My sister gave me her “junk” car, but after I spent $5,000 restoring it, she demanded it back. She never expected my 10-minute “undo” response.
“I’m not joking,” she barked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Mark’s truck threw a rod. We’re down to one vehicle and it’s making our lives impossible. We need yours. And technically”—she lifted her chin with a chilling sense of entitlement—”it’s still mine. I never filed the title transfer, remember? Legally, you’re driving my property.”
The air left the room. She had watched me spend months covered in oil. She had seen the invoices arriving at the house. She knew I had spent thousands of dollars rescuing her trash, and now that her husband had failed to maintain his own vehicle, she wanted to reap the benefits of my labor for free.
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