By the time my mom called on Christmas Eve, furious and breathless, the cameras were already setting up for their church Christmas special. “Maya, where are you? Your costume is ready—” I calmly asked if they’d enjoyed my gift. The red envelope on the dining room table. The eviction notice for the commercial building where their flagship furniture store had been operating for 18 months.

Silence. Then shock. “Carter Properties LLC? That’s me, Mom. I bought that building two years ago. I’ve been your landlord this whole time. And you’re three months behind on rent — $18,000. Merry Christmas.”