PART 1: THE BANQUET OF CONTEMPT

Chapter 1: An Uninvited Guest in His Own Family

Snow fell heavily outside the window of the luxurious penthouse in the Gold Coast district of Chicago. Inside, the warm air was filled with the scent of roasted turkey, expensive wine, and melodious Christmas music. But for me, Robert “Bob” Miller, this atmosphere was colder than any blizzard.

I sat huddled at the corner of the long dining table, trying to make myself as small as possible. I was wearing the old ash-gray sweater my daughter, Sarah, had given me five years ago. It was frayed at the elbows, but I still wore it every holiday, as a way to hold onto a fragile shred of family affection.

Sitting opposite me were the in-laws – Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. They were the owners of a 5-star hotel chain, dressed luxuriously, exuding an air of nobility and detachment. They looked at me with a mix of pity and contempt, as if I were a strange creature that had wandered into their upper-class world.

And at the head of the table was my son-in-law, James Harrington. He was the Vice President of the family corporation, handsome, polished, and arrogant. He was rapturously recounting their upcoming ski trip to Switzerland.

“You know, Mom and Dad,” James raised his glass of red wine, his voice echoing through the room. “I’ve booked first-class tickets for the whole family. Sarah and little Emily are very excited.”

He paused for a moment, then turned to look at me, his gaze sharp as a razor.

“Oh, I forgot. Dad Bob probably can’t go, right? You still have to worry about… well, scraping by on your meager pension.”

The whole table fell silent. The Harringtons smirked, sipping their wine. Sarah lowered her face to her plate, not daring to look at me.

“James,” I spoke up, my voice hoarse. “I don’t need to travel. Being with my children and grandchildren is enough for me.”

“With children and grandchildren?” James laughed loudly, a harsh sound. “Dad, look at yourself. You live in a shabby apartment that I pay the rent for. You eat the food I buy. You wear clothes your daughter gave you. You are just a burden, a man who knows no shame in leeching off his children!”

His words were like boiling water thrown in my face. I gripped the silver fork in my hand until my knuckles turned white.

“James, don’t say that,” Sarah whispered, trying to intervene.

“Am I wrong?” James turned to yell at his wife. “Look at my parents. They gave us a villa, cars, company shares. And what did your father give us? A senile old man and stories about the glorious past of a lowly carpenter?”

I stood up. My legs trembled, not from weakness, but from anger.

“Excuse me,” I said, trying to stay calm. “I feel a bit tired.”

“Go,” James waved his hand as if shooing away a fly. “Go back to your rat hole and sleep. Don’t ruin our Christmas atmosphere.”

I walked out of the dining room, ignoring my daughter’s apologetic look and my son-in-law’s gloating. I grabbed my old wool coat and stepped out into the freezing snow.

James thought I was just a poor retired carpenter. He didn’t know that before I held a wood plane, I had held things much heavier. And he certainly didn’t know that my silence tonight was not resignation.

It was the calm before the storm.

Chapter 2: The Forgotten Will

I didn’t go back to the rented apartment James mentioned. I took a taxi to an old warehouse district in the southern suburbs of Chicago.

This was my old carpentry workshop, where I had worked for 40 years. But beneath the layers of wood dust and rusty tools, there was a secret basement that even Sarah didn’t know about.

I unlocked the basement door and stepped down. The smell of old paper and printer ink filled my nose.

I turned on the light.

The basement was filled with boxes of files, technical drawings, and… patents.

That’s right. I wasn’t just a carpenter. I was an inventor. In my youth, I invented a special load-bearing joint used in bridge and skyscraper construction. I sold the rights to use that technology to a major construction corporation for a… nominal price, in exchange for 5% perpetual shares of that group.

That corporation was named Titan Infrastructure. And today, it is one of the largest construction companies in the world.

I had never touched that dividend money. I let it accumulate in a secret trust fund, intending to gift it to Sarah and my granddaughter on the day I died. I wanted them to have a carefree life, but I also wanted them to be independent before receiving this massive gift.

But tonight, the plan had changed.

I opened the old safe in the corner. Inside was a thick file and an ancient Nokia phone.

I picked up the phone and dialed.

“Hello?” An old but powerful voice rang out on the other end. It was Arthur, my private lawyer and the only person who knew my secret.

“Arthur,” I said. “Activate ‘Protocol Phoenix’.”

The other end was silent for a long time.

“Bob? Are you sure? That protocol will turn everything upside down. It will publicize your identity as the largest shareholder at Titan, and…”

“I know,” I interrupted. “But my son-in-law needs a lesson. And my daughter needs a push to wake up.”

“Alright. Tomorrow morning, 9 AM, at the New York Stock Exchange. Welcome back to the game, Mr. Miller.”

I hung up. I looked at the file on the table. In it was the will I intended to leave for Sarah. I tore it in half and threw it in the trash.

I would write a new will. But first, I had to teach James Harrington what “shameless” really meant.

Chapter 3: A Belated Christmas Gift

The next morning, Christmas Day.

James and Sarah were packing for their trip to Switzerland. The doorbell rang.

“Must be the airport shuttle,” James called out, still tying his tie.

Sarah went to open the door.

Standing at the door was not a driver. It was a man in a sharp black suit, carrying a briefcase, accompanied by two large bodyguards.

“Hello, Mrs. Harrington,” the man said. “I am Arthur Pendelton, the lawyer representing the largest shareholder of Titan Infrastructure.”

Sarah was bewildered. “Titan? The construction company bidding for the expansion project of my father-in-law’s hotel chain?”

“Precisely. We are here to see your husband, Mr. James Harrington.”

James stepped out, looking grumpy. “What is it? Today is a holiday.”

“Mr. Harrington,” Arthur said, his voice cold. “I am here to announce that Titan Infrastructure is officially withdrawing capital and canceling all construction contracts with the Harrington Hotel Group, effective immediately.”

“What?” James screamed, his face drained of blood. “Are you crazy? The contract is worth 200 million dollars! You will have to pay compensation…”

“We accept compensation under the breach of contract terms,” Arthur said calmly. “But more importantly, our largest shareholder… Mr. Robert Miller… has issued a directive that he does not wish to do business with a company run by an unethical individual.”

“Robert Miller?” James frowned. “That’s my father-in-law’s name. What does that old carpenter have to do with…”

He froze. His eyes widened to their limit. He looked at Sarah, then back at Arthur.

“Impossible…”

Just then, the building’s private elevator opened.

I stepped out.

I was no longer wearing the tattered sweater. I wore a navy blue Italian suit, perfectly tailored, draped in a black wool overcoat. I wore polished leather shoes, holding an ebony cane with a gold tip.

I walked into the apartment, going straight up to James. He stood frozen, mouth agape.

“Dad?” Sarah gasped, disbelieving her eyes.

“Hello, children,” I said, my voice warm but full of authority. “Dad is here to give a Christmas present.”

I signaled to Arthur. The lawyer pulled a file from his briefcase and placed it on the table.

“This is the record of the acquisition of 51% of the shares of the Harrington Hotel Group that Titan executed this morning through subsidiaries,” I said slowly, looking straight into James’s eyes. “Currently, I am the new owner of your family company.”

James collapsed onto the sofa. He trembled.

“Dad… you’re joking, right? Where did you get the money…”

“Money from the ‘person who only knows how to rely on his children’,” I smiled faintly. “James, you were right about one thing. I lived too frugally. But I saved to give my daughter a solid future. Unfortunately, you turned that future into an insult.”

I turned to Sarah.

“Daughter, I once intended to leave everything to you. But today, I decided differently. I won’t give you the fish anymore. I will teach you how to fish.”

“Dad…” Sarah cried, running to hug me. “I’m sorry… I was cowardly…”

“It’s okay,” I patted her shoulder. “Now, listen to me. I will fire James from the Vice President position immediately. As for you, Sarah, if you want to keep your inheritance shares in the future, you must divorce him and start working from the lowest position in the company: Receptionist.”

“Divorce?” James looked up, eyes full of resentment. “You have no right! This is a private matter between husband and wife!”

“I have the right,” I said coldly. “Because I hold the finances. You can choose: Leave with empty hands and a divorce paper, or stay and face a lawsuit for embezzling public funds that I just had the auditors discover this morning.”

James’s face turned from resentment to utter fear. He knew he had lost. Lost completely to the “old carpenter” he once despised.

PART 2: REBIRTH FROM ASHES

Chapter 4: The Lesson of Collapse

James signed the divorce papers and left that very day to avoid prosecution. He disappeared from Chicago, carrying humiliating disgrace.

Sarah moved in with me in a new villa I bought in the suburbs. She was in shock, but she didn’t blame me. On the contrary, she seemed to wake up from a long coma of vanity.

Sarah started working at the family hotel (now owned by me) as a receptionist. She had to learn how to bow to guests, how to handle complaints, how to truly labor.

I didn’t help her financially beyond providing room and board. I wanted her to understand the value of the money she used to squander.

A year passed.

I saw Sarah change day by day. She no longer bought designer goods, no longer gathered with fake high-society friends. She spent her free time learning about hotel management and playing with little Emily.

One evening, Sarah came home with swollen feet from standing all day in high heels.

“Tired, honey?” I asked, handing her a glass of water.

“Very tired, Dad,” Sarah smiled, a smile more genuine than ever. “But I feel happy. Today I resolved an issue for a customer, and they wrote a letter praising me.”

I looked at my daughter, my heart filled with pride. “You are doing very well.”

“Dad,” Sarah hesitated. “I want to thank you. For that Christmas Eve last year. If you hadn’t done that… I would probably still be living the life of a soulless doll next to James.”

“I just did what a father needed to do,” I said.

Chapter 5: The True Gift

Three years later.

The Harrington Hotel Group, under the management of the new Board of Directors (appointed by me), flourished. Sarah, through relentless effort, had climbed to the position of General Manager of the flagship hotel in downtown Chicago. No one remembered her as the boss’s daughter anymore; they only knew a talented and dedicated female manager.

On Sarah’s 35th birthday, I called her into the study.

“Happy birthday, daughter,” I handed her a file.

Sarah opened it. It was the deed transferring all my shares in the Harrington Hotel Group and a portion of shares in Titan Infrastructure.

“Dad? This…” Sarah was stunned.

“You have proven yourself, Sarah,” I smiled. “You are no longer relying on me. You have stood on your own two feet. This is your asset, earned by you.”

Sarah hugged me tight, sobbing.

“Thank you, Dad. I love you.”

“Dad loves you too.”

I looked out the window, where the first snow was falling. Christmas season was coming again. But this year would be different. This year, in this house, there would only be warmth, love, and respect.

James Harrington taught me a lesson about cruelty, but I taught him (and my daughter) a bigger lesson about human value.

Money can buy villas and cars, but it cannot buy character. And sometimes, to find lost values, one must accept tearing everything down to rebuild from the start.

I, Robert Miller, the old carpenter, had finished building the greatest project of my life: The maturity of my daughter.

THE END