Marcus looked like he might cry. “And you let us pay for dinner? You let Dad pay the mortgage?”
I laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound.
“You really think Dad pays the mortgage?” I asked.
I pulled out my phone again.
“Dad,” I said, turning to Arthur. “Do you remember three years ago when the bank threatened foreclosure? And then suddenly, they called and said they ‘restructured’ the loan and lowered the payments to almost nothing?”
Arthur nodded slowly.
“I bought the note,” I said. “I own the mortgage. I own this house. I’ve been letting you live here for $500 a month out of charity.”
I tapped a button on my screen.
“But charity has limits. And my limit is my daughter’s tears.”
My phone dinged. Notification: Foreclosure Proceedings Initiated.
“I just instructed my legal team to enforce the acceleration clause,” I said. “You’re three months behind on the ‘charity’ payments, Arthur. I’m foreclosing.”
“No!” my mother screamed, standing up. “Julian! You can’t! It’s Christmas!”
“I can,” I said. “And I am.”
Part 5: The Final Gift
Arthur looked small. He didn’t look like the patriarch anymore. He looked like a frightened old man in a cheap coat.
“Julian,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “We’re family. You can’t throw us out. It was a mistake. I was stressed! I’ll apologize to Lily. Lily, honey, Grandpa is sorry!”
Lily hid her face in my neck. She didn’t want his apology. She wanted to go home.
“Family,” I said, tasting the word like spoiled milk. “You keep using that word. But you don’t know what it means.”
I walked to the hallway and grabbed Lily’s coat and my own.
“Family protects each other,” I said, zipping up Lily’s jacket. “Family encourages each other. You mocked me for years. You belittled me. And I took it, because I thought maybe, deep down, you loved me. But tonight showed me the truth.”
I looked at Marcus, who was sitting with his head in his hands.
“You loved the idea of being better than me,” I said. “That was the only way you could feel big. By making me feel small.”
I opened the front door. The wind howled outside, carrying snow into the warm foyer.
“Your pizza will be here in thirty minutes,” I said. “Enjoy it. It’s the last meal I’ll ever subsidize.”
“Wait!” Marcus ran to the door. “Julian! My job! Please! I have a car loan! I have credit card debt! I’ll lose everything!”
“You should have thought of that before you called my daughter’s food ‘garbage’,” I said coldly. “You like ‘real food for real men’? I hope you like the taste of unemployment.”
“Julian!” my mother cried. “Where will we go?”
“I hear Florida is nice,” I said. “Marcus has a truck, doesn’t he? Maybe you can all live in it.”
I stepped out into the snow.
The door slammed shut behind us, cutting off their wailing. It was the most satisfying sound I had ever heard.
A black limousine was idling at the curb. My driver, Thomas, stepped out and opened the door.
“Ready to go, Chef?” Thomas asked.
“Yes, Thomas,” I said, sliding into the warm leather interior.
Lily looked up at me, her eyes still red. “Daddy, where are we going? Is Christmas over?”
I smiled and wiped a tear from her cheek.
“No, sweetheart,” I said. “Christmas is just beginning. We’re going to a place where people know how to treat a princess.”
Part 6: The King in His Kitchen
The limo pulled up to the service entrance of The Aurora, my flagship restaurant downtown. Even on Christmas, the kitchen was prepped and ready for the private event I was hosting later.
We walked in.
The moment I stepped through the double doors, the noise stopped.
Fifty chefs, sous-chefs, and line cooks froze. They saw me. They saw Lily.
“Chef on deck!” someone shouted.
“Chef!” The entire kitchen roared in unison, a sound of respect and discipline.
I walked to the main pass. I set Lily down on a high stool at the Chef’s Table—the best seat in the house, right in the middle of the action.
“Team,” I said. “We have a VIP guest tonight. My daughter, Lily. She had a very bad dinner experience earlier. Someone told her that her favorite food was garbage.”
A murmur of outrage went through the kitchen. These people knew food. They knew art.
