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

The Broken Promise

I’d called Mark to ask about the payment. Not to pressure him, just to check in. The note was coming due.

” Oh right, ” he’d said. ” Listen Dad, can we talk about that? The firm’s doing really well but we’re in a growth phase. We just took out a loan to hire three new associates. If I pull out that much cash right now, it’ll hurt our expansion. ”

” Mark, that’s my retirement money. ”

” I know, I know. But look, what if we restructure? I’ll pay you monthly. Same total amount, just spread over… let’s say 10 years. That’s $3,800 a month. Way more manageable. ”

$340,000 today or $3,800 a month for 10 years. I wasn’t a math teacher for nothing. That was $456,000 total, almost the same amount with interest, but spread over 10 years.

It meant Mark kept control of my money for another decade. And if the firm went under, or if something happened to Mark, I’d be out of luck.

” The note says balloon payment, Mark. That’s what we agreed to. ”

” Dad, be reasonable. You don’t even need that money right now. You’ve got your pension, you own your house. What are you going to spend $340,000 on? ”

That’s when I’d known he wasn’t planning to pay me back. Not really. Not in any way that mattered.

The Dinner

I was sitting at table 12 watching Mark work the room when Vanessa’s parents arrived. Lawrence and Diane Fletcher, dressed like they were attending a gala at the Four Seasons.

Mark rushed over, all smiles, escorting them to the head table. I watched as he pulled out Diane’s chair, poured Lawrence a drink, and introduced them to the city counselor.

He never once looked toward table 12.

Dinner was served. Herb-crusted salmon with some kind of reduction sauce, roasted vegetables I didn’t recognize. Janet whispered that the caterer charged $200 per plate.

I thought about my butter tarts, probably sitting in a kitchen garbage can somewhere.

I ate mechanically, barely tasting the food. Across the room, I could hear Lawrence Fletcher’s booming laugh. He was telling some story about golfing with a Supreme Court justice.

Everyone at the head table was hanging on his words.

After dinner, Mark stood up to give a speech. He thanked his partners. He thanked the associates for their hard work. He thanked Vanessa for her support.

He thanked his in-laws for flying in from Toronto. He thanked the caterer. He did not mention me.

I sat there in my Value Village sweater at table 12 by the bathrooms, and I felt something shift inside me. Not anger. Not yet. Something colder than that.

Clarity, maybe.

The Confrontation

The speeches ended. People started mingling again. I stood up, nodded to Janet and Michael and Patricia, and walked toward the elevator.

Mark intercepted me in the hallway.

” Leaving already? ” he asked. ” We haven’t even cut the cake yet. ”

I looked at my son. Really looked at him. When had he become this person? Or had he always been this person and I’d just been too busy being proud to notice?

” I need to ask you something, ” I said. ” And I want an honest answer. ”

He glanced over his shoulder like he was worried someone might overhear us. ” Sure Dad, what’s up? ”

” Were you ever planning to pay me back? ”

His face went carefully blank. ” What are you talking about? I told you, we’ll restructure the… ”

” Mark. Yes or no. Were you ever planning to give me back my $340,000? ”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, ” Dad, you have to understand that money helped build something. This firm employs 18 people now. We do pro bono work. We’re making a real difference in… ”

” Yes or no. ”

He looked at me, and I saw the truth in his eyes before he said a word.

” You’re my father, ” he said finally. ” You’re supposed to help me. That’s what parents do. ”

The Turning Point

There it was. Not thank you. Not I’m sorry. Just entitlement, pure and simple.

I nodded slowly. ” I see. Thank you for the honest answer. ”

” Dad, don’t be like this. It’s Thanksgiving. Can’t we just enjoy your dinner? ”

” Mark. ”

I walked to the elevator and pressed the button. Mark stood there watching me, but he didn’t follow. The doors opened. I stepped inside.

Just before they closed, I heard him call out. ” Dad, wait. ”

The doors shut. I drove home in my 12-year-old Corolla through streets full of autumn leaves, past houses decorated with Thanksgiving wreaths. I’d never felt so invisible in my life.

When I got home, I sat in my kitchen and made a phone call.

” Sarah, it’s Dad. I need your help with something. ”

My daughter, who taught art at an elementary school in Burnaby, who lived in a one-bedroom apartment she could barely afford, who’d somehow stayed kind despite having every reason not to be, listened as I explained what I needed.

” Dad, ” she said when I finished. ” Are you sure? ”

” I’ve never been more sure of anything. ”

” Okay. I know someone. A lawyer. I’ll text you her number. ”

Grace

The lawyer’s name was Grace Tanaka. She had an office in a strip mall in Coquitlam and charged a quarter of what Mark’s firm would have.

” You have a promissory note? ” she asked, scanning the document I’d brought. ” Signed and witnessed. Due November 30th. That’s 2 weeks from now. ”

” And he’s refusing to pay. He wants to restructure. ”

” I don’t want to restructure. I want my money. ”

Grace looked at me over her reading glasses. ” Mr. Chen, I have to ask. Is this your son? ”

” It is. ”

” And you understand that if we pursue this, it could damage your relationship permanently? ”

I thought about table 12. About the name card that said Guest. About Mark thanking the caterer but not his father.

” I understand, ” I said.

” Okay then. Let’s get started. ”

The Letter

The letter went out 3 days later. Formal demand for payment under the terms of the promissory note. Payment in full by November 30th or we’d file a lawsuit.

Mark called me that evening. I didn’t answer. He called four more times. Then Vanessa called. I didn’t answer her either.

Finally, he showed up at my house. I saw his BMW pull up outside and I almost didn’t open the door. But I did.

” Dad, what the hell is this? ” He was waving the letter. ” You’re suing me? ”

” I’m asking you to honor the agreement you signed. ”

” Over money? You’re going to destroy our relationship over money? ”

I looked at my son standing on the porch of the house where he’d grown up, where Ellen had taught him to ride a bike in the driveway, where he’d studied for his LSATs at the kitchen table.

” You destroyed it the moment you seated me at table 12, ” I said quietly.

” That’s what this is about? The seating arrangement? ”

” Dad, I explained. You seated your wife’s parents at the head table. People you’ve met three times. But your father who gave you everything he had, who made it possible for you to even have that firm, gets put in the corner by the bathrooms like some… some stranger you’re obligated to feed. ”

” That’s not fair. It was a business dinner. I had to… ”

” You had two empty seats, Mark. Two. And you chose to fill them with the Fletchers instead of making room for me. That told me everything I needed to know about what I’m worth to you. ”

He was quiet for a moment. ” Then you’re really going to do this? Take me to court? ”

” Pay me what you owe me by November 30th and there won’t be any court. ”

” I don’t have $340,000 just sitting around. ”

” Then I guess you’ll have to figure it out. You’re a lawyer. I’m sure you’ll think of something. ”

I started to close the door.

” Dad, wait. Please. Can we just talk about this? ”

” We are talking about it. I want my money. You have until November 30th. ”

I closed the door.