In college, I begged my brother Rajiv for $500 tuition. He scoffed: “No handouts. Learn responsibility.” I cried for days.
Now I’m stable; he’s drowning in debt from a $27K scam, begging for $5K. I saw my chance for payback, but instead…
I booked a hotel, texted: “Money Monday. Hang tight.”
Then I audited his accounts. Found wires to “Eastview Partners LLC”—a ghost scam. Victims everywhere.
I didn’t gloat. I took a train.
Showed up with parathas. “Eastview’s fake,” I said.
He broke: he’d dragged friends in, lost everything chasing “freedom.”
I dug deeper. Found a scammer’s ex. Her TikTok exposé went viral—400K views, victims surfaced, investigations launched.
Rajiv got $9K back. Breathing room.
He asked, “Why help?”
“Because I’m family. Even the arrogant ones.”
He mailed me $2K: “For school.” I kept it on my fridge.
He calls now. Sends sketchbooks. Noémie says he always trusted I’d show up.
Revenge tempts.
But showing up when they once didn’t?
That’s the real win.
I never got the $500.
I got the brother who finally sees me.
