Chapter 85 — This Family Living Too Well Is Their Greatest Crime
Theresa's lips curled upward into the kind of smile that made people want to slap it right off her face.
"Since this place is my property now, I'm not here to make trouble.
I just want to know—when can you all move out?
The house is rundown, sure, but with a little renovation I could rent it to undocumented immigrants.
Still a nice profit."
She repeated the lines exactly as William had coached her—be as ruthless as possible.
Fiona felt the room tilt.
If they were kicked out… where would they go?
It was the dead of winter.
On the streets, they wouldn't last a week before freezing.
Government assistance?
Yeah. Maybe in fairy tales.
"I—I just need more time."
Sometimes you can only bow your head when the sky is falling.
And Fiona's pride cracked under the weight of reality.
Watching her bend, Theresa felt a surge of satisfaction—especially after seeing how close Fiona and William stood moments earlier.
Jealousy burns brighter when disguised as righteous cruelty.
"Time? Do you have any idea how much money I lose for every extra day you stay here?"
Theresa's voice sharpened, every word meant to cut.
At that moment, Lip finally pieced together what was happening.
His sister was negotiating—begging—and he could no longer play dumb.
He leaned toward William, whispering:
"Hey, what the hell happened?
How did this house end up in her hands?
She some secret bastard daughter of Aunt Ginger or something?"
Even now, his curiosity about a pretty girl overrode basic sense.
William's reply was calm, almost bored:
"Her? She bought it—from Frank."
"Bought it from Frank? Bullshit! No way!
How could Frank even own the house?
It was under Aunt Ginger's name—"
Halfway through the sentence, Lip froze.
A cold realization hit him square in the chest.
He was the one who didn't file the will.
He was the reason Frank could sell the house.
His heart sank; his jaw snapped shut.
William, seeing it, allowed himself a tiny smile—hidden from Fiona's view.
Exactly the reaction he wanted.
Across the room, Fiona folded her arms—her chin raised in defiance despite shaking knees:
"I don't care how much you lose.
If you don't give me time, I physically can't move this whole family out in a single day."
—Stubborn to the last breath.
Theresa didn't flinch.
"Well, if that's how you want to play it, I'll just have the bailiff handle the eviction."
She wasn't bluffing—and she wasn't afraid.
Lip finally stepped forward:
"If you're planning to go legal, under Illinois law it'll take at least two to three months before we can be evicted."
The implication was clear: They could stall.
They could survive the winter.
They had one last card.
Hearing Lip's rebuttal, Theresa didn't answer right away.
Instead, she gave him a slow once-over—then let out a dismissive snort.
"What?"
That look alone made Lip bristle.
His pride was no weaker than Fiona's—being looked down on always hit him like a punch to the gut.
Theresa folded her arms, voice dripping with contempt:
"Kid, do you even see what I'm wearing?
You really think I don't have a hundred ways to make sure the bailiff is knocking on your door tomorrow?"
Of course, that was impossible.
But Theresa was repeating William's script word for word.
Legally, Lip wasn't wrong.
But outside the courtroom?
There were plenty of ways to force a family out.
Fiona pulled Lip behind her, her patience completely spent:
"Fine! What do you want?
You know we can't move out overnight.
I can't find another place that fast.
Just say what it'll take!"
Seeing the moment was right, William gave Theresa a subtle signal.
Theresa nodded, then shifted into the final act of his plan:
"Honestly? A tenant is a tenant.
I could rent this place to anyone—but you'll do.
Rent's 2,500 a month.
Starts tomorrow."
That was the real aim.
William's support had made this family comfortable—too comfortable.
They were drifting upward, forgetting what fear felt like.
Pressure was necessary.
After all, the house had cost William nothing.
What he wanted was to tighten Fiona's world—make himself the only lifeline she could rely on.
Fiona exploded:
"Bullshit! 2,500? Why don't you just rob me instead?"
The going rate in the South Side hovered between $1,000 and $2,000.
This place was nowhere near worth $2,500.
So Theresa had thrown out a shark's number on purpose.
Negotiations began—ugly, tense, inevitable.
"1,500." Fiona countered.
She knew the money had to be paid.
No rent meant no roof—and winter meant death on the streets.
No one understood that reality better than she did.
"2,000." Theresa shot back.
Back and forth they went until the number settled:
1,700 a month.
Below market, technically.
But heavy enough to bruise.
Theresa didn't care; money wasn't the point.
She was only holding the deed—William pulled the strings.
Fiona, meanwhile, felt her chest tighten.
Seventeen hundred was a lot—every month.
It meant another job, less sleep, more strain.
But refusing wasn't an option.
Once Theresa walked out, silence filled the house like smoke.
Upstairs, Ian leaned over the railing, watching the three below—expression unreadable.
Lip finally spoke, voice low:
"Fiona… I'll… I'll figure out the money."
He couldn't bring himself to say I'm sorry.
His pride wouldn't allow it.
Fiona gave him a long look.
She stayed silent.
She knew she shared blame.
Something this important—handed off to Lip and never followed up.
But she was a Gallagher.
And in a Gallagher's world, responsibility always belongs to someone else.
So in her heart, she placed the weight squarely on Lip's shoulders.
"Debbie's waiting at school. I need to go."
She left without another word.
Lip stared after her, wanting to speak—unable to.
"Fuck."
The door clicked shut.
Lip cursed again—the sound raw.
William suppressed a grin.
Few things pleased him more than watching Lip choke on consequences.
He held out a cigarette.
"Want one?"
Lip took it without hesitation.
Nicotine steadied his hands, if not his mind.
William exhaled smoke slowly.
"So, what's your plan? Seventeen hundred isn't pocket change.
I can't float you guys like that every month."
He played concern well—what he really wanted was Lip's intentions.
Lip rubbed his forehead.
"I don't know.
SAT season's starting again.
Maybe I'll do some test-taking gigs for idiots with rich parents.
But I'll need someone to push the business."
Originally, that someone was Karen.
Not anymore.
William patted his shoulder.
"Good. At least you're thinking."
In truth, William doubted Lip could pull it off alone.
If Lip got himself arrested…
William wondered what Fiona would trade to get him out.
The thought was… entertaining.
Just then—a knock at the door.
William didn't move.
He already knew who it was.
Lip was too wrecked to care; he leaned over the sink, smoking hard.
Ian sighed, got up, and opened the door.
"Mandy? What are you doing here?"