My family refused to help me with my venture because I invested in my cousin, but now that it failed and mine is succeeding, suddenly they’re calling it the family business. My name is Sakeri, I’m 34 years old, a man, and I grew up in a family that, well, lived pretty well. My dad had several businesses spread across the city, real estate, retail stores, and more.

My mother owns several buildings, yes, plural. My grandparents, although not as wealthy, were the first to launch themselves as entrepreneurs and managed to accumulate enough success to give my parents their first big boost. In my family, there’s an unwritten expectation: If you’re born here, or if you inherit something, you don’t ruin it, or you build your own empire from scratch.

 Naturally, I wanted to take the latter route. I wasn’t a naive kid dreaming of opening a cottage by the sea in the Bahamas, although there’s nothing wrong with that. I had a plan—a solid plan, at least from my perspective: cybersecurity. Ever since I was 14, when I accidentally hacked my school’s server to alter my detention history, I discovered I had a natural talent for all things computer-related.

 I went to college, majored in computer science, and spent hours obsessing over encryption, security breaches, and programming. After graduating, I realized that cybersecurity was not only a fascinating career, but also very profitable. Every company needs it, every bank, every hospital.

 It’s like selling umbrellas in a world where data breaches are always raining down. I had a clear vision, a potential customer base, and a well-detailed business plan that, in my opinion, could impress anyone. But there was a problem. I needed money to get started. A lot of money. I wasn’t asking for millions either, okay? Just enough to rent a small office, hire a small team, and make an initial investment in software and hardware.

 Sure, I could have started with less, but I had this very clear image in my head of what my company should look like from the very beginning. One morning, I sat down with my parents in the living room and presented my idea. I had graphs, market research, and, above all, a lot of passion. I asked them for a loan, not a donation, not free money. It was a loan I planned to repay with interest once the business took off.

 They told me, “Sac, we love you, but we don’t think you have what it takes to run a business.” They didn’t mean any harm. My dad sighed as he said it, as if it pained him to reject me. And my mom gave me that look only mothers have, the one that mixes compassion with the belief that you’re being sweetly deluded.

 My dad explained that being a good programmer doesn’t automatically make you a good entrepreneur. Running a company involves leading it, managing finances, employees, investors, losses—all those boring, unglamorous aspects. And according to them, I just didn’t have that spark. To them, investing in me wasn’t an investment; it was throwing money away. I won’t lie, that hurt.

At first, I felt so angry. I was truly furious, but I still didn’t want to give up on my dream. A month after my parents rejected my proposal, my cousin Bernard’s wedding took place. It was a huge, lavish, three-day wedding, with champagne fountains and all the bells and whistles.

 At one point, I was standing with my parents near the buffet table when Bernard approached us, greeted us with a big smile, shook my dad’s hand, and said, “Uncle, Auntie, thank you again for believing in me and supporting me with the funding for my hotel project. I couldn’t have done it without you.” I stood there, transfixed, staring at him as if he’d just said he was from the future.

My parents laughed nervously, responded politely, and quickly changed the subject. I’d asked for financial support, and they’d said no. But Bernard, Bernard did get it for a hotel. Seriously, a damn hotel. I left with any lame excuse. I felt betrayed.

 Not because Bernard got the money—good for him, I guess—but because my parents didn’t do the same for me. They trusted Bernard, but me, their own son, apparently wasn’t worth the risk. At some point, my grandmother found me sitting outside. Sakeri, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you inside enjoying the wedding? And there’s something about grandmothers: you just can’t lie to them. You can’t.

 So I told her everything. She just let me talk. I got everything off my chest, and then she told me something I’ll never forget. Sakeri, sometimes people see potential in others because they see a version of themselves in them. Your father may see a younger version of himself in Bernard, but that doesn’t mean you’re not capable.

 You’re different, and being different isn’t bad, it’s just different. He squeezed my hand and added, “Brilliant, hardworking. One day you’re going to build something incredible, you’re just going to do it your way.” I know it sounds like one of those calendar phrases, but at that moment it was exactly what I needed to hear. The next day, the wedding was still in a kind of emotional fog.

 Half motivated by my grandmother’s words, half devastated. I was lying on the couch when the phone rang. It was my grandfather, and my grandfather isn’t the type to call just to say hi, so I was instantly concerned. I asked him if everything was okay. He said yes, he just wanted me to stop by. I replied, “Okay, Grandpa. I’ll be there in two hours.”

When I arrived, it was my grandmother who opened the door with a warm smile. Come in, Sakeri, your grandfather is in his study. He was sitting in his armchair when I entered, but as soon as he saw me, he stood up and hugged me. And at that moment, I began to feel a little calmer. My grandfather didn’t mince words. Your grandmother told me what happened at the wedding and said, “How are you feeling about your project?” Oh, so that’s what it was about.

 I nodded, trying to keep my face as neutral as possible. “I want you to know something,” he continued. “I started my first business with nothing more than an old pickup truck and a loan from my uncle. It wasn’t easy, and everyone thought it would fail, but it didn’t. You know why?” I shook my head. “Because someone believed in me. Sometimes just one person who believes in you can change everything.”

 Then he reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a checkbook, wrote something down, and handed it to me. I won’t share the exact figure, but it wasn’t money to waste on nonsense. It didn’t cover everything I needed to launch my cybersecurity company, but it was enough to get me started. It was enough to make a difference.

 I stared at that check for about five minutes without saying a word. When I finally managed to speak, I just said, “Grandpa, I don’t know what to say.” You don’t have to say anything, he replied. “This isn’t just about money, it’s about trust. I’m investing in you.” I was doing my best not to break down emotionally, but he just stood up, hugged me, and said, “Make us proud.”

On the way home, I couldn’t stop looking at that check. It wasn’t just a piece of paper with numbers on it; it was proof that someone believed in me. With that first push, I knew I had to use every penny wisely. I didn’t splurge on expensive desks or fancy ergonomic chairs. We started humbly. I reached out to my two best friends, Adam and Luis.

We pooled our little savings and rented a tiny, poorly located office in a dangerous part of town, but it was ours. The first two years were crazy. We worked 14 to 16 hours a day, barely taking a break on weekends. My diet consisted of instant ramen and whatever I could get from vending machines.

 Luis was on calls all day, Adame was buried in lines of code, and I, well, did a bit of everything. Our first major client was a mid-sized financial firm that had just suffered a hack. We managed to restore their systems, recover their data, and strengthen their security to prevent another attack.

 That contract gave us enough to move to a slightly more decent office. Little by little, we began to grow. Word of mouth worked, and bigger clients started coming in. About four years later, we reached our first small point. We had enough income to expand. We opened a second office in a nearby city, and the following year, a third in a larger one.

 We were no longer an improvised startup; we were a formal company. At that point, we also opened a cybersecurity consulting firm, which was the logical next step. Companies not only wanted us to solve security problems, they also wanted to prevent them from the start. And let me tell you, the money that comes from consulting feels different.

 Five years after starting the business, I was finally able to repay my grandparents for what they’d done for me. I drove to their house with a check in hand. “This is yours,” I told them. With interest. But I didn’t stop there. They gave me everything when no one else would, so I bought them a new house. Nothing over-the-top or ridiculously luxurious, but nice, comfortable, and in a neighborhood they’d always liked.

 Watching them walk through their new home, pointing out the little details they loved, was one of the most rewarding moments of my life. While my business thrived, Bernard’s hotel didn’t. The pandemic completely destroyed the hotel industry, and his business never recovered. My parents even gave him more money to try to save it, but it was no use.

 Eventually, the hotel closed, and I honestly felt sorry for them. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Last weekend, we celebrated my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary because they are literally the reason I have everything I have today. I wanted to thank them properly, so I didn’t skimp on anything.

 I rented a beautiful hall, hired a planner, Catherine, put together a live band, and invited everyone—friends, family, and even neighbors I hadn’t seen in years. Honestly, organizing that party was more emotional than some of the biggest deals I’ve booked, and it turned out amazing. Everyone was dressed to the nines, the food was spectacular, and my grandparents were thrilled.

 That was the only thing that really mattered. But then my parents showed up. At some point during the night, I overheard my dad talking to an old friend. When the friend told him he should be proud of me, he responded by talking about family values ​​and how their support and guidance had led me down the right path. He even mentioned that it was practically a family business.

 Now, excuse me, what? I thought I’d heard wrong, but as the night wore on, I caught snippets of different conversations in which my parents portrayed themselves as the foundation of my success. We always knew he’d do something great. We supported him from the start. That’s how we are in this family. We lifted each other up, and the straw that broke the camel’s back.

 It’s all thanks to the family’s initial support, my dad said. Look, I didn’t expect my parents to kneel down and beg for forgiveness or cry in front of me, but instead take credit for something they refused to support. That really hit me like a kick in the gut. I tried to enjoy the rest of the party, but I was furious, so I changed my speech.

 I was originally going to say something brief, a heartfelt tribute to my grandparents, but after everything I heard that night, I knew I couldn’t let it go. I started off on a light note. I made a couple of jokes. I mentioned that their marriage was older than the internet and talked about the love and respect they always showed each other. But then I got serious.

And this is where I said the most important thing. You see, Grandma and Grandpa didn’t just build a life together; they built a legacy—a legacy of love, trust, and, above all, faith in people. When I had a dream and everyone else slammed the door in my face, they opened it. They didn’t just believe in my idea; they believed in me.

 And everything I have today I owe to that faith they placed in me when no one else did. I paused. My parents looked at me with strained, frozen smiles. So tonight I continued, I want to propose a toast to Grandma and Grandpa. The only two people who believed in me when no one else did.

This success is hers. No one else’s. My grandmother was crying. Grandpa nodded with that calm, proud smile he always has. My parents, on the other hand, were still forcing smiles through gritted teeth. About 15 minutes into the speech, my dad found me near the dessert table. He was basically yelling at me.

 What the hell was that speech? You were trying to humiliate us in front of everyone. Humiliate them. I told him. I just told the truth. You didn’t believe in me. But Grandma and Grandpa did. My mom joined in. You didn’t have to air our family problems in front of everyone. You made us look terrible. By this point, I was biting my tongue to keep from exploding.

 But then my dad blurted out, “You act like we’ve done nothing for you. We gave you a good life, a good education. How dare you make us look like the villains in your little success story?” I didn’t scream at first, but my voice definitely rose. “You know what? You didn’t believe in me. You had the money, but you gave it to Bernard for his hotel without a second thought.”

 And when it failed, they gave him even more. But when I came to you with my idea, you told me I wasn’t the business type. At that moment, I realized the room had gone completely silent. The guests were staring at us. My cousin Bernard—yes, the one from the failed hotel—was in a corner, sipping his drink uncomfortably, as if he wanted to disappear.

 My dad pointed his finger at me. He’s being ungrateful. And that’s when I lost it. Ungrateful. No, I’m not ungrateful. I’m just saying out loud what everyone already knows. My chest tightened, my face burned, and I realized I’d just caused a scene at what was supposed to be a celebration for my grandparents.

 I looked around and saw my grandmother with a soft, but sad expression—not disappointed, just sad. My grandfather had an arm around her as if trying to comfort her. That’s when the guilt hit me hard. I didn’t say another word. I turned around and left the hall without even grabbing my coat.

 I got in the car, slammed the door, and sat there for a few minutes staring at the steering wheel, trying to calm down. I couldn’t sleep that night. I replayed the argument over and over in my head. The next morning, I received a text message from my grandmother. Sakeri, we love you so much. Please don’t feel bad about last night.

 We feel you, but honestly, that didn’t make me feel any better. I’ve been thinking about all of this a lot. Reddit. I went too far. I ruined a night that was supposed to be celebrating my grandparents. Pad. Pad. Update one. I think it’s only fair to do an update, since so many have been so kind in commenting on my post.

 I thought things would calm down after that night. I thought maybe everyone would reflect a bit and then we could have an adult, honest conversation, but no. My parents decided to go nuclear. At first, it was a small thing. A cousin texted me asking, “Hey, Zac, is it true you manipulated Grandma and Grandpa into giving you money?” That’s what my uncle told him.

At first, I laughed because, come on, it sounded ridiculous. But then the calls kept coming. An aunt messaged me on Facebook saying she was disappointed in how I used my grandparents’ emotions to get money out of them, so I called my grandmother immediately because I needed to know if she was okay.

She told me, “Don’t worry about what others say. We know the truth, and that’s all that matters.” Honestly, she’s the sweetest woman in the world, and just hearing her voice calmed me down a little, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that my parents were running around making up a completely twisted story.

 I’m not someone who likes confrontation, despite what my anniversary meltdown might make it seem, but this time I couldn’t stay silent. I called my parents and asked them point blank, “What the hell are you telling everyone? Why are people calling me saying I manipulated Grandma and Grandpa?” To which my mom replied, “Well, you didn’t cry with them.”

 “You made them feel bad for you.” “That’s manipulation,” I said. I wasn’t crying with them. I was telling them about my situation. That’s called having emotions. I heard my dad’s voice in the background. You can interpret it however you want, Sakeri, but everyone sees you for who you really are now. I replied, “Okay, perfect.”

 Say what you want to everyone. I’m tired of trying to explain. And I hung up. I thought hanging up would give me some peace, but it didn’t. Over the next week, the rumors only got worse. A relative said they heard I threatened to cut off all ties with Grandma and Grandpa if they didn’t give me money.

 Another said I bragged about manipulating them and even laughed afterward. I felt like I was losing my mind. I mean, how are you supposed to fight something like that? It’s so absurd that at times it seems like a joke, except it’s not funny at all when the people you care about start believing it. One day my cousin Bernard—yes, that cousin even called me—said, “Hey, bro, I know things are tense right now, but do you think you could talk to Uncle and Aunt and fix this?” I replied, “There’s nothing to fix, Bernard. They know.”

perfectly the truth. You’re just choosing to ignore it.” After that, I texted my parents. I can’t do this anymore. You’ve made the choice to spread these lies, and I can’t keep trying to convince you otherwise. I’m going to walk away from this relationship for now.

 I love them both, but I can’t keep letting this hurt me. And that was it. I blocked them on social media because they were posting passive-aggressive things about me. I stopped responding to family members who were clearly just looking to stir up gossip. I’m in a weird place right now.

 If anything else happens, I’ll keep you posted. Pad. Pad. Update two. It’s been a while. Boy, has it been. I wish I could come back with better news, but life doesn’t always cooperate. My grandfather passed away last month. The only silver lining, if you can even call it that, is that he passed away in my sleep. It was peaceful in a way, but man, it still hit me like a truck.

 I don’t need to explain how important he was to me, and I’m not talking about money, but about the support and the role model he was. As soon as I received the news, I packed my bag and drove straight to my grandmother’s house. She looked so small and fragile when I walked in, but she still greeted me with a weak smile and a hug.

 I don’t think I’ve ever hugged someone so tightly in my life. Planning the funeral was difficult, but I knew I had to do it for her. My parents were also present. We were civil, yes, but there was a strange tension in the air, as if we all knew there were things left to do, but no one had the energy to face them in the midst of grief. The funeral itself was beautiful.

Honestly, hundreds of people attended. My grandfather was one of those genuinely good souls, and seeing how many lives he touched was overwhelming. Old associates, childhood friends, neighbors—people came from all over to pay tribute. I tried to hold my ground during the eulogy, but man, I lost it halfway through the speech.

 My grandmother held my hand the whole time, and I’m so grateful she was there. I don’t think I could have done it without her. And now things started to get a little complicated. My grandfather wasn’t a millionaire or anything, but he did own some property, including a beautiful house by the lake.

That kind of place that looks like something out of a postcard: a wooden pier, large windows overlooking the water, surrounded by trees. My dad spent a good part of his childhood there. Even I have happy memories running along the pier, fishing with my grandpa, and roasting marshmallows by the campfire.

 So, during the will reading, the lawyers started listing the assets, and we got to the lake house. My grandfather left it to my cousin Laura and me. For context, Laura is the daughter of my dad’s sister. She’s honestly a great person, and we get along really well. But as soon as the lawyers said the words, “Sakeri and Laura will share ownership of the lake house,” I swear I saw my dad clench his jaw.

 He didn’t say anything at the time, but his face said it all. He was furious, truly furious. After the reading, he left the room without saying a word to me. My mom followed him, and I stood there awkwardly with Laura and my grandmother. In the days that followed, while I stayed with my grandmother, my dad avoided me completely.

If we were in the same room, he acted like I didn’t exist. My mom gave me these weird half-smiles, but she didn’t say much either. The amazing thing to me is that it wasn’t like I asked for the lake house. I didn’t even know Grandpa was going to let me have it. But somehow my dad took it as another personal attack, like Grandpa was taking my side in a war that only exists in his head.

 One evening, Laura and I talked about the subject over tea. She, too, admitted to feeling uneasy because her mother, my father’s sister, wasn’t too happy with the will either, but at least her mother didn’t act coldly. One afternoon, while I was helping my grandmother organize some of Grandpa’s things, she sat down with me and said, “Your grandfather loved your father very much, Sakeri, but he also saw how hard you worked, how much you fought to prove yourself.

 I wanted you to have something that meant a lot to him. I think she knew I felt guilty about the whole situation, like I’d inadvertently driven a bigger wedge between my dad and me. But my grandma said something that stuck with me. Your grandpa wasn’t taking sides; he was choosing love. He loved you, and he loved Laura.

 That’s why I wanted them both to have a place where they could always feel close to him. The night before I was due to come home, I ran into my dad in the kitchen. He was making you a meal, and I was filling a glass with water. For a moment, everything was silent. Neither of us said anything, but then he spoke. You know? That house was supposed to stay in the family. It was supposed to be ours.

 I replied, “It still is, Dad. I’m not going to sell it. I’m not going to turn it into a rental property. It’s still ours.” He didn’t reply, just put his spoon down and walked away. Pad. Pad. Update 3. There are some things I need to tell you now. My father has decided to sue me.

 Yes, just like you read. He thinks the lake house belongs to him even though my grandfather left it to Laura and me in his will. I can’t go into too much detail because it’s all a rather complicated legal mess, but I’ll try to give you a general idea of ​​what’s going on. It all started when my dad started showing up at my house unannounced, demanding that I hand over the property to him.

At first, I thought he was just upset and needed to talk, but when I refused to give in, he started making threats. He told me my grandfather’s will was wrong, that I was wrong for not sharing the house with him. It was like something had snapped inside him, like a switch had been flipped.

 And then the legal documents arrived. I won’t go into the technical details, but basically his legal team sent me a formal complaint accusing me of having obtained the house improperly and demanding that I return it. They claim it’s his inheritance, not mine, and that I manipulated my grandfather into leaving it to me, which, of course, is absurd.

 My grandfather made it very clear that the house was for Laura and me. My mom has been trying to mediate, trying to convince me to simply hand it over to my dad so we can put all this behind us, but I’ve reached a point where I don’t think there’s any turning back. I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to repair what’s been broken between us.

 You probably won’t see any more of my posts for a while, at least not until this all settles down and I can tell you more clearly. Notepad. Notepad. Update 4. It’s been quite a while since I last wrote, and believe me, I wish this update had come much sooner.

 That would have meant the trial with my father would have ended sooner. But it didn’t. Only now, I can finally speak more freely about everything that happened. Let’s start with the important stuff. My father didn’t succeed in invalidating my grandfather’s will, nor did he manage to keep the lake house, and that would have been perfect for him, as I’ll explain later.

 The lawsuit, in theory, shouldn’t have lasted this long, but my father hired lawyers who, at least in the art of delaying things, were very good. They dragged out the process much longer than usual. I think his plan was to wear me down. He hoped that at some point I would simply give up and sign over the property to him, which I couldn’t do, even if I had wanted to, because the house also belongs to Laura.

 The funny thing is that not even my aunt, Laura’s mother, joined my father’s absurd crusade, and when my grandmother reminded me how much my grandfather wanted us to have her, I knew I couldn’t give up. Fortunately, my grandmother’s testimony was key during the trial. My father, on the other hand, had nothing, absolutely nothing.

 All he managed to do was spend an absurd amount of money on lawyers who didn’t do much for him. Of course, he also forced me to spend money. But if there’s one good thing that came out of all this, it’s that my father, in his desperation, began to spread his version of events not only within the family but also publicly.

 It got to the point where it was affecting my professional reputation. So we fought back. We sued him for defamation and damages. We won. I don’t know exactly how much the lake house is worth because we’ve never had it appraised; we don’t want to sell it. But I’m sure that between what he spent on lawyers and what he had to pay me for the lawsuit, he ended up losing far more than he ever would have earned.

 And that was a particularly hard blow for him because his obsession with the house wasn’t out of nostalgia or family memories, it was about money. From the beginning, he planned to sell it. In fact, my grandfather’s body wasn’t even cold yet, and he was already talking about the inheritance and the money he planned to get from it. The reason behind all this is that the bad financial decisions he made, especially the loans he made to my cousin, plus others that came later, left him in a very fragile financial situation. And this fight

With me, it only made things worse. The worst part is that all of this could have been avoided. My father could have used the money he spent on lawyers to settle some of his debts and still have maintained some financial stability, but he didn’t. My parents even had to sell their house.

 They used part of the money to pay the costs of my lawsuit, and the rest to cover other debts. They’re going through a really tough financial time due to a bad investment and a worsening emotional reaction. They still have my father’s business, which, as far as I know, is still profitable. But he’s been looking to sell part of it to ease his debt burden.

 Someone in the family suggested I buy out so the business could stay in the family. But honestly, having my father as a partner isn’t an idea that appeals to me in the slightest right now. Besides, it’s not even an area I’m interested in or have experience in. I have nothing to contribute there.

 At least I know he no longer has the money to continue suing for whatever he can think of. Edit: My father ended up selling part of his company to another relative. I mention this because I know some people were asking about it. If you got this far and liked it, don’t forget to leave a like and subscribe to our channel. Your support motivates us to bring you more incredible stories.

 Thank you very much and have a great day. Mm.