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