At Christmas, My Cousin Mocked My “Little Hobby”. Years Later, He…

A Bombshell at the Table

Just as I was going for the stuffing, Derek delivered his first genuine jab.

“So Evan,” He remarked loudly enough to make the cousins down the table interrupt their talk. “Have you ever thought about doing something more stable, you know, a real job with benefits?”

There was a beat of silence. My mom’s fork hovered in midair.

“I’m doing fine,” I said carefully.

“I mean absolutely, but you’re what, 30-some?” He shrugged with an apologetic smile. “No offense, but at some point the whole startup dream thing becomes a little… just looking out for you man.”

“Evan has always been such a dreamer, but it’s important to have passion even if it doesn’t always work out.” Aunt Evelyn chuckled.

The mold cranberry glaze on my plate looked like blood again. I smiled, just barely.

“Thanks for the concern, but I’m not too worried.”

“Are you still living in the old flat that your mother helped you with a few years ago?” Uncle Martin joined in.

“She didn’t help,” I remarked harsher than I intended. “I paid for it myself.”

He raised his eyebrows, but Derek intervened before the tension could be resolved.

“Do you know what you should do?” He remarked, his eyes gleaming with feigned enthusiasm. “Take some business classes, get a mentor. I could introduce you to some of my schoolmates. They’re usually seeking for assistance and younger devs.”

“Thanks, but I’m good,” I replied.

“Come on man, be real. There is no shame in asking for assistance. We are family.” That’s when he really laughed.

Something within me flickered, not anger, not yet, but a sense of awareness. A countdown has begun in the back of my mind.

He kept talking about his six-figure bonus, his investment portfolio, and the Christmas ski lodge he was looking into for the second quarter. He dropped words like “assets under management” and “diversified holdings” as if they were preparing for a Christmas roast turkey throughout it happened.

My mother remained quiet. She kept eating and smiling.

I understood what she was thinking. I knew she wanted me to let it go.

But something about that night—maybe the booze, maybe the years of keeping my mouth shut, maybe just Derek’s arrogance—made me pause. Because I had a secret.

One thing I hadn’t told any of them, one that like a grenade would devastate that nicely planned Christmas feast. I grinned as I looked across the table at Derek, who was still babbling and looking smug.

I was done being quiet, but I hadn’t spoken anything yet, not quite yet. First, I needed to ensure that they were truly listening.

The opportunity arose sooner than I anticipated. Derek had a knack for turning a typical discussion into a performance.

Every statement was a setup, every detail a modest boast, and every compliment a subtle barb. After years of hearing that, you’d think I’d become numb, but that night something felt different.

It wasn’t just the way he stared at me like if I were still that thin youngster eating from the chip dish at the card table. Everyone else looked at him with admiration and indulgence as if he were a beloved pet doing another trick.

He was halfway through a story about a yacht party in Miami, the kind where you don’t post pictures if you know what I mean, when Aunt Evelyn cut in.

“Derek honey, have you told them about the Mercedes yet?”

He smirked, wiped his mouth with his napkin like some deranged royalty, and sat back in his chair.

“Oh, okay, yeah. I received the AMG last month. It hasn’t even hit the US market yet. One of my clients pulled some strings.”

Someone at the table whistled. My uncle chuckled.

“That’s my boy,” He added, raising his glass.

Meanwhile, my mother sat across from me carving the Christmas roast turkey into small, even pieces so that her hands wouldn’t shake. She despised these chats, especially when they devolved into a parade of everything Derek possessed that I purportedly lacked.

Not that she said anything; she never did. It was her way: endure with grace.

But this was not grace; this was something else. This was humiliation wrapped in linen napkins, served with sweet potatoes and cocky smiles.

“So how about you Evan?” Derek inquired, turning back to me with theatrical curiosity. “Are you still doing coding stuff?”

I sipped some water. “I’m still running my company.”

“Yeah. Oh right.” He tilted his head. “Freelance or product-based?”

“SAS and API integrations, scalable platforms.” I replied.

He blinked.

“Huh?”

He then looked around the table as if I had just chanted a spell in Latin.

“Man, you always were the technical one.”

Aunt Evelyn laughed politely as if I had made a joke. Then something unexpected happened, like a smack actually.

“Evelyn Porter, you remember her correct? Her son currently works for Amazon full-time. Stock options. You must be very proud, Evan.” She remarked, turning to my mother in the tone of someone ordering wallpaper samples.

My mother looked up, puzzled. She gave a tight-lipped smile.

“That is nice, but Evan is doing fine on his own.”

“Oh, of course. It’s just good to see young people finding something safe these days.” Aunt Evelyn waved her hand.

I clenched my jaw. “Secure”—that word again—as if I were a ticking time bomb of squandered opportunities and terrible choices.

It was as if everything I developed was a side project that I’d abandon once I reached adulthood. Derek took the cue.

“Actually Mom, speaking of stability, I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Evan.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice lowering to a phony sincerity. “Have you ever thought about selling? I know some investors who are looking for little businesses like yours. You could make six figures, maybe low sevens if you play your cards well.”

My mother stared at me, concern on her face. I took a deep breath.

“We passed 22 million in ARR last quarter.”

The Truth Unveiled

Silence. It was the kind of silence that lands hard and elicits a dozen bewildered looks.

Even the clink of cutlery ceased. Derek blinked.

“Sorry, what?”

I looked him dead in the eyes. “Annual recurrent income exceeds 22 million. We closed our series B around 7 months ago.”

Uncle Martin’s laugh was short and harsh. “You’re joking.”

I shake my head. “Nope. We’re currently valued at slightly around 28 million. We intend to buy out within the next 20 months.”

Another beat of stillness. Aunt Evelyn appeared to have been slapped with a frigid Christmas turkey leg.

Derek’s mouth opened and then closed. My mother glanced at me with wide eyes.

“You never told me that.”

I shrugged. “Didn’t think anyone wanted to hear about my little tech thing.”

“Come on man, that is not how valuations work. You’d need what… teams, offices, legal, and accounting?” Derek scoffed.

“We have all of that,” I explained gently. “We outsourced the first few years and then created ourselves. There are four offices today: Amsterdam, Austin, Singapore, and a distant hub. 52 full-time employees and 41 contractors.”

He leaned back, his smirk twitching as if it wanted to collapse into something less desirable.

“So you’re saying you have 28 million?”

“I am claiming the corporation is. I pay myself modestly; the majority of it is in equity.”

“Well,” Aunt Evelyn, bless her cold heart, recovered first as she reached for the wine. “Ain’t that something.”

But the atmosphere had changed. You could feel it, like if someone had turned off the electricity and all the glossy facades were dimming.

Except for Derek, no one really knew what to say. He rose up, walked around the table, and clapped my back as if we were fraternity brothers.

“Well damn, cousin,” He exclaimed loudly. “I suppose I underestimated you.”

I smiled, but it did not reach my eyes. “Guess so.”