At The Family BBQ, My Brother’s Son Said, ‘Charity Cases Eat Last,’ And They All Giggled…
The Heat of Judgment
The July heat made everything worse. I stood at the edge of my parents’ backyard watching my brother Marcus flip burgers while his wife Jennifer arranged potato salad.
Their three kids ran around the lawn. My sister Amanda sat in a lawn chair scrolling through her phone.
This was the annual Thompson family barbecue. Everyone came—the same faces, the same conversations, the same barely concealed judgment when they looked at me.
I was 31 years old and in their eyes I was still the family disappointment.
“Sarah honey, could you bring out the condiments?”
Mom called from the kitchen window.
I nodded and headed inside, grateful for a moment away from the crowded yard. When I returned with mustard and ketchup bottles, Marcus was holding court near the grill.
He was telling some story about his latest promotion at the marketing firm. Everyone listened with appropriate admiration.
Jennifer touched his arm adoringly. Their oldest son, 12-year-old Tyler, stood beside his father with that same self-satisfied expression Marcus always wore.
Charity Cases Eat Last
I set the condiments on the table and reached for a paper plate.
“Charity cases eat last,”
Tyler announced loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.
He grinned at his siblings who giggled behind their hands. The conversation didn’t stop exactly, but it faltered.
A few people glanced over then quickly looked away. Marcus heard his son but said nothing, just flipped another burger with a slight smile playing at his lips.
Jennifer actually laughed, a quick little sound she tried to hide behind her hand. My father, standing near the cooler with a beer, met my eyes for a second.
He looked away first. I held Tyler’s gaze for a moment.
He was 12; he’d learned this somewhere. Kids don’t invent casual cruelty on their own; they absorb it from the adults around them.
“Understood,”
I said quietly.
I set the empty plate back on the stack and walked toward the side gate.
“Sarah, don’t be dramatic,”
Amanda called out.
“He’s just a kid,”
She said.
I didn’t answer. The gate clicked shut behind me and I heard someone laugh, the sound carrying on the hot summer air.
A Secret Financial Empire
My apartment was 40 minutes away. I changed clothes and sat on my couch staring at my phone.
I’d moved past anger years ago; now I just felt tired. My phone buzzed at 9:30 that night.
“Dad: The business needs your investment. Can we talk tomorrow?”
I stared at the message for a long time.
Thompson and Associates was the consulting firm my father had built over 30 years. Marcus was VP of Operations and Amanda handled HR.
It was a family operation, except they’d never offered me a position. Three years ago, when their Western expansion was failing, Dad had mentioned they needed capital.
He said anonymous investors would be fine. I’d moved $800,000 through my investment firm into the company.
Over two years I’d added another $4.2 million. I owned 37% of Thompson and Associates.
Dad owned 41, Marcus had 15, and Amanda had seven. They had no idea the paperwork listed my holdings under Sterling Capital Group.
“Never again.”
I typed back.
The Decision to Divest
Then I opened my email and composed a message to my investment manager, David Chin, at Sterling Capital.
“Effective immediately, I want to divest all holdings in Thompson and Associates. Begin the process tomorrow morning. I want clean separation within 30 days.”
I hit send and turned off my phone.
The next morning I went to work. I was a financial analyst for a mid-sized investment firm, a job my family considered barely adequate.
“Glorified accountant,”
Marcus had called it once.
What they didn’t know was that I’d been managing my own investment portfolio since I was 24. I’d turned a modest inheritance from my grandmother into a net worth that would have shocked them into silence.
My phone stayed off until lunch. When I turned it on, there were seven missed calls from my father and four from Marcus, along with 11 text messages.
I deleted them without reading and called David.
“It started,”
He said without preamble.
“I contacted their primary accountant this morning with notice of intent to divest per the shareholder agreement. We’re required to give them first right of refusal on the shares, but at fair market value.”
He continued.
“I had an independent valuation done last month. Your 37% stake is worth approximately 11.4 million at current valuation.”
“How long until they figure out who owns the shares?”
I asked.
“They know now. I spoke with Richard Thompson directly an hour ago. He asked me to have you call him.”
“What did you tell him?”
I asked.
“That you were unavailable and all communications should go through my office.”
He replied.
“Perfect. Proceed with the divestment.”
I said.
The Pressure Mounts
That evening my father showed up at my apartment. I watched through the peephole as he knocked, waited, and knocked again.
His face looked gray. After 5 minutes, he left.
The messages started coming faster from Mom, Marcus, Amanda, and even Jennifer. All were variations of the same theme: “We need to talk,” and “This is a misunderstanding.”
“Family doesn’t do this to family,”
They wrote.
Family doesn’t do this to family, I thought about Tyler’s grin. I thought about Jennifer’s laugh and about my father looking away.
On day three, David called with an update. Thompson and Associates doesn’t have the liquid capital to buy me out at fair market value.
Their bank is refusing to extend additional credit for a shareholder buyout.
“Marcus Thompson called me this morning somewhat agitated,”
David said.
“He suggested you might accept a lower valuation in the interest of family harmony.”
“What did you say?”
I asked.
“I told him shareholder agreements don’t have family harmony clauses.”
He replied.
I smiled despite myself.
“What are their options?”
I asked.
“They can attempt to secure outside investment to buy you out, which will take time and likely require them to take on a new partner. They can attempt to secure a business loan using company assets as collateral, which their bank has already indicated is unlikely given their current debt load.”
“Or they can find another buyer for your shares, which means bringing in an outside investor who might want board representation.”
He explained.
“How long can this process take?”
I asked.
“Given their financial situation, could be 60 to 90 days to resolve. In the meantime, you still own 37%, which means they can’t make major business decisions without your approval.”
“Make sure they understand that last part,”
I said.
