My bio family tried to steal my trust fund because I should share it with my real family. My adoptive dad destroyed them all.

When I was nine, my adoptive parents, Tom and Linda, moved our family from the US to the UK for Tom’s job. They’d adopted me as a baby and raised me alongside their biological son, Daniel. Before the move, they set up a trust fund for both Daniel and me, equal amounts for when we turned 21 or needed help with housing or education. They wanted us to have security no matter what happened.

The solicitors managing it had strict protocols, including security questions only I could answer. Things about my childhood, my adoptive parents’ details, and our life in the US. Tom and Linda would check in with Mr. Whitmore every few months to make sure everything was properly managed.

When I was 17, my biological parents reached out through social services, wanting to meet me. Tom and Linda supported my decision to connect with them, but stayed protective.

The bio family lived in Manchester: parents Ava and Keith and three kids they’d kept — twins Jason and Riley, who were 20, and Chloe, who was 14. They gave this whole sob story about being too young when they had me, but somehow managed to keep the three kids they had right after.

I tried building relationships with them for years while Tom and Linda watched nervously. The bio family always seemed weirdly interested in my adoptive parents’ money. They’d ask about Tom’s banking job, our house in Surrey, and where Daniel and I went to school. Ava would drop comments about how lucky I was to be raised rich while they struggled. Keith would joke about my “sharing the wealth with my real family.” The twins would hint about needing help with university costs. Chloe just glared at me like I’d stolen her life.

Last month, I got a call from Mr. Whitmore himself. He said there had been multiple attempts to access my trust fund in the past week.

First, someone claiming to be me called saying I needed £30,000 for a family emergency. When security questions were asked, they put him on hold and he could hear multiple people whispering in the background. They got every question wrong and hung up.

Then Ava called, pretending to be Linda, my adoptive mother, saying she needed to authorize a release for me. Except she pronounced Linda’s maiden name wrong and didn’t know Tom’s middle name. Mr. Whitmore knew immediately it wasn’t Linda because he’d spoken to the real Linda that morning about Daniel’s trust disbursement.

The third attempt was Keith calling as Tom, which was ridiculous because Mr. Whitmore knew Tom’s voice after 15 years. Keith tried deepening his voice, but didn’t know basic details like when the trust was established or what bank Tom worked for. He got aggressive when questioned and threatened to move the trust to another firm. The real Tom would never act that unprofessionally.

But the bio family didn’t stop there. The twins created fake email addresses similar to mine and sent requests for emergency funds. Chloe showed up at Whitmore and Associates’ office pretending to be me. But the receptionist knew what I looked like from previous visits. She was escorted out by security.

They even had Ava’s sister, Helen, call pretending to be a hospital administrator, saying I was in critical condition and needed treatment funds.

Mr. Whitmore called Tom and Linda immediately. They were furious and called me to make sure I was safe. When I explained the bio family’s money obsession over the years, Tom lost it.

He’d always been calm, measured, the kind of dad who never raised his voice. But hearing that the people I’d tried to bond with were just after the money he’d saved for me changed something.

Tom took time off work and hired a private investigator. Within a week, the investigator found that the whole bio family was in serious debt. Ava and Keith owed £40,000 on failed business ventures. The twins had massive student loans and gambling debts. Chloe had been caught shoplifting three times.

They’d planned the whole thing as a family, thinking they could get the money before anyone noticed. They’d even researched what my trust was worth by finding old public records from Tom’s financial disclosures at his bank.

Tom didn’t just want them stopped, he wanted them destroyed.

He called his contacts at every major bank in Manchester and informed them about the attempted fraud. Keith worked at a small accounting firm that did business with Tom’s bank. Tom pulled all contracts. Keith was fired within days.

Ava was a receptionist at a medical practice. Tom knew the practice owner through golf. When he heard about Ava impersonating a patient’s mother to steal money, she was gone, too.

The twins worked at the same restaurant. Tom’s colleague owned the chain. They were both terminated for theft after the owner suddenly decided to check the till cameras more carefully.

Chloe’s university got an anonymous tip about her shoplifting record that she’d hidden on her application. She lost her spot in the design program.

But Tom wasn’t done.

He called me into his study that evening, closing the door behind us with a soft click that felt louder than it should have. The room smelled like leather and old books, familiar and safe. But Tom’s expression was something I’d never seen before.

He sat down across from me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and started listing names. Banking contacts in Manchester, the owner of Keith’s accounting firm, the medical practice where Ava worked, the restaurant chain employing the twins. Each name came with a specific plan, delivered in this cold, steady voice that made my stomach twist.

He explained exactly how he’d pull contracts, make calls, ensure each person in that family lost everything they had. He wanted me to understand this wasn’t about stopping the fraud. This was about making sure they never recovered from trying to steal from me.

I sat there watching him tick through his mental checklist like he was planning a business merger, not destroying five people’s lives. Part of me wanted to tell him to stop, that this was too much, that we should just let the police handle it. But then I remembered Ava practicing Linda’s voice. Keith researching my trust fund value. All five of them sitting around planning how to steal money Tom and Linda had saved for me.

My hands started shaking in my lap. Tom noticed and reached over to squeeze my shoulder, his face softening for just a second before going hard again. He said they’d made this choice when they decided to target his daughter.

Every word he spoke made my chest feel tighter, like I couldn’t quite get enough air. He kept going, explaining how Keith’s firm couldn’t afford to lose Tom’s bank as a client. How the practice owner owed Tom favors from their golf games. How his colleague at the restaurant chain would review security footage if Tom asked. The connections kept coming. This whole web of professional relationships I’d never really thought about.

Tom worked in banking for over 20 years. Knew everyone who mattered in the financial sector across Northern England. He could make one phone call and end someone’s career.

I felt sick realizing how much power he actually had. Power he’d never used for anything except protecting our family. Now he was using all of it like a weapon. Systematic and precise.

My throat felt tight and I couldn’t tell if I wanted to cry or throw up.

Linda appeared in the doorway. Must have heard us talking and came to sit beside me on the sofa. She took my hand without saying anything. Her fingers warm and steady against mine.

Tom looked at both of us and asked if I understood why he had to do this. I nodded because I did understand. Even though understanding didn’t make the sick feeling go away, Linda’s thumb rubbed circles on the back of my hand while Tom pulled out his phone and started making calls right there in front of us.

The first call was brief, professional, Tom’s banking voice talking about contract reviews and compliance concerns. He hung up and made another call, this one to someone he called “mate,” talking about golf and mentioning he’d heard some concerning things about fraud attempts.

Linda’s hand tightened on mine.

Tom made four more calls in the next 20 minutes, each one carefully worded, never directly saying what he wanted, but making it crystal clear anyway. I watched him work through his contact list like he was checking items off a shopping list.

When he finally put the phone down, he looked at me and said Keith would be gone by morning. The firm couldn’t risk their relationship with Tom’s bank over one accountant, especially one involved in attempted fraud.

My stomach churned, but I just nodded again.

We sat there in the study for another hour while Tom explained the rest of his plan. Linda holding my hand the whole time, neither of them asking if I wanted this to happen because we all knew it already was happening.

The next morning, I woke up to Tom on a phone call in the kitchen, his voice carrying up the stairs. I came down still in my pajamas and found him standing by the window, phone pressed to his ear, nodding at whatever the person on the other end was saying. He glanced at me and held up one finger. Almost done.

Linda was making tea, moving quietly around the kitchen like she didn’t want to disturb him. I sat at the table and she pushed a mug toward me without asking if I wanted one.

Tom finished his call and turned around, something satisfied in his expression that made my chest feel weird.

“Keith was terminated an hour ago.” The accounting firm had called an emergency meeting at 8:00 in the morning, reviewed the contract situation with Tom’s bank, and decided Keith was expendable.

Tom said it like he was reporting stock prices, flat and factual. The firm couldn’t afford to lose millions in banking contracts over one employee, especially after Tom had mentioned the fraud attempts and suggested they might want to review Keith’s work for other irregularities.

I wrapped both hands around my tea mug, feeling the heat seep into my palms. Linda sat down across from me, her face tight with something that might have been worry or might have been anger. Hard to tell.

Tom kept talking, explaining how Keith’s firm had already started auditing his client files. How they’d probably find other problems given his debt situation.

My tea was too hot to drink, but I tried anyway, burning my tongue. The sharp pain felt almost good. Something physical to focus on instead of the image of Keith getting called into an office and fired.

Tom’s phone rang again and he answered immediately, walking back toward his study. Linda and I sat in silence, listening to his voice fade down the hallway. She reached across the table and covered my hand with hers, not saying anything because what was there to say? Her eyes looked tired, like maybe she hadn’t slept much. I wondered if she’d been up all night thinking about how far Tom was taking this, if she’d tried to talk him out of it. But I also knew Linda would never stop Tom from protecting me, no matter how brutal his methods got.

We stayed like that for a while, holding hands across the kitchen table, the morning sun coming through the window, making everything look too normal and bright for what was happening.

Two days later, I was scrolling through Facebook when Ava’s post popped up in my feed. She’d written this long, angry rant about unfair dismissal and corrupt practice owners, claiming she’d been fired for no reason after years of loyal service.

My finger hovered over the screen, reading every word twice. She had no idea Tom had orchestrated the whole thing through his golf contact. The practice owner had apparently called her into his office yesterday afternoon and terminated her immediately. Something about concerns over professional conduct and patient privacy.

Ava was raging about how she’d never done anything