The annual Chin family dinner was in full swing at Golden Palace, the same overpriced restaurant where we’d gathered every year since I could remember. Uncles bragged about new Mercedes, aunties compared designer handbags, and my cousins made sure everyone knew exactly how successful they were.
“Michael,” cousin Kevin called out across the lazy Susan, his voice carrying that perfect mix of concern and condescension. “Still taking the bus? I could recommend some good lease options.”
I adjusted the cuff of my simple white shirt. “The bus works fine.”
“So practical,” Aunt Linda chimed in. “Though surely with your ‘computer job,’ you could afford something better.”
I bit back a smile. My “computer job,” as they called my tech company, was the reason I was wearing a watch worth more than everything else in this restaurant combined. Not that any of them would recognize a Philippe Dufour Grande Sonnerie minute repeater. Only sixteen were ever made.
“Speaking of jobs,” Uncle Richard boomed, “Kevin just made junior partner at Goldman!” The table erupted in congratulations. Kevin preened, adjusting his Rolex—a bonus gift, I was sure, and definitely not as rare as he thought.
“And what about you, Michael?” my father asked, his eyes carrying that familiar disappointment. “Still doing your… what do you call it? App development?”
Before I could answer, the waiter arrived. As I reached for the soy sauce, my sleeve rolled up again. This time, Dad’s eyes caught the movement, and the watch. His chopsticks clattered to the table.
“That’s…” he stammered, his face draining of color. “That’s impossible.”
The table fell silent. Dad had been a watch collector for decades before the market crash forced him to sell his collection. He knew exactly what was on my wrist.
“Is something wrong?” Mom asked.
“That watch,” Dad’s voice was barely a whisper. “It’s a Dufour Grande Sonnerie. There are only sixteen in the world.”
“It’s worth two million dollars,” Kevin finished, his Goldman Sachs-trained eye finally recognizing what he was seeing. “Give or take.”
The silence that followed was delicious. Aunt Linda’s designer bag suddenly looked very cheap.
“Oh, this old thing?” I smiled, deliberately echoing the phrase Aunt Linda had used earlier about her Gucci bag. “Just something I picked up at auction last month.”
“But… how?” Mom sputtered. “You take the bus.”
I took a sip of tea. “Ever wonder why I take the bus? It’s because I’m usually on calls with our Tokyo office. Can’t do that while driving.”
“Tokyo office?” Kevin’s smirk had vanished. “What exactly does your app do?”
I pulled out my phone—not the latest model, which they’d snickered at earlier—and showed them our company’s latest valuation report. “We develop AI-driven financial trading algorithms,” I said, sliding the phone toward Kevin. “Actually, we probably power some of the systems you use at Goldman.”
His eyes widened as he read. Uncle Richard leaned over his shoulder, then made a choking sound. “Ten billion,” he wheezed.
“Eleven-point-two after last month’s funding round,” I corrected. “Though valuations can be so volatile, can’t they, Kevin?” The fancy watch on his wrist suddenly looked very small.
Dad was still staring at my Dufour. He’d been the one who taught me about watches before he lost everything and decided traditional banking was the only safe path. “The auction,” he said quietly. “Christy’s. Last month.”
“Anonymous buyer,” I nodded. “I knew you’d recognize it. It was your dream piece.”
The rest of dinner was awkwardly quiet. My cousins seemed to have collectively lost their voices.
“So,” Uncle Richard finally broke the silence, “this company of yours… it’s quite successful then?”
“You could say that,” I replied, checking a notification from our London office. “We process about thirty percent of all AI-driven trades in Asia. Probably closer to forty percent after next month’s merger.”
“Merger?” Kevin perked up. “With whom?”
“Can’t say yet,” I smiled. “But your firm is handling part of the due diligence. The Quantum Trade acquisition? That’s your company.”
Kevin’s face went pale. Dad’s head snapped up. “Quantum Trade? The Singapore-based firm that’s revolutionizing Asian markets?”
“Among other things,” I said.
Aunt Linda leaned forward, her earlier disdain replaced with intense interest. “But Michael, darling, why didn’t you tell us? All this time, we thought—”
“That I was struggling?” I adjusted my watch. “Sometimes success doesn’t need to be advertised.”
“Michael,” Aunt Linda tried again, “you must come to our country club next weekend. There’s someone I’d love you to meet.”
“Can’t,” I said. “Flying to Singapore on my jet. Board meeting.”
“Your… jet?” Uncle Richard’s voice was faint.
“Just a small one,” I replied modestly. “Though I usually take the bus to the airport. Better for the environment.”
After dinner, Dad followed me outside. The night air was crisp. “That watch,” he finally managed. “It was the one in the picture I kept on my desk. For twenty years.”
I nodded. Right up until the crash forced you to sell your collection.
“Is that why you bought it?” he asked quietly. “To prove something?”
I pulled back my sleeve, letting him see the timepiece. “I bought it because you told me how it represented the peak of human craftsmanship. When I started my company, I kept a picture of it, too. Not to remind me of money, but of precision. Of building something perfect.”
“Here,” I said, unbuckling the watch. “It was always meant to be yours.”
Dad stepped back, shaking his head. “I can’t. It’s too much.”
“Actually,” I smiled, “I bought two at the auction. This one’s yours. Mine’s in Singapore. I figured one masterpiece per continent was reasonable.”
His hands shook as I handed him the watch. “$4 million…”
“About what I make in interest each month,” I shrugged. “Besides, some things are worth more than money.”
As we said our goodbyes, I heard Kevin explaining to Uncle Richard why being a junior partner at Goldman wasn’t that important in the grand scheme of things. Aunt Linda was suddenly very interested in tech stocks. But none of that mattered as much as watching Dad show Mom his new watch, explaining its complications with the same passion I remembered from childhood.
I took the bus home that night, as usual. This time, I spent the ride looking at pictures of Dad’s old watch collection, planning how to slowly rebuild it, one masterpiece at a time. Sometimes the best revenge isn’t showing off your wealth. It’s using it to restore what really matters. And sometimes, taking the bus doesn’t mean you’re broke. It means you’re too busy building an empire to worry about what other people think.