You Won’t Believe What This Millionaire Did to Solve Homelessness in His Town!

Homelessness is a problem that many cities face around the world. Even though governments and organizations are trying to fix it, it’s still a big issue. One Canadian millionaire decided to make a difference in his own town with his money. Here’s his story.

In Fredericton, New Brunswick, Marcel LeBrun, a millionaire entrepreneur, took action to help homeless people in his community. Marcel, who made a lot of money from his successful social media monitoring company, decided to invest $4 million of his own money to build 99 tiny homes for those in need. He didn’t just stop at providing homes; he also created job opportunities with his unique approach. This project is called 12 Neighbours.

After selling his company and gaining a lot of wealth, Marcel wanted to use his money for good. Seeing the homelessness issue in Fredericton, he came up with the idea of a tiny home community to give homeless people a new start. He named his project 12 Neighbours and aimed to build a gated community with 99 homes and an enterprise center. This community offers both housing and job opportunities, giving homeless people a chance to rebuild their lives.

Homelessness is a big issue in New Brunswick, with about 1,600 people experiencing it in a single day last year. In bigger cities like San Francisco, Los Angeles, and New York in the United States, the number of homeless people is much higher. Marcel LeBrun saw a chance to make a difference and decided to help those struggling with homelessness.

Marcel’s project, 12 Neighbours, is not just about building tiny homes. He wants to create a supportive community for people. The tiny homes he’s building are more than just places to stay. They are fully-furnished with kitchens, living areas, bedrooms, and full bathrooms. They even have solar panels on the roofs. Marcel sees himself as a community builder, aiming to provide a better life for those in need.

Image Credit: CBC National | Youtube

To make his vision a reality, Marcel LeBrun set up a factory where skilled volunteers help build the tiny homes. Using modern techniques, the factory can produce one tiny home every four business days. Once a home is built, it is carefully placed on concrete blocks to form the foundation of the community.

Marcel believes that owning a home is important because it gives people a sense of responsibility and stability. By allowing people who have experienced homelessness to own their own homes, the 12 Neighbours project aims to empower them and create a supportive community.

Image Credit: CBC National | Youtube

Besides providing homes, Marcel LeBrun’s project also focuses on creating job opportunities for the residents. The 12 Neighbours community includes an enterprise center with a coffee bar and a silk printing business, both run by the residents. This helps generate income and encourages residents to interact with the wider community.

Like any big project, 12 Neighbours has faced criticism. Some people think it’s better to reintegrate homeless individuals directly into society rather than keeping them together in one place. However, Marcel understands these concerns and has taken steps to ensure the community is safe and supportive.

Marcel explained, “Building a few homes is just as complicated as building many, and we wanted to make a real impact on homelessness in Fredericton. If we want to make a meaningful difference, we need to build houses. If I take someone who’s been living outside and put them in a luxury apartment, they might not succeed because it’s not their community or environment.”

Image Credit: CBC National | Youtube

Marcel LeBrun knows how important safety is, so he has included top security features in the 12 Neighbours community. There are gated entrances and advanced surveillance systems to ensure residents feel safe and protected.

LeBrun mentioned that some residents face challenges when they first move in. He explained, “When someone moves into a house, they might have others trying to take advantage of them. They need to learn what it means to manage their own space and decide who they let in and out.”

One of the main goals of 12 Neighbours is to build a strong sense of community both inside and outside its gates. LeBrun wants to create a place where residents and the people of Fredericton can come together. The community has a coffee bar and a personalized printing business to encourage interaction and understanding.

LeBrun told CBC, “I see myself as a community builder. We’re not just building a small community; we’re helping to make our city better.”

Marcel LeBrun’s project to build 99 tiny homes in Fredericton, New Brunswick, is a great example of using personal success to help others. Through 12 Neighbours, he has not only provided homes for those in need but also created job opportunities and a supportive community. His efforts have given hope to many and inspired others to make a difference.

At My Grandma’s Funeral, I Saw My Mom Hiding a Package in the Coffin — I Quietly Took It & Was Stunned When I Looked Inside

At my grandmother’s funeral, I saw my mother discreetly slip a mysterious package into the coffin. When I took it later out of curiosity, I didn’t expect it would unravel heartbreaking secrets that would haunt me forever.

They say grief comes in waves, but for me, it strikes like missing stairs in the dark. My grandmother Catherine wasn’t just family; she was my best friend, my universe. She made me feel like the most precious thing in the world, enveloping me in hugs that felt like coming home. Standing beside her coffin last week, I felt untethered, like learning to breathe with only half a lung.

An older woman in a coffin | Source: Midjourney

An older woman in a coffin | Source: Midjourney

The funeral home’s soft lighting cast gentle shadows across Grandma’s peaceful face. Her silver hair was arranged just the way she always wore it, and someone had put her favorite pearl necklace around her neck.

My fingers traced the smooth wood of the casket as memories flooded back. Just last month, we’d been sitting in her kitchen, sharing tea and laughter while she taught me her secret sugar cookie recipe

“Emerald, honey, she’s watching over you now, you know,” Mrs. Anderson, our next-door neighbor, placed a wrinkled hand on my shoulder. Her eyes were red-rimmed behind her glasses. “Your grandmother never stopped talking about her precious grandchild.”

A grieving young woman | Source: Midjourney

A grieving young woman | Source: Midjourney

I wiped away a stray tear. “Remember how she used to make those incredible apple pies? The whole neighborhood would know it was Sunday just from the smell.”

“Oh, those pies! She’d send you over with slices for us, proud as could be. ‘Emerald helped with this one,’ she’d always say. ‘She has the perfect touch with the cinnamon.’”

“I tried making one last week,” I admitted, my voice catching. “It wasn’t the same. I picked up the phone to ask her what I’d done wrong, and then… the heart attack… the ambulance arrived and—”

“Oh, honey.” Mrs. Anderson pulled me into a tight hug. “She knew how much you loved her. That’s what matters. And look at all these people here… she touched so many lives.”

An emotional, teary-eyed woman | Source: Midjourney

An emotional, teary-eyed woman | Source: Midjourney

The funeral home was indeed crowded, filled with friends and neighbors sharing stories in hushed voices. I spotted my mother, Victoria, standing off to the side, checking her phone. She hadn’t shed a tear all day.

As Mrs. Anderson and I were talking, I saw my mother approach the casket. She glanced around furtively before leaning over it, her manicured hand slipping something inside. It looked like a small package.

When she straightened, her eyes darted around the room before she walked away, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor.

A mature woman at a funeral | Source: Midjourney

A mature woman at a funeral | Source: Midjourney

“Did you see that?” I whispered, my heart suddenly racing.

“See what, dear?”

“My mom just…” I hesitated, watching my mother disappear into the ladies’ room. “Nothing. Just the grief playing tricks, I guess.”

But the unease settled in my stomach like a cold stone. Mom and Grandma had barely spoken in years. And there was no way my grandma would have asked for something to be put in her casket without my knowledge.

Something felt off.

A grieving woman looking ahead | Source: Midjourney

A grieving woman looking ahead | Source: Midjourney

Evening shadows lengthened across the funeral home’s windows as the last mourners filtered out. The scent of lilies and roses hung heavy in the air, mixing with the lingering perfume of departed guests.

My mother had left an hour ago, claiming a migraine, but her earlier behavior kept nagging at me like a splinter under my skin.

“Ms. Emerald?” The funeral director, Mr. Peters, appeared at my elbow. His kind face reminded me of my grandfather, who we’d lost five years ago. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be in my office whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you. Mr. Peters.”

An older man looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

An older man looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

I waited until his footsteps faded before approaching Grandma’s casket again. The room felt different now. Heavier, filled with unspoken words and hidden truths.

In the quiet space, my heartbeat seemed impossibly loud. I leaned closer, examining every detail of Grandma’s peaceful face.

There, barely visible beneath the fold of her favorite blue dress — the one she’d worn to my college graduation — was the corner of something wrapped in blue cloth.

I wrestled with guilt, torn between loyalty to my mom and the need to honor Grandma’s wishes. But my duty to protect Grandma’s legacy outweighed it.

My hands trembled as I carefully reached in, extracted the package, and slipped it into my purse.

A woman holding a brown leather purse | Source: Midjourney

A woman holding a brown leather purse | Source: Midjourney

“I’m sorry, Grandma,” I whispered, touching her cold hand one last time. Her wedding ring caught the light, a final sparkle of the warmth she’d always carried.

“But something’s not right here. You taught me to trust my instincts, remember? You always said the truth matters more than comfort.”

Back home, I sat in Grandma’s old reading chair, the one she’d insisted I take when she moved to the smaller apartment last year. The package sat in my lap, wrapped in a familiar blue handkerchief.

I recognized the delicate “C” embroidered in the corner. I’d watched Grandma stitch it decades ago while she told me stories about her childhood.

A woman holding a small blue package | Source: Midjourney

A woman holding a small blue package | Source: Midjourney

“What secrets are you keeping, Mom?” I murmured, carefully untying the worn twine. My stomach churned at the sight that followed.

Inside were letters, dozens of them, each bearing my mother’s name in Grandma’s distinctive handwriting. The paper was yellowed at the edges, some creased from frequent handling.

A stunned woman holding a stack of old letters | Source: Midjourney

A stunned woman holding a stack of old letters | Source: Midjourney

The first letter was dated three years ago. The paper was crisp, as if it had been read many times:

“Victoria,

I know what you did.

Did you think I wouldn’t notice the missing money? That I wouldn’t check my accounts? Month after month, I watched small amounts disappear. At first, I told myself there must be some mistake. That my own daughter wouldn’t steal from me. But we both know the truth, don’t we?

Your gambling has to stop. You’re destroying yourself and this family. I’ve tried to help you, to understand, but you keep lying to my face while taking more. Remember last Christmas when you swore you’d changed? When you cried and promised to get help? A week later, another $5,000 was gone.

I’m not writing this to shame you. I’m writing because it breaks my heart to watch you spiral like this.

Please, Victoria. Let me help you… really help you this time.

Mom”

A shocked woman holding a letter | Source: Midjourney

A shocked woman holding a letter | Source: Midjourney

My hands shook as I read letter after letter. Each one revealed more of the story I’d never known, painting a picture of betrayal that made my stomach turn.

The dates spread across years, the tone shifting from concern to anger to resignation.

One letter mentioned a family dinner where Mom had sworn she was done gambling.

I remembered that night — she’d seemed so sincere, tears streaming down her face as she hugged Grandma. Now I wondered if those tears had been real or just another performance.

A startled woman covering her mouth | Source: Midjourney

A startled woman covering her mouth | Source: Midjourney

The final letter from Grandma made me catch my breath:

“Victoria,

You’ve made your choices. I’ve made mine. Everything I own will go to Emerald — the only person who’s shown me real love, not just used me as a personal bank. You may think you’ve gotten away with it all, but I promise you haven’t. The truth always comes to light.

Remember when Emerald was little, and you accused me of playing favorites? You said I loved her more than I loved you. The truth is, I loved you both differently but equally. The difference was that she loved me back without conditions, without wanting anything in return.

I still love you. I’ll always love you. But I cannot trust you.

Mom”

A surprised woman holding a letter | Source: Midjourney

A surprised woman holding a letter | Source: Midjourney

My hands were shaking as I unfolded the last letter. This one was from my mother to Grandma, dated just two days ago, after Grandma’s death. The handwriting was sharp, angry strokes across the page:

“Mom,

Fine. You win. I admit it. I took the money. I needed it. You never understood what it’s like to feel that rush, that need. But guess what? Your clever little plan won’t work. Emerald adores me. She’ll give me whatever I ask for. Including her inheritance. Because she loves me. So in the end, I still win.

Maybe now you can stop trying to control everyone from beyond the grave. Goodbye.

Victoria”

A teary-eyed woman reading a letter | Source: Midjourney

A teary-eyed woman reading a letter | Source: Midjourney

Sleep eluded me that night. I paced my apartment, memories shifting and realigning with this new reality.

The Christmas gifts that always seemed too expensive. The times Mom had asked to “borrow” my credit card for emergencies. All those casual conversations about Grandma’s finances, disguised as daughter’s concern.

“Have you talked to Mom about getting power of attorney?” she’d asked one day. “You know how forgetful she’s getting.”

“She seems fine to me,” I’d replied.

“Just thinking ahead, sweetie. We need to protect her assets.”

My mother, driven solely by greed, had betrayed my grandmother and now, me.

A teary-eyed woman standing near the window | Source: Midjourney

A teary-eyed woman standing near the window | Source: Midjourney

By morning, my eyes were burning but my mind was clear. I called her, keeping my voice steady:

“Mom? Can we meet for coffee? There’s something important I need to give you.”

“What is it, sweetie?” Her voice dripped with honey-sweet concern. “Are you okay? You sound tired.”

“I’m fine. It’s about Grandma. She left a package for you. Said I should give it to you ‘when the time was right.’”

A mature woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

A mature woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

“Oh!” The eagerness in her voice made me wince. “Of course, darling. Where should we meet?”

“The coffee shop on Mill Street? The quiet one?”

“Perfect. You’re such a thoughtful daughter, Emerald. So different from how I was with my mother.”

The irony of her words was a dagger to my heart. “See you at two, Mom.” I then hung up.

A woman holding a smartphone | Source: Midjourney

A woman holding a smartphone | Source: Midjourney

The bell above the door chimed as my mother entered the coffee shop that afternoon, her eyes immediately finding my purse on the table.

She was wearing her favorite red blazer — the one she always wore to important meetings.

She sat down, reaching for my hand across the worn wooden surface. “You look exhausted, sweetheart. This has all been so hard on you, hasn’t it? You and your grandmother were so close.”

I just nodded and placed a wrapped bundle on the table. Inside were blank pages with just two letters on top — Grandma’s “I know what you did” one, and one I’d written myself.

A mature woman holding a small gift-wrapped package | Source: Midjourney

A mature woman holding a small gift-wrapped package | Source: Midjourney

“What’s this?” she asked, her perfectly manicured nails breaking the seal on the first envelope. I watched as the color completely drained from her face when she opened the second one, her fingers gripping the paper so tightly that it crumpled at the edges.

My letter was simple:

“Mom,

I have the rest of the letters. If you ever try to manipulate me or come after what Grandma left me, everyone will know the truth. All of it.

Emerald”

A mature woman gaping in shock while holding a letter | Source: Midjourney

A mature woman gaping in shock while holding a letter | Source: Midjourney

“Emerald, honey, I—”

I rose before she could finish, watching years of deception dissolve in her tears. “I love you, Mom. But that doesn’t mean you can manipulate me. You lost my trust. Forever.”

With that, I turned around and stormed out, leaving her alone with the weight of her lies and the ghost of Grandma’s truth. I realized some lies can’t stay buried forever, no matter how hard you try.

A young woman in a coffee shop | Source: Midjourney

A young woman in a coffee shop | Source: Midjourney

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