My parents said, “We’ve sacrificed so much to raise you, so your success is our success. That’s why your father wants you to give us 50% of the company’s shares…”
My penthouse is on the 80th floor of the One57 tower, overlooking Central Park, its leaves turning a vibrant red. Today is the day AeroTech – the software company I founded – officially reached a valuation of $1 billion after its Series C funding round. I, Ethan Vance, 28, have officially become the newest “unicorn” in the tech world.
To celebrate, I invited my parents, Frank and Linda, to fly from Ohio to New York. I booked first-class tickets and hired a limousine to pick them up. I wanted them to be proud.
But the atmosphere in the luxurious dining room was thick with calculation.
My father cut his Kobe beef steak roughly, the sound of his knife and fork scraping against the porcelain plate jarring. My mother sipped her $2,000 Chateau Margaux wine, her face still contorted as if she were drinking vinegar.
“Ethan,” my father put down his knife and wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “We need to have a serious talk about the future.”
“Yes, Dad,” I smiled. “I was going to say I’m going to pay off your Ohio mortgage and buy you a new pickup truck…”
“No, not that trivial,” my mother interrupted, her voice sharp. She pulled a thick stack of documents from her Hermes handbag (the gift I gave her at the airport) and pushed them toward me.
“We’ve talked to our lawyer,” my father said, his tone more like a board meeting than a family dinner. “We’ve sacrificed so much to raise you, Ethan. The years working at the factory, the times we went without food and clothing so you could go to school… So, your success is our success.”
He paused, looking straight into my eyes.
“That’s why your father wants you to sign here. Transferring 50% of your personal shares in AeroTech to your parents.”
I was speechless. The crystal glass in my hand nearly fell.
“50%?” I asked again, my voice choked with emotion. “Your parents know you hold 40% of the company. 50% of that is… 20% of the total company. Its current value is $200 million.”
“It’s well deserved,” my mother said, her face expressionless. “Without your parents, how would you be today? When you were 10, I had to sell your grandmother’s jewelry to buy you your first computer. Remember?”
“And when you went to college,” my father added. “I withdrew all my retirement funds to pay your first semester’s tuition. That was an investment, Ethan. And now it’s time to recoup my investment.”
I looked at them both. In my memory, things didn’t go that way.
The computer I had when I was 10? It was an old computer I got from a junkyard and repaired myself.
College tuition? I worked three part-time jobs at once and won a full scholarship. The “retirement fund” my father mentioned, he squandered it at a Detroit casino and lied about it being stolen.
But they sat there, brazen and confident, using “morality” to blackmail their own son.
“I can’t,” I said, putting down the documents. “Investors won’t accept stock dilution. And this is the result of five years of sleepless nights…”
“You ungrateful wretch!” My father slammed his hand on the table and stood up, his face flushed. “I knew it. You’ve gotten rich and forgotten your roots. If you don’t sign, I’ll sue you. I’ll go to the newspapers and tell the whole world that the CEO of AeroTech is an ungrateful son, abandoning his poor, elderly parents while living a life of luxury here.”
“That’s right,” my mother added, her eyes welling up with fake tears. “I’ll write a memoir. The media loves stories like that.”
They weren’t just asking for money. They were blackmailing me with my honor. A family scandal at this time would kill the upcoming IPO.
I looked out the window, down at the dazzling Manhattan lights. A chill spread through my chest, extinguishing the last vestiges of familial affection.
“Alright,” I said, my voice strangely calm. “If you want to settle things like a business deal, we’ll do it.”
Chapter 2: The Family Audit
I stood up and walked toward the built-in safe in my office. I didn’t take the money. I pulled out a black USB drive and a blue file folder with a ribbon.
I returned to the dining table and placed them next to the contract for the 50% share.
“Mom and Dad talked about ‘investment’ and ‘sacrifice,'” I opened the file. “I also did a little research on our family’s financial history.”
“What are you doing?” My father frowned.
“Page 1,” I flipped through. “2005. Dad said he sold Grandma’s jewelry to buy me a computer. But the pawn receipt here says: ‘Sold gold necklace – Reason: Paying off gambling debts.’ The pawn date coincides with the day Dad lost the Super Bowl that year.”
My mother’s face changed color. She turned to look at Dad. “You said you sold it to pay for my hospital bills, didn’t you?”
“Shut up, Linda,” my father snapped.
“Page 5,” I continued, not giving them a chance to breathe. “2015. The educational trust my grandfather left me. $50,000. My parents were my guardians. That money disappeared three days after I turned 18. My signature was on the withdrawal slip, but the handwriting was my mother’s.”
I looked at my mother. She trembled, her hands clutching her napkin.
“It was… I borrowed it temporarily… to fix the house…” she stammered.
“No, you used it to buy the Cadillac that Dad wrecked two months later.”
“That was while I was drunk,” I said coldly. “I had to take out student loans with exorbitant interest rates while I had a trust fund that my parents had embezzled. That’s Federal Crime, Mom, you know?”
“You… you investigated your parents?” My father hissed. “You ungrateful child!”
“I’m not done yet,” I plugged the USB into the laptop and turned the screen toward them. “You’re demanding 50% of the shares for ‘raising me.’ But look at this.”
A complex cash flow chart appeared on the screen.
“Three years ago, when AeroTech was just starting out and I was on the verge of bankruptcy, I called home asking for a $5,000 loan to keep the servers running. You said, ‘We don’t have the money, figure it out yourself.'” But that same week, my parents transferred $20,000 to my cousin Derek – who was in jail for drug trafficking – to help him get acquitted.
“That’s grown-up business!” my dad yelled.
“And most importantly,” I closed my laptop, looking them straight in the eye. “You’re demanding 50% of the shares. But you’ve forgotten a fundamental principle of business: Debt must be paid before profits are distributed.”
Chapter 3: The Twist
My parents were dumbfounded. “Debt? We don’t owe you a penny!”
I smiled. A sharp, business smile, the kind I use to negotiate with Wall Street sharks.
“Do you remember the house in Ohio? The house you’re living in, the house you mortgaged three times to get money for your expenses and now owe the bank $450,000?”
“So what?” “The bank still gave us an extension,” my father said, but sweat was starting to bead on his forehead.
“Last month,” I said slowly. “That local bank sold off their bad debts to restructure. And my asset management company – a secret subsidiary I set up to handle risk – bought that debt package.”
I pulled out the last piece of paper from the file.
FORECLOSURE NOTICE.
Credit: Vance Holdings LLC (Ethan Vance’s company).
Debtor: Frank & Linda Vance.
“Now,” I said softly. “I’m not just your son. I’m your legal creditor.” “And according to the contract my parents signed with the bank 10 years ago, if the debt is overdue by 90 days – which is now 120 days – the creditor has the right to repossess the house immediately.”
The room fell silent. My mother collapsed into her chair. My father’s jaw dropped, his face drained of color.
“You… you’re going to kick us out?” My mother cried. “You’re my own child!”
“I intended to pay off all the debt for you,” I said, my voice slightly subdued, but my resolve remained. “I intended to let you live comfortably for the rest of your lives. Until you produce that contract demanding 50% of the shares.”
I picked up their share contract and tore it in half. Rip.
“You want to settle it fairly? Fine.” “This is the new agreement.”
I pushed another contract I had prepared (knowing their greed, I always had a plan B).
“1. Parents sign a document relinquishing all rights related to AeroTech and my assets permanently.
2. Parents sign a commitment never to speak to or disclose information about my private life to the press. If violated, I will sue for defamation and demand $10 million in damages.
3. If parents sign, I will forgive the $450,000 debt. Parents get to keep the house, and I will provide $3,000 per month for living expenses – enough to live on, not enough for gambling.”
“What if you don’t sign?” my father asked, trembling.
“If you don’t sign,” I stood up, adjusting my vest. “I will exercise my right to foreclose on the house next Monday morning. The sheriff will come and move your belongings out onto the sidewalk.” “And I’ll release evidence that Dad embezzled my trust funds and that Mom was complicit. Not only will you lose your house, but you could also go to jail for financial fraud.”
I looked at my watch.
“You have five minutes to think before the car takes you to the airport.” The flight to Ohio takes off at 11 p.m.
Chapter Conclusion: A Trembling Signature
There were no more shouts. No more threats. Only the humiliating defeat of greedy people trapped by their own greed.
My father picked up the pen. His hand trembled. He looked at me with resentment, but mixed with fear. He knew I wasn’t joking. The “stupid” son of the past had become a capitalist monster, created by their neglect.
They signed.
I retrieved the contract.
“The car is waiting downstairs,” I said, without looking at them. “Have a safe flight, Mom and Dad.”
They trudged out the door, carrying empty designer bags. Only when the elevator doors closed, cutting off their image, did I allow myself to breathe a sigh of relief.
I went out onto the balcony, the cold New York wind lashing against my face. I picked up my glass of wine and drank. Empty.
I kept the company. I kept the assets. But I lost what I had always longed for: a real family.
My phone vibrated. A message from the bank: “Mortgage debt cancellation for Frank & Linda Vance has been scheduled.”
I looked down at the glittering city below. They say it’s lonely at the top. But at least here, this loneliness is my own choice, and it’s much safer than living with relatives who always have a knife in their back.
I threw the USB drive down, turned my back, and walked away.
I’m inside. There’s an important meeting tomorrow. And I can’t let emotions affect the stock price.
