Mom's eyes welled up. "I... I just thought that now that our son is making so much money, I ought to do better too. I was just..."
Dad rubbed his forehead with his hand, a pained expression on his face. "And I thought you were acting strange around because I wasn't helping you enough around the house..."
A tear slid down my mom's cheek. "I guess I just felt a bit unneeded." her voice was trembling.
"Mom," I began softly, "you've done more than enough already. From the mont Sydney and I were born, you worked tirelessly—making sure we had food, taking care of our clothes, cleaning the house, preparing everything we needed and working a day job at the sa ti as well..."
"It's ti for you to take a break. If you want to find another job, that's entirely up to you. But please, don't feel bad about this. You've given so much of yourself... It's okay to rest now. You shouldn't feel guilty, you should feel proud of everything you have done for us."
Her tears started to fall more freely.
Dad reached out, taking her hand gently. "Jess, that's not how I see it at all. I never thought you weren't doing enough." he then pulled Mom into a hug.
"Thank you... I guess I needed to hear that." Mom's voice was soft.
Sydney sat quietly at the table, her eyes darting between and our parents. She didn't know what to say.
'Thankfuly, I realised that my mom was dealing with this soon so that it didn't get worse.' I thought.
About 20 minutes later, after going through so things, my mom cald down quite a bit.
"Hey, Dad, did you already get around to that lung cleaning treatnt?"
"Not yet. I'm scheduled for it next week." he replied, then shifted the conversation. "Son, I've been aning to ask... We left you with $50,000. How did you make a million dollars? What did you put that money in?"
"It's actually pretty simple. I put everything into a Chinese company that's been selling video gas. That's it."
"That's all?" My dad's eyebrows knitted together in confusion.
"Yep. Just a single investnt. The company did incredibly well."
"I an... that's unbelievable. I never imagined money could be made like this," he marveled.
"Oh! And also, I found a job," I added casually.
"What? Where?" My mom asked, now more composed.
"As a trading advisor for Johnson Trading in Orlando. They will pay $13,000 a month."
Their jaws dropped.
"Waaaa!" Sydney exclaid. "You're rich, bro!"
I looked at her. "And I wasn't without that job?"
She cald down at that. "True. But still... you should have bought a better present than your car."
"I can buy you a kick in the ass, Sydney..."
"We're so proud of you, Jack," my dad said. "Oh, right..." He looked like he rembered sothing. He stood up and walked over to the refrigerator. He grabbed a letter from it's top and held it to . "You got a letter from Bank of Arica."
"Those must be the credit cards..." I muttered to myself.
"Credit cards?" mom asked.
"Yes, they offered a Diamond mbership. Those credit cards let get better deals on so things."
"Damn! Rich life must be nice." Sydney said.
"If they weren't making profits from this, they'd never offer it. They make people buy more than they need to."
"Nothing's free in this world," Dad said.
"That's right, Dad." I replied and then I stood up. "I wanted to go visit Jacob today, but I will be right back, okay?"
"Will you be having supper at his place?" my mom asked, looking concerned.
"I don't know, Mom, but don't worry, if you make sothing, I'll definitely eat it."
I left the house and walked west, heading to Jacob's house.
I reached his house, and I noticed sothing new. There were at least a dozen cars standing in their backyard and there was a large advertisent banner showing a chanic standing beside a shiny, well-maintained car.
As I got closer, I saw the slogan on the banner: "When your car is out of luck, McCoy will fix it up."
'What brought this idea on? They never had a banner like this.' I thought.
CLANK! CLANK!
I heard sounds coming from their large garage.
Soone's working at this ti of day?
It was almost evening.
I walked to the garage; curious to see if it was Jacob's father working so late into the day.
CLANK!
"Good afternoon!" I called out.
From beneath a silver rcedes, a car creeper slid out. "Whoa! If it isn't Jack!" It was Jacob. His hands and face were dirty with car oil or sothing similar. "What's up, dude? You caught in the middle of so serious bolting!"
"I ca to visit," I said, glancing around the garage. "We haven't caught up in quite so ti. But I'm shocked—you're still working at this hour?"
Jacob didn't bother standing up. "Yeah, things have changed quite a bit since you left, man. I gotta hustle if I want to get things where I need them to be. Anyway, give about ten minutes, okay? You can sit here or get inside, my parents are ho." he said and then creeped back under the car to continue his work.
After about fifteen minutes, Jacob erged from under the car, wiped his hands and face clean in the garage sink, and stretched. "Alright, bro. Co on in."
I followed him inside, and after greeting his parents, we went up to his room.
Jacob had three siblings so his parents needed to raise the house after his youngest brother was born.
I sat on his bed. "Tell what's up, Jacob. Since when is that banner in your backyard?" I asked him.
Jacob handed a can of Coke and sat down in his chair. "I'm not gonna lie to you, bro, it's partially because of Lucy."
"Lucy? You're still together?"
"Yeah," he said with a grin. "I guess we fit pretty well together."
"So, you're saying the banner is because of Lucy?"
"Not just because of her," Jacob clarified. "But she definitely pushed in that direction. My dad was hesitant about it because we already had enough clients at the ti. But I wanted to expand, you know? Lucy wanted to try harder too. So when I made enough money, I bought the materials and put up the banner myself." He enthusiastically gestured with his hands.
He continued. "I'm thinking about turning our family business into a real company. We could hire so more people and really grow it."
'Maybe Lucy White's influence on Jacob isn't that bad after all.' I thought.
"Jacob, do you need money?" I asked.
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