and released the body to the funeral home,” she said, flipping through her notes. “Mr. Hayes, could your father have been in some kind of trouble?”
I shook my head. Dad was a respected businessman who ran a successful dog training and rehabilitation center. He was careful, responsible—someone who would never put our family at risk. But with no leads, Detective Bradshaw left, promising to look into it. I couldn’t just sit and wait, though. I had to find answers.
Leaving Bella at home, I drove to the morgue. At the front desk, a nurse informed me, “The coroner resigned, and no replacement has been assigned.” When I asked for Dad’s file, she refused, her tone firm. But when I slipped $1,000 onto the counter, she looked the other way as I entered the coroner’s office. My heart sank when I saw that Dad’s file was gone.
Frustrated and desperate, I went to Dad’s office. I opened his email, only to find every message deleted. Just then, Dad’s lawyer, Mr. Stevens, walked in. “Ryan,” he said, his voice grave. “You’re the new CEO of the company.”
I blinked, stunned. “What happened to Dad’s things here?” I asked, noticing two missing dancer figurines that had always sat on his desk.
Mr. Stevens shook his head. “Your father supposedly took them home, though I don’t think he ever found the third one. The collector wants half a million for it.”
I knew the dancers weren’t at home—I’d searched every inch of the house while packing up Dad’s things. But Stevens had more to say. He revealed that the company was in severe debt, and investors had been pulling out for months because Dad had been missing meetings.
Then he dropped a bombshell. “There’s something else you should know,” he said hesitantly. “I believe Arnold was having a relationship with his new secretary.”
My stomach churned. I spent the rest of the day trying to calm the investors, but my mind was elsewhere. That evening, I tracked down Dad’s secretary, Miss Pearson. I followed her to her house, and when she drove off, I snuck inside her closing garage, making my way into her home.
In her bedroom, I found a framed photo of her kissing Dad. My hands trembled as I picked it up. On the coffee table, I discovered a manila envelope. Inside was Dad’s $7 million life insurance policy—with Miss Pearson listed as the sole beneficiary.
I couldn’t believe it. I drove straight to the police with the evidence. Hours later, they confirmed Miss Pearson was booked on a flight to Morocco, a country with no extradition treaty. Detective Bradshaw assembled her team and raced to the airport, but Miss Pearson was already gone.
I refused to give up. My last lead was the third dancer figurine. I tracked down the collector and paid an outrageous $750,000 for it. Then, I scheduled an auction, hoping Dad would hear about it and show up.
At the auction house, I watched from the shadows as the bidding began. When the price hit $1 million, a familiar voice called out. It was Dad. My heart pounded as I stepped into the light, blocking his path. Detective Bradshaw appeared, handcuffing him.
Dad’s eyes widened in shock. “Ryan? You set me up!” he shouted, his voice filled with anger.
I stared at him, my own anger boiling over. “You faked your death to run off with your mistress, leaving us to grieve over an empty casket!” I spat, my voice shaking with hurt and betrayal.
Dad’s face fell, and he confessed. He’d faked his death to start a new life with Miss Pearson, leaving us behind to deal with the fallout. I looked at him coldly. “You taught me that a man should do what’s right, not follow his own selfish interests. I hope you remember that.”
Detective Bradshaw assured me that Miss Pearson wouldn’t get far. As they led Dad away, I felt a mix of relief and sadness. He’d finally face the consequences of his actions, but the betrayal cut deep. I walked out of the auction house, determined to rebuild what he’d broken—and to honor the lessons he’d once taught me.
