My SIL Promised to Pay Me for Her New Roof – I Never Got a Dime Out of the $18,800 She Owed, but She Got What Was Coming to Her
The summer sun beat down on my pickup truck as I pulled into my sister-in-law Karen’s driveway, the trailer behind me loaded with roofing materials. Shingles, underlayment, nails—$18,800 worth, not counting the sweat I was about to pour into the job. Karen had begged me to replace her dilapidated roof, promising to pay me back “as soon as her bonus came through.” I’m no pushover, but family’s family, and my wife, Lisa, had vouched for her sister’s word. That was my first mistake.
I run a small roofing business, just me and a couple of guys, and we’re good at what we do. Karen’s house, a squat ranch-style with a roof so worn it looked like it might cave in during the next storm, was a job I could’ve knocked out in a week. She’d called me in a panic after a leak soaked her living room, swearing she’d cover materials and labor if I could start right away. “I’ll pay you every cent, Tom,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet. “You know I’m good for it.” Against my better judgment, I agreed, no contract, just a handshake and her word.
We got to work the next day. My crew and I tore off the old shingles, patched the decking, and laid down a fresh, high-quality asphalt roof with a 30-year warranty. Karen stopped by daily, all smiles, bringing us lemonade and gushing about how great the house looked. “You’re a lifesaver, Tom!” she’d say, snapping photos for her Instagram. I’d nod, wipe the sweat from my brow, and keep working, trusting her promise.
The job took five days, and when we finished, the house looked sharp—new roof, clean lines, no more leaks. I handed Karen the invoice: $18,800, covering materials and labor at a family discount. She glanced at it, hugged me, and said, “I’ll get you the money as soon as my bonus hits next month.” Lisa was there, beaming, proud of her big sister’s gratitude. I felt good, like I’d done right by family.
A month passed. No payment. I texted Karen, keeping it light: “Hey, any word on that bonus?” She replied instantly: “Oh, Tom, it’s coming! Just a little delay. I’ll have it soon.” I let it slide, figuring she’d come through. Lisa kept saying, “Karen’s good for it. She’s just waiting on her company.” But by month two, my texts went unanswered, and Karen stopped coming to family dinners. My gut told me something was off.
I started digging. A buddy in the neighborhood mentioned seeing Karen’s new car—a shiny SUV, fresh off the lot. Then I checked her Instagram. There she was, posting from a beach resort, all cocktails and sunsets, captioned, “Living my best life!” No mention of a bonus delay. I showed Lisa, who looked uneasy but defended her sister. “Maybe she used savings for the trip,” she said. I wasn’t buying it.
By month three, I was pissed. I drove to Karen’s house, invoice in hand, ready to talk. She answered the door in a new designer outfit, acting surprised. “Tom! Oh, the money… I’m so sorry, things are tight right now.” Tight? With a new car and a tan from Aruba? I pressed her, keeping my tone civil. She swore she’d pay in installments, starting next week. I left, skeptical but hoping she’d follow through.
Weeks turned into months. Not a dime. My crew, who’d worked their asses off, kept asking about their cut. I paid them out of my pocket to keep things square, but it stung. $18,800 was a big hit for a small business like mine. Lisa and I started arguing—she felt caught between me and Karen, who kept feeding her excuses. “She’s going through a lot,” Lisa said. I didn’t care. I’d been played.
I considered small claims court, but Lisa begged me not to sue her sister. “It’ll tear the family apart,” she said. I didn’t want to hurt my wife, so I held off, but I wasn’t done. Karen’s betrayal lit a fire in me, and I started watching her closer. That’s when I noticed her bragging online about flipping houses. She’d post about “renovating on a budget” and “smart investments,” showing off properties she was supposedly fixing up. One post caught my eye: a house with a roof that looked suspiciously like the one we’d installed.
I did some research. Public records showed Karen had sold her house—the one we’d roofed—for a tidy profit. She’d listed it as “fully renovated,” hyping the new roof as a selling point. My roof. The one she never paid for. I was livid. She’d used my work to boost her sale price, pocketed the profit, and left me high and dry. I called her, but she blocked my number. Lisa tried talking to her, but Karen dodged her too.
I could’ve let it go, written it off as a lesson in trusting family, but I’m stubborn. I started asking around in the local real estate scene. Turns out, Karen had a reputation. She’d stiffed other contractors—plumbers, electricians, you name it. Word was she’d buy fixer-uppers, get work done on promises, then sell for profit without paying. She was running a scam, and I’d been her latest mark.
Then karma stepped in. Karen’s next flip was a big one—a duplex she planned to renovate and sell for double. She’d hired a new crew, promising the same “pay you later” deal. But one of the contractors, a guy I knew from the trade, wasn’t as trusting as me. He demanded a contract and partial payment upfront. Karen, cocky as ever, signed but didn’t pay. When the crew walked off mid-job, the duplex sat half-finished, bleeding her dry in carrying costs.
Word spread fast. Other contractors refused to work with her, and her reputation tanked. The duplex deal fell apart, and she couldn’t sell it. I heard through the grapevine she’d taken out loans to cover the mess, banking on a quick sale that never came. Her shiny SUV got repossessed, and her Instagram went quiet—no more beach selfies or “best life” posts. She was stuck, drowning in debt, with no one to bail her out.
I never got my $18,800. It still stings when I think about it, especially when I’m covering slow months or fixing my truck. But seeing Karen’s house of cards collapse? That felt good. Lisa and I patched things up, and she finally saw her sister for what she was. We don’t talk to Karen anymore—she moved out of state, probably chasing another scam. I learned my lesson: family or not, always get it in writing. And as for Karen, she got what was coming to her—a hard fall, built on her own lies.
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