‘This is a 100% absolute no. Those fixtures belong to the bank’: Couple clings to a foreclosed 8,000 sq ft, $1M mansion, stalls eviction for five years with bankruptcy ping-pong, and tries selling off everything from countertops to doors

Author image for Etai Eshet
Etai Eshet • Editor
Aug 26, 2025 10:00 AM EDT

A golf-course mansion enters foreclosure and suddenly becomes a sovereign nation with granite countertops, where mortgages are myths and eviction is a weather forecast that keeps changing. For five years, the residents play legal whack‑a‑mole with alternating bankruptcies while the bank pays taxes like a deadbeat's concierge and a realtor does weekly wellness checks on denial. Then the curtain lifts on the boldest interpretation of "personal property" since maritime piracy: price tags on sinks, doors, cabinets, countertops, light fixtures, bidets, and a partridge in a recessed niche. It's a garage sale for things that require plumbing permits.

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  • I am entitled to keep this house. No, I don't need to pay the mortgage. I have to leave? I am entitled to strip it bare.

    a big mansion on a golf course with people looking tiny next to it
    via kellie-schoolers-team

    Image is representative only and does not depict the actual subjects of the story.

  • Authorities arrive for a quick seminar on larceny, leave, return the next day for the advanced course, and promise a graduation ceremony with bracelets if anything else “accidentally” detaches itself. The house stares on in drywall and disbelief. By Monday, the personal stuff is gone, a few organs are missing, and the bank decides it’s done cosplaying patience. No more motions, no more stays, just a line item: roughly a hundred grand in DIY subtraction. The listing goes up as‑is, a cash buyer materializes like a moral hazard fairy, and the mansion closes at a clean million with all the charm of a silent apology.

  • TL;DR at the bottom. Once upon a time I was a property shepherd. Banks would foreclose on properties and assign our real estate office to nurse the houses.
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  • The properties through the pre-foreclosure, foreclosure, eviction and post eviction periods. Banks liked using realtors because we would essentially work for free: I did a lot of work.
    via TheQuarantinian
  • Our only payment was if we sold the property at the end and got a commission. No sale? The banks got a ton of free labor.
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  • There was a particular mansion. 8,000 square feet. Membership rights to a private golf course. In a good market it should be worth around $3,000,000 but during foreclosure years it was just under $1,000,000.
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  • a mansion on a golf course
    via Frames For Your Heart

    Image is representative only and does not depict the actual subjects of the story.

  • The property was added to my list of around 900 assets at the time. Just another house, but a pretty good commission as a reward for taking so many houses.
    via TheQuarantinian
  • So I go through the checklist I go through with every house. Make sure the city records list the right names and the right addresses. Make sure the house physically exists.
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  • In cases of fraud occasionally they didn't. Make sure it hasn't burned down. Arson on houses facing foreclosure/eviction was not unheard of. Is it occupied? Is the yard maintained?
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  • Is water freely flowing out of the windows? Is there a foot thick wall of ice turning an open porch into a tunnel? I have a deep sense of loss over the missing picture.
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  • Any code violations? Is the HOA foreclosing themselves for unpaid dues? HOA foreclosures take precedence over bank foreclosures, and one of my assignments was taken away because the bank lost it.
    via TheQuarantinian
  • Aerial picture of three villas with pools in the backyards next to a big green grass golf course
    via Frederico Ferreira

    Image is representative only and does not depict the actual subjects of the story.

  • Nobody had checked for an HOA lien so I started doing it on every one, plus a handful of other tasks. House was occupied.
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  • This particular one was well into the eviction phase so I expected to have possession within a month. Easy peasy. Except what should have been a quick assignment turned into five years.
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  • For five years I did weekly occupancy checks on that house. Drive by, take pictures documenting the condition. Making sure it was occupied and maintained. Keeping an eye out for code violations.
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  • Keeping an eye out for HOA liens. Occasionally delivering messages to the bank offering checks of up to $25,000 if they would waive eviction and just turn the house over to the bank through me.
    via TheQuarantinian
  • Nope. It was their house. They were entitled to it. Nobody could make them leave. Their lawyer made sure they didn't have to pay a dime for insurance, property taxes or water/sewer.
    via TheQuarantinian
  • The bank had to pay water/sewer and the property taxes so they didn't lose the house to the city. The bank had to assume the full insurance risk because occupants weren't paying.
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  • I asked my legal contact how this was dragging on for so long and received an answer that it was technical, but basically the guy filed for bankruptcy which automatically stays the eviction.
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  • That takes a couple of months to work through the system. It would be discharged so the eviction was back on, but then his wife would file for bankruptcy.
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  • He was not allowed to file bankruptcy until some waiting period. After her bankruptcy was discharged he would file again. They went through a few cycles of this.
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  • I was just the real estate guy, I didn't have a full picture of what was going on on the legal scene. A couple of times I was told an eviction was scheduled and to stand by with my locksmith and trashout crew.
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  • But each time they got a stay of eviction somehow so it was cancelled. One day their luck ran out. I was told to get over there, and as per standard procedure, the moment the bailiff told me he was done, secure the house.
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  • I arrive. There is about $200,000 worth of personal property already out on the lawn. I was ready to go. But then their lawyer came running up with a writ from the judge.
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  • The eviction was cancelled. Immediately. The bailiff collected his crew and drove away and I watched the occupants start to move their property, slightly damp from the drizzle, back into the house.
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  • Now comes the part where their entitlement satisfactorily bites them hard. Yet another eviction date is scheduled. Me, doing my weekly occupancy checks, see no sign of packing up and preparing to leave.
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  • They fully expected their legal tricks to work yet again. But this time they didn't. The bank's lawyer told me the eviction was 100% definitely on.
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  • The moves that worked before were not in play this time around, so it was a firm and definite date. No ifs, ands or buts.
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  • I do my weekly occupancy check on a Thursday and notice that there are a lot of people going in/out of the house and a large garage sale sign in the yard open to the public.
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  • Well, I'm the public so I went in to take a preliminary glimpse of the house to give me an idea of how many bathrooms and other sinks would need to be winterized, etc.
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  • Only to be met with price tags on everything. I mean everything. Every sink, toilet, bidet, light fixture, granite and marble countertops, oak and mahogany cabinets, pedestal sinks,
    via TheQuarantinian
  • Bathroom sinks with marble tops with underlighting, even the solid oak doors on every bedroom and closet had price tags. Some fixtures were already gone.
    via TheQuarantinian
  • This is a 100% absolute no. Those fixtures belong to the bank, no question. They felt they were entitled to strip all 8000 sq feet as much as they could to get cash.
    via TheQuarantinian
  • And they were about to do hundreds of thousands of dollars of damage to the house. I call the cops. Explain that there is an impending eviction and the occupants are stripping the house.
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  • Fortunately I was in a city where they cared, so a squad car rolled up in just a few minutes. The guy in the dark uniform told the guy that this was not allowed.
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  • The sale was over and he had to stop stripping the house. The former borrower swore he had no idea it wasn't allowed and promised to stop. I didn't trust him, so the next day I felt the house needed an extra weekly check.
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  • Sign still up. People still going in/out of the house. Call the cops immediately and they are out in a few minutes again. This time the cop is ped.
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  • Ordered everybody except the owner and his family out. The cop let me look around and I spotted several items missing, about $15,000 worth that I immediately identified. Cop said the ignorance excuse didn't work.
    via TheQuarantinian
  • He was told yesterday and if there was anything else missing at the time of eviction he was going to jail. Monday morning comes, time for the eviction.
    via TheQuarantinian
  • The house is empty of all personal property and missing a few of the fixtures. The bank, happy to be rid of him and not in the mood for yet another legal battle with him,
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  • And I think there were still some lawsuits over the house flying around, told me to just forget about it, inventory what was missing as best as I could and proceed as normal.
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  • The bids to make the house livable came in at around $100,000, but the bank didn't want to bother. They sold the house for cash, as-is for $1,000,000 even within 2-3 days of it being listed.
    via TheQuarantinian
  • With the repairs it probably would have gone for $1.2 million, so not really worth the time or effort. TL;DR: A real estate agent was assigned to oversee a foreclosed mansion worth ~$1M.
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  • The occupants repeatedly delayed eviction for five years using bankruptcy filings. When eviction was finally imminent, they tried to sell off everything - including fixtures like sinks, cabinets, and doors - claiming entitlement.
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  • The agent called the police twice to stop the stripping. Eventually, the bank evicted them, absorbed ~$100K in damages, and sold the house as-is for $1M.
    via TheQuarantinian

  • The lesson here can actually be painfully funny. Entitlement loves rules until rules love consequences; then it loves Allen keys. Possession isn’t nine‑tenths of the law when the tenth is the deed and the deed pays the utility bill. Foreclosure theater ends the same way every time: the bank sells the punchline, the buyers get a discount, and the only thing truly stripped bare is the fantasy that “mine” outranks math.

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mansion bank hoa neighbors best friends garage sale lawyer neighborhood neighborhood-drama bad neighbors petty revenge terrible neighbors real estate pay back noise noisy property loud payback parking entitled people apartment
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