My Son Seated Me At Table 12 “Guest” At His Thanksgiving Dinner, So I Sued Him For $340k And Never..

The Uninvited Guest

I stood in the lobby of Morrison and Associates, the law firm I’d helped my son build from nothing, and the receptionist looked at me like I was selling insurance.

” Do you have an appointment? ” she asked, not even glancing up from her computer screen.

” I’m here for the Thanksgiving dinner, ” I said. ” I’m Robert Chen, Mark’s father. ”

She frowned, scrolling through something on her screen. ” I don’t see you on the guest list, sir. Are you sure you’re supposed to be here? ”

23 years. That’s how long I’d been teaching calculus at Riverside Secondary School. I’d saved every spare dollar, lived in the same modest bungalow in East Vancouver for 30 years, and drove the same ’08 Corolla until the wheels nearly fell off.

All of it so my son Mark could go to UBC law school without drowning in debt, so he could article at a top firm, so he could eventually open his own practice. And now his receptionist didn’t even know who I was.

” I’m on the list, ” I said quietly. ” Mark invited me himself. ”

She sighed and picked up the phone. ” Mr. Morrison, there’s a Robert Chen here. Says he’s supposed to be at the dinner. ” A pause. ” Okay. ”

She hung up and pointed to the elevators without looking at me. ” 15th floor. Someone will meet you. ”

A Fish Out of Water

The elevator had mirrors on three sides. I caught my reflection and understood why she’d been confused. I was wearing my good sweater, the navy cardigan my daughter Sarah had given me last Christmas.

But next to the oil paintings and marble floors of this lobby, I looked exactly like what I was: a retired teacher who still shopped at Value Village and got his haircut at the Barber College.

The elevator doors opened on 15, and I stepped into a different world. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Vancouver’s harbor, the North Shore mountains dusted with early snow.

Catered tables lined with food I couldn’t pronounce. At least 60 people, all dressed like they’d just stepped out of a yacht club.

” Dad, ” Mark appeared, his smile tight. He was wearing a suit that probably cost more than my monthly pension.

His wife Vanessa glided up beside him in a black dress and heels that made her tower over me.

” You made it, ” Mark said. And there was something in his voice—relief? Annoyance? I couldn’t tell anymore.

” I brought butter tarts, ” I said, holding up the Tupperware container. ” I made them that morning. My mother’s recipe. ”

Mark used to devour them when he was a kid. Vanessa’s eyes flicked to the container, then away.

” How thoughtful, ” she said. ” We’ll just put those in the kitchen. ”

She took them from me with two fingers like they might contaminate her.

Table 12

” Let me show you to your table, Dad, ” Mark said.

I followed him through the crowd. People were laughing, drinking wine from actual crystal glasses. I recognized some of the faces from the photo in Mark’s office: his partners, the associates, a city counselor.

Mark walked past all of them. Past the tables near the windows with the views. Past the tables where his partners were sitting.

He stopped at a small table in the corner near the hallway to the bathrooms. There were three people already sitting there, all of them looking as out of place as I felt.

” Dad, this is table 12, ” Mark said. ” Figured you’d be more comfortable here. Less formal. ”

I looked at the table. There were name cards. Mine said Robert Chen, Guest. Not Father of the Founder. Not even Mark’s Dad. Just Guest.

” Mark, ” I said slowly. ” Where are you sitting? ”

He gestured vaguely toward the front. ” Head table with Vanessa and the partners. We’ve got some clients there too. Important people, you understand. ”

I looked at the head table. It sat 12. Mark’s three partners and their spouses, the city counselor and her husband. That left two empty seats.

” Those empty seats? ” I said. ” Who are those for? ”

Mark shifted his weight. ” Vanessa’s parents are flying in from Toronto. They’re landing any minute. ”

Something cold settled in my chest. Vanessa’s parents, who I’d met exactly once at the wedding, got seats at the head table. I got table 12 in the corner by the bathrooms.

” I see, ” I said.

” It’s just… it’s a networking thing, Dad. Business. You know how it is. ”

I didn’t know. I’d spent my whole career in a classroom full of teenagers trying to teach them that X equals more than just a letter. I’d never learned how to rank human beings by their usefulness.

” Sure, ” I said. ” I understand. ”

Mark looked relieved. ” Great. Dinner starts in 20 minutes. There’s a bar over there if you want a drink. ”

He was already walking away before I could respond.

The Company I Kept

I sat down at table 12. The three other people introduced themselves. Janet, who worked in accounting; Michael, who did something with IT; and Patricia, Mark’s assistant’s mother, who lived in Burnaby and looked as confused about being here as I felt.

We made awkward small talk. I learned that Janet had been asking for a raise for 6 months. Michael had submitted a complaint about workplace safety that got ignored.

Patricia’s daughter worked 70-hour weeks and barely got acknowledged.

I didn’t tell them what I’d done for Mark. I didn’t tell them about the $340,000.

The Loan

5 years ago, Mark had called me on a Tuesday night. I still remember because I was marking midterms and I almost didn’t answer.

” Dad, ” he’d said, and his voice had that edge it gets when something’s really wrong. ” I need your help. ”

He’d wanted to leave his firm and start his own practice. He had two other lawyers ready to join him as partners, but they needed capital. Office space, equipment, staff, operating expenses for the first year until the clients started coming in.

The bank would only loan them $200,000. They needed $500,000 to do it right.

” How much do you need from me? ” I’d asked.

” I know it’s a lot, Dad. I know you were saving that for retirement. But… ”

” How much, Mark? ”

” 340,000. ”

It was every dollar I had. The pension I’d been contributing to for 23 years, which I just rolled into an RRSP when I retired. The life insurance payout from when Ellen, my wife, had died. The small inheritance from my parents.

Every single cent I’d managed to save in 63 years of life.

” I’ll have it by Friday, ” I told him.

” Dad, I’ll pay you back. I promise. 5 years maximum. With interest. I’ll put it in writing. ”

He had put it in writing. I had the promissory note in my safety deposit box at the credit union. 5 years, 6% interest, balloon payment at the end. It came to $455,000 due this November. That was 2 weeks ago.