For six years, the arrangement at Philip Fusaro Sr.’s home seemed stable, if a bit unconventional. His daughter, Miss Fusaro, lived there rent-free with her five-year-old son, supported entirely by her father while she “trained” to be his property manager. Meanwhile, her half-brother, Richard, watched from a distance—twenty miles away, to be exact—visiting once a week but keeping a close eye on his father’s affairs.
The peace shattered in September 2014, when a medical crisis sent the elder Fusaro to the hospital for hip surgery. What followed was a Shakespearean collapse of family loyalty, involving police calls, thrown-out furniture, and a mysterious unrecorded deed.
The Lockdown at Rockland
While Miss Fusaro was recovering from her own health issues at her mother’s house, she returned to her father’s home to gather supplies for her son. She didn’t find a warm welcome. Instead, she found the locks changed and a stranger—a caretaker named Sheila—living in her room.
Infuriated by the presence of an “unsupervised” stranger, Miss Fusaro took matters into her own hands. She cleared out the caretaker’s belongings and tossed them onto the street. But as she began loading her own car with a desktop computer, a printer, and a modem, the police arrived. The silent war between siblings had finally gone public.
A Deed in the Dark
In the courtroom of Judge Judy, the siblings faced off. Richard, armed with a Power of Attorney, accused his sister of being a thief who had cleared out electronics, including a missing television. Miss Fusaro counter-punched with a bombshell: she claimed to own the house.
She produced a crumpled piece of paper—an unrecorded deed from 2011 allegedly signed by their father, granting ownership to himself and both children.
“This is a nice piece of paper,” Judge Judy remarked with her trademark skepticism. “But it’s been three years. You’ve been unemployed since 2008—you have nothing else to do but record a deed.” Because the document was never filed, it carried no weight in small claims court. Legally, the house still belonged to the father, and Richard, as the agent, held the keys.
The Missing TV and the Moral Ransom
The drama took a bizarre turn when Richard offered an olive branch that sounded more like a ransom deal. He claimed their father was willing to let Miss Fusaro move back in—if she returned the “stolen” computer and television.
“I don’t have the TV!” Miss Fusaro protested, suggesting the caretaker might have taken it. As for the computer? She insisted it was a gift from her father to his grandson.
Judge Judy, sensing the deep-seated “animus” between the half-siblings, cut through the noise. She wasn’t going to play detective over a used desktop or a missing TV.
The Final Verdict: Pack Your Bags
The judge’s ruling was swift and practical. She wasn’t going to force a reconciliation or decide on the validity of a three-year-old unrecorded deed.
The Stuff: Miss Fusaro was granted five days to retrieve her bed, clothes, and her son’s toys, accompanied by a police escort if necessary.
The Electronics: The judge ruled that the computer stayed with the daughter; since she had lived there for six years, a gift to the grandson was entirely plausible.
The Future: As for the house? “That’s for another day, another court,” Judy declared.
The siblings left the room as they had entered: strangers sharing a father, a past, and a piece of paper that meant nothing until a lawyer got involved. The “House on the Hill” remained standing, but the family that built it was officially in ruins.
