MY SON JUST FIRED ME FROM THE COMPANY I STARTED 30 YEARS AGO
My son leaned back in *my* chair, the leather creaking under his weight.
He was reorganizing everything, calling my most loyal employees into his office one by one. I could hear the murmur of voices through the thin wall, punctuated by his sharp, confident laugh that grated on my nerves. The air felt stale, thick with the smell of his expensive new cologne, like the life had been sucked out of the building overnight.
“This is *my* company, Alex,” I said, my voice tight, barely a whisper against the sudden silence. “I built this from nothing, hand-by-hand.” He just smirked, leaning back further, the leather creaking loudly. “Times change, Dad. You’re slowing us down. It’s time for new blood, fresh ideas.” The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs.
He pulled a folder from his desk, the polished wood gleaming under the relentless fluorescent light, sliding it across the surface towards me. “I’ve made some… difficult decisions regarding your position.” My eyes blurred slightly looking at the official letterhead, the corporate logo I designed myself now mocking me. It wasn’t just about restructuring; it was about getting rid of *me*. Permanently.
A cold knot formed in my stomach, a dread spreading through my limbs like ice water. The digital clock on the wall flipped another minute past, its silent march louder than anything. Then the intercom crackled suddenly, a burst of static and a voice calling his name, loud and unexpected in the silent office, making me jump violently.
My phone buzzed on the desk – it was a message from his wife.
👇 Full story continued in the comments…(Continuation)
I fumbled for my phone, my fingers clumsy with shock. The message was from Sarah, my son’s wife. *Dad, please don’t sign anything yet. Call me when you leave there. We need to talk.* A tiny, fragile seed of hope, quickly suffocated by the dread still clutching my chest. Why would she want to talk? Was she trying to mediate? Or just checking on me? I looked up at my son, who was now on the phone, his back to me, his voice low and businesslike. He didn’t seem to notice my reaction, or perhaps he just didn’t care.
I picked up the folder, my hand trembling. The letter was brief, corporate jargon masking a brutal reality. My position was being eliminated as part of a strategic restructuring. Effective immediately. My benefits summary was attached, a cold, clinical breakdown of everything I was losing. Thirty years, reduced to bullet points on a page.
“Are you serious, David?” I managed to say, my voice cracking. He hung up the phone and turned back to me, his expression softening slightly, but only into a mask of polite, almost pitying, regret.
“Dad, I told you. It’s necessary. The board agrees. We need to move faster, be more agile. Your way of doing things… it’s not working anymore. This is the best way. For the company.”
“For the company?” I echoed, the words bitter on my tongue. “I *am* the company! I built it! I sacrificed everything – time with you, with your mother – for this! And you’re just… kicking me out?”
He stood up, buttoning his expensive suit jacket. “It’s not personal, Dad. It’s business. And it’s my responsibility now. I’ve arranged for a severance package. It’s generous.”
Generous? Money? Was that what he thought this was about? It wasn’t about money. It was about legacy. About purpose. About being erased by the very person I had envisioned carrying the torch.
“This isn’t how it was supposed to be, David,” I said, my voice low and heavy with sorrow. “I groomed you to take over, not to discard me.”
He didn’t meet my eyes. “Maybe your vision for the future and mine are different. That happens. Look, I have meetings. Please, take the folder. My assistant will help you pack up your personal effects later this afternoon. We’ll arrange for the security pass to be deactivated tomorrow morning.”
Pack up? Security pass? He was treating me like a disgruntled employee being escorted off the premises. My heart ached with a pain sharper than any physical blow. He was systematically dismantling my life, piece by piece, in the place I had called home for three decades.
I stood up slowly, the folder heavy in my hand. The smell of his cologne suddenly felt suffocating. I looked around the office, *my* office. The photos on the wall – a younger me shaking hands with the first big client, the team celebrating our first million-dollar year, a faded picture of David as a boy, sitting on this very desk. Now, they just felt like ghosts.
“Okay, David,” I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. “If that’s how it is.”
He seemed almost relieved I wasn’t fighting anymore. “I… I hope we can still have Thanksgiving?” he ventured, a pathetic attempt at normalcy.
I just looked at him, the stranger sitting in my chair, wearing my son’s face. Thanksgiving? The idea was grotesque. “I’ll call Sarah,” I said instead, turning towards the door.
I walked out of the office, past the hushed employees who wouldn’t meet my gaze, past the conference room where I’d sealed countless deals, past the reception area that used to greet me with smiles. Each step was an act of leaving behind a part of myself. Outside, the city noise hit me, loud and indifferent. I stood on the pavement, the termination letter in my hand, the sun warm on my face, feeling utterly, completely lost. I pulled out my phone and scrolled to Sarah’s number. Whatever she had to say, it couldn’t make this any worse. It could only potentially shed light on the darkness my own son had cast over me. The company I built was gone, but the family… the family felt shattered too. I pressed dial.