My Dad Is the Richest Man in LA

My dad is the richest man in Los Angeles, but my monthly allowance is only fifty dollars.

My mom always told me that my dad despised me because I was born with a minor physical defect. She said he left a signed divorce agreement and vanished when I was only six years old.

From that day on, I never saw him again. That was until I saw him on the news, splurging a hundred million dollars to buy a luxury skyscraper for his new son.

For all these years, my heart was filled with nothing but hatred. I was his child too. Why did he treat me like trash?

But one day, I ran into my dad's new son. The very first thing he said to me was:

"Where have you been all these years? Dad has been searching everywhere for you."

"Hey, sweetie, your meal card has insufficient funds."

The cafeteria lady, Mrs. Gable, poked her head out after the register beeped loudly.

I froze. I had just realized this month had thirty-one days. The money I saved from my part-time job was only enough to cover thirty.

I offered an awkward smile. "Thats fine, Mrs. Gable. Im actually on a diet today. Just the plain rice is fine."

Mrs. Gable saw right through my embarrassment. A look of pure pity softened her face.

"Oh, honey, look at you! Youre skin and bones. What diet?"

She sighed, scooped a massive ladle of rich savory gravy, and poured it over my rice.

"Next time youre short on cash, just whisper to me. I'll slide a chicken drumstick under your tray."

Looking at her kind gesture, my throat tightened.

Why was it that a complete stranger knew how to show me mercy, while my own biological father had never given me a single thought?

My best friend, Price, walked back with his tray. When he saw nothing but plain gravy and rice on my plate, he slammed his fist on the table in frustration.

"Im telling you, Hart, you need to go to your dad's corporate headquarters and make a scene!"

"The guy is the richest man in LA, and his own son is literally starving to death!"

"I seriously want the world to see what a hypocrite that 'philanthropist' really is behind closed doors!"

I was used to this kind of life, but his words still brought a wave of bitterness to my chest.

If the university didnt have a free basic pantry for low-income students, I really would have starved by now.

Ever since my parents divorced, my mom had completely fallen apart.

She spent her days drinking herself into a stupor at home, burning through what little savings we had left on cheap gin.

Once, a neighbor couldnt stand it anymore and tried to intervene.

"Samantha, you can't keep living like this. Your son is so young. You have to pull yourself together and raise him!"

"Look at the boy, he's so thin a gust of wind could blow him away!"

But my mom just slumped on her bed and screamed at the neighbor.

"If it weren't for this mistake of a kid, my husband would have never abandoned me!"

"He was born broken! Even a stray dog would look down on him!"

"You want me to raise him? In his dreams!"

Back then, as a little boy, I didn't understand why she was so angry. But I could read her expression.

The only reason my mom had degenerated into this miserable state was because of me.

If I hadn't been born, or if I had been a perfectly healthy boy, her life would have been beautiful.

During the rare moments my mom was sober, she would show me old photographs.

"Look how much your father loved me back then. He took me traveling all over the country."

"He wouldn't let me lift a finger. He did all the cleaning and dishwashing himself!"

"Even when he worked until midnight, hed still come home and cook me gourmet meals. He acted like he never knew what tired meant!"

Looking at the happy, loving couple in those faded photos, a seed of guilt was planted deep in my young heart.

This was all my fault. I had to do whatever it took to make it up to her.

Since the moment I was old enough to walk, I did odd chores for neighbors to earn spare change.

They pitied me and often gave me groceries to take home.

That was how I managed to grow up, surviving on the charity of kind neighbors.

Once I got into college, I worked three part-time jobs a day after classes.

But my mom forced me to hand over almost every penny to 'repay' her. I was left with only fifty dollars a month for myself.

I barely kept myself alive with the university's financial aid.

I had accepted my reality. That was, until the day I saw the news about my dad on the campus TV.

[Vance Enterprises CEO, Phillips Vance, splurges 0-000 million to build a luxury skyscraper for his six-year-old son, Jackson.]

For the first time in my life, a massive sense of unfairness washed over me. With tear-filled eyes, I asked my mom.

"Mom, if Dad has so much money... why hasn't he come back to see me even once?"

"Does he really not have a single shred of affection for me?"

My mom sneered. "Why do you think? He hates you more than anything in this world."

I quickly shoved the rest of the rice into my mouth. I had to rush to my next gig.

I had recently landed a part-time job tutoring an elementary school kid in English and essay writing.

The pay was triple what I made washing dishes at the diner, so I absolutely could not be late.

Price frowned, his eyes filled with worry.

"Hart, can your body even take this?"

"Why don't you take a day off? If you keep going like this, Im afraid you're going to collapse..."

I didn't stop. I kept packing my things, coughing as I swallowed the rice too quickly, my face turning red.

I pounded my chest to force the food down, then spoke quietly.

"I can't rest, Price. If I stop, how is my mom going to survive?"

Hearing this, Prices anger flared, his voice rising.

"Your mother is unbelievably selfish!"

"How can she force a college freshman to pay for everything?"

"Does she even care about your health?!"

I just gave him a helpless, tired smile. "I owe her my life."

For all these years, I had lived in a constant state of self-blame.

If it weren't for me, my mom wouldn't be living in this misery.

So, I had no right to complain.

After riding three different buses, I finally arrived at my destination.

It was a massive mansion nestled halfway up a private hill in Bel-Air. I had to hike up a steep incline for thirty minutes just to reach the front gate.

A middle-aged man dressed in a sharp suitthe butlerwalked out with a polite smile.

"Are you the new tutor?"

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and nodded.

He led me inside, and the sheer opulence of the estate blew my mind.

Even the golden retriever in the yard had its own two-story, air-conditioned dog house.

The butler took me into a grand study and handed me a glass of ice water.

"Please wait here for a moment. I'll go fetch the young master."

I pulled out the textbooks I had prepared. Before I could even place them on the desk, a little boy burst into the room.

He grinned, showing two adorable dimples.

"Hi, Mr. Tutor!"

I was relieved. The children of the ultra-rich could actually be this polite. My anxiety melted away.

I patted his head gently. "Hi there. You can just call me Hart."

The boy gasped, jumping up and down excitedly.

"Hart! My last name is Vance too!"

"I'm Jackson Vance!"

My smile instantly froze on my face.

Jackson.

I had heard that name on the news. He was the boy for whom my father had built a 0-000 million tower.

The boy standing in front of me was my father's new son.

This was my father's house.

Panic seized me, and I stood there completely paralyzed, not knowing what to do.

My hands shook violently. Years of repressed hatred, sorrow, and abandonment issues rushed to the surface.

I wanted to run out of the room, find Phillips Vance, and scream in his face.

Why did you treat me like trash? Why did you leave me and Mom to rot?!

But my rational mind kicked in. Acting on impulse would only make him despise me more.

Plus, I would lose this high-paying tutoring gig.

I needed this money to survive.

Taking a deep breath, I decided to pretend I knew nothing. I sat down and started the lesson.

Two hours flew by. Jackson was incredibly well-behaved and highly intelligent. We got along perfectly, talking like old friends.

He didn't have a single drop of spoiled attitude.

As I packed my books and assigned him some homework, Jackson suddenly tugged at my sleeve. He looked around conspiratorially.

"Hart, I don't really have any friends. You're my only friend!"

"Can I tell you a secret?"

I blinked. I was surprised that a kid living in a palace had no friends, and even more surprised that he chose to trust me.

But I knelt down and patted his head. "Sure. What is it?"

Jackson leaned in and whispered in my ear.

"I actually have an older brother. Dad has been searching for him for years."

"But he can't find him. So, when I grow up, I'm going to help Dad find my big brother!"

My mind went completely blank.

"What... what did you say?"

Searching for me all these years? How is that possible?

I couldn't believe my ears.

Jackson didn't notice my shock and kept chatting.

"Yeah! I have a big brother, but Ive never met him."

"Dad says he was the sweetest baby. But over ten years ago, Dad's ex-wife took him and ran away."

"Dad has spent so much money looking for him, but we just can't find him."

My head spun. There were too many contradictions.

Why did my dad say my mom ran away with me?

Back then, it was my dad who left the divorce papers and disappeared.

My mom had spent the last twelve years drinking herself to death because of his abandonment.

Who was lying?

Seeing that I wasn't responding, Jackson dragged me to another room down the hall. He pointed at a beautifully decorated bedroom.

"This is the room Dad kept for my brother! He said when my brother comes back, he'll have his own place."

"Dad said my brother's favorite color is orange, so the whole room is orange!"

"I even helped pick out the curtains! Pretty cool, right?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and stepped inside.

On the desk, there was a slightly faded, framed photograph. It was a picture of my father, looking much younger, holding me as a toddler on a sunny lawn.

Suddenly, a warm, gentle voice came from the doorway.

"That's my husband's son from his first marriage. He was such a beautiful boy, wasn't he?"

"Sigh, it's a heartbreaking story."

"No matter how much money Phillips wired to his ex-wife, she refused to let him see the boy even once."

"Just last month, Phillips wired another two million dollars to her for the boy's college fund."

"We don't know how he is doing now. Phillips hasn't slept a peaceful night in over ten years."

I turned toward the voice. A kind-faced, elegant woman was standing there.

This was Clara, my father's new wife.

My mind reeled. Two million dollars? Last month?

If my dad had been sending millions of dollars, why was my mom forcing me to work three jobs? Why did I only have fifty dollars a month for food?

I remembered when I had a high fever in high school, and we 'couldn't afford' antibiotics, so I had to sweat it out, shivering in bed for a week.

Why did my mother lie to me all these years?

I wanted to scream the truth right thereto tell them that I was that lost son.

But I had to keep my head. I had to find out what really happened.

Why did my mother make my life a living hell?

I didn't reveal my identity. I made an excuse and quickly left the mansion.

I requested a week off from my college classes and took the bus straight back to our dingy apartment.

The moment I opened the door, the stench of cheap liquor and stale smoke hit my face. My mom was slumped on the couch, surrounded by empty bottles.

Seeing me home early, she didn't hesitate to hurl a beer bottle right at my head.

"Why the hell are you home?! Aren't you supposed to be washing dishes at the diner?!"

"Are you trying to starve us next month?!"

"If you don't bring home your check, I'll kick you out! This is all because of your laziness!"

"You remember this: my life is ruined because of you!"

"You owe me for the rest of your miserable life!"

Normally, I would have quietly cleaned up the broken glass and apologized.

But not today. I walked right up to her, staring straight into her bloodshot eyes.

"Mom, my meal card ran out of money today."

"Starting next month, can I please keep just ten more dollars of my paycheck for food?"

She froze, then exploded in a fury.

"Keep ten dollars?! Do you think were made of money?!"

"We are broke because of you!"

"It's your fault your dad left us!"

"If not for you, I'd be living in luxury right now!"

"You want ten dollars? In your dreams! Ten dollars is a whole bottle of gin!"

"Next month, your allowance is cut to forty!"

"If you can't afford food, go eat the free bread at the shelter! I know your school has free food!"

Looking at her twisted, hateful face, the final string of my patience snapped.

She always claimed I was 'disabled' and 'broken,' but my school physicals always showed I was perfectly healthy. She just wanted me to feel worthless.

"Get out and get to work! I don't want to look at your ugly face!" she screamed, shoving me out the door.

The buses back to campus had stopped running. With nowhere to go, I huddled in the cold stairwell, planning to sleep there for the night.

But at midnight, I heard our apartment door click open.

I peeked through the fire door. My mom was sneaking out, dressed in her best clothes.

A bad feeling washed over me. I quietly slipped down the stairs and followed her through the dark streets.

She navigated several alleyways before slipping into the back door of a seemingly closed storefront.

It was labeled as a private social club, but it was dead quiet inside. No one was around.

What was she doing here?

I snuck in. The hallway seemed to lead to a dead end, but when I pushed a hidden panel near the floor, a heavy door swung open.

It was a loud, smoky underground casino.

Dozens of people were gathered around green felt tables, betting thousands.

I blended into the crowd and easily spotted my mom at a high-stakes poker table.

She had a massive stack of chips in front of her, and the people around her were kissing her feet.

"Samantha, you're on fire tonight! Must be nice having that billionaire ex-husband of yours!"

My mom laughed hysterically, tossing a $2,000 chip to a dealer.

"That's pocket change! Phillips just wired me another two million. I've got more money than I know what to do with!"

"Today, I'm in a good mood. This is on me!"

I watched in horror as she threw money around like water. Within an hour, her luck ran out.

She lost the entire two million and ended up owing the house another $500,000.

A burly, tattooed loan shark stepped up, his face dark.

"Pay up, Samantha. Or we'll start taking fingers."

She didn't even flinch.

"Calm down. I'll just get more from Phillips. I'll tell him Hart has leukemia and needs ten million for chemo. He'll wire it in ten minutes."

My blood ran cold.

The millions my dad sent over the years had all been pissed away in this basement.

I watched as she actually dialed my dad's number. When she hung up, she smirked at the enforcer.

"See? He's processing it. Let's deal another hand! I'm going to win it all back!"

Realizing the sheer gravity of her lies, I slipped out of the casino.

My hands shook as I dialed the number Jackson had given me. The butler answered.

"Vance residence. How can I help you?"

"Tell Phillips Vance that his son, Hart Vance, is on the line."

Ten seconds later, my father's breathless, trembling voice came through.

"Hart? Where are you? We need to meet right now."