Parents refused to fund my business and gave money to my cousin for his hotel instead.

So, when my grandparents funded me, they started taking credit at family events until I called them out in my anniversary speech.

I’m Zachary, 34M, and I grew up in a family that was well comfortable. My dad had multiple businesses scattered across the city—real estate, retail, and a few others. My mom owns a couple of buildings, like buildings plural.

My grandparents, while not as wealthy, were the OG hustlers who scraped together enough success to give my parents their initial leg up. So yeah, business-minded people, generational wealth, and an expectation that if you’re born into this family, you’re either going to (A) inherit something and not mess it up or (B) start your own empire.

Naturally, I wanted to go with option B.

The dream and the rejection

I wasn’t some clueless kid dreaming about opening a beach shack in the Bahamas. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I had a plan, a solid one in my opinion: cyber security.

Ever since I was 14 and accidentally hacked into my school’s server to change my detention record, I’ve had a knack for computers. I went to college, got my degree in computer science, and spent hours obsessing over encryption, data breaches, and coding.

After graduation, I realized that cyber security isn’t just a cool career, it’s also a lucrative one. Every company needs it—every bank, every hospital. It’s like selling umbrellas in a world where it’s always raining data leaks.

I had a vision, a potential client base, and a detailed pitch deck that I thought would knock anyone’s socks off. But here’s the catch: I needed money to start. Not millions, just enough for office space, a small team, software and hardware.

So one evening, I approached my parents. We were sitting in our living room and I presented my idea. I had graphs, market research, and passion. I asked them for a loan, not a gift, a loan I would pay back with interest once the business took off.

You know what they said?

“Zach, we love you, but we don’t think you have what it takes to run a business.”

My dad sighed like it pained him to say it. My mom gave me that pitying look moms give when they think you’re being adorably naive.

They said being a good coder doesn’t make you a good businessman. That I lacked the spark. That investing in me was like setting money on fire.

It stung.

Bernard’s funding bombshell

About a month later, my cousin Bernard was getting married. At the wedding, he walked up to my parents and said:

“Uncle, Auntie, thank you again for believing in me and helping me with the funds for my hotel business. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Time stopped. They had said no to me, but yes to Bernard—for a freaking hotel.

I excused myself, went into the garden, and cried. Ugly crying. It wasn’t just about Bernard. It was about what it meant: they believed in him, not me.

That’s when my grandmother found me. I spilled everything. She listened, then said:

“Sometimes people see potential in others because they see themselves in them. Your father might see a younger version of himself in Bernard. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t capable. You’re just different. And different isn’t bad.”

I’ll never forget that.

Grandpa’s belief

The next day, Grandpa called me to visit. In his study, he said:

“I started my first business with nothing but an old van and a loan from my uncle. It wasn’t easy, but someone believed in me. And that made all the difference.”

Then he handed me a check. Not pocket change. Enough to start.

“This isn’t just money, Zachary. This is belief. I’m investing in you.”

I cried again, hugged him, and promised I’d make him proud.

Building from scratch

With Grandpa’s seed funding and pooling savings with my friends Adam and Louise, we rented a tiny office in the sketchiest part of the city. We worked 14–16 hour days, fueled by noodles and vending machine snacks.

Our first big client was a finance company that had been hacked. We patched their systems and prevented future breaches. That got us word-of-mouth clients.

Two years later, we moved to a better office. Four years in, we opened our second branch. A year later, a third.

We had become a real company.

Paying it back

Five years in, I finally paid my grandparents back—with interest. And I bought them a new house. Cozy, comfortable, in their dream neighborhood.

Meanwhile, Bernard’s hotel was failing. The pandemic crushed it. My parents even gave him more money, but it shut down.

I did feel sorry for him. Running a business is hard. But I also felt vindicated.

The 50th anniversary

For my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary, I spared no expense. Rented a hotel ballroom, live band, caterers, invited everyone.

It was beautiful. They were glowing.

But then I overheard my dad telling his friend that my success was thanks to family support, “a family business now.” My parents kept painting themselves as the backbone of my success.

I was furious.

So I rewrote my speech.

The speech

I began with jokes, then got serious:

“Grandma and Grandpa didn’t just build a life together. They built a legacy of love, trust, and belief. When I had a dream and everyone else shut the door, these two opened theirs. They believed in me when nobody else did. I owe everything I have to their faith in me.”

“So tonight, I want to raise a toast to Grandma and Grandpa—the only two people who believed in me when no one else did. This success is yours, not anyone else’s.”

Grandma cried. Grandpa smiled proudly. My parents froze, smiling through gritted teeth.

The fallout

Afterward, Dad confronted me:

“What the hell was that speech? Were you trying to humiliate us?”

Mom said: “You made us look terrible.”

Dad: “We gave you a good life, a good education. How dare you make us out to be villains.”

I snapped: “Ungrateful? You gave Bernard money twice, and told me I wasn’t good enough. Do you know how much that hurt?”

The room went silent. Guests stared. Bernard sipped his drink awkwardly.

I walked out.

Updates

Update 1:
My parents went nuclear. They spread rumors that I guilt-tripped Grandma and Grandpa into funding me. Relatives started calling me manipulative.

I called my parents out. They doubled down: “You cried to them, that’s manipulation.”

I told them I was done, blocked them, and stepped back.

Update 2:
Grandpa passed away. Peacefully in his sleep. Losing him felt like losing a lighthouse.

At the will reading, Grandpa left his beloved lake house to me and my cousin Laura. Dad’s jaw clenched. He went cold, avoided me.

Grandma comforted me: “He wasn’t choosing sides. He was choosing love.”

Update 3:
Dad sued me. Claimed the lake house belonged to him, accused me of manipulating Grandpa.

Mom tried to mediate, asking me to “just hand it over.” Dad grew angrier, calling me names, blaming me.

Our relationship is done. I don’t think there’s any way back.