vMy daughter-in-law stood up at our family dinner, raised her champagne glass, and announced to everyone—
“Here’s to Margaret, always hungry for attention and free food.”
The whole table erupted in laughter. I reached for my purse, pulled out my business cards, and slid one across to her.
“Actually, Sarah, I’m hungry for a new head of sales. You’re fired.”
If you’re watching this, subscribe and let me know where you’re watching from. Let me back up and tell you how we got here. My name is Margaret Wittmann. I’m 73 years old, and until three hours ago, most people thought I was just another lonely widow living off Social Security. What they didn’t know was that I owned 67% of the company my daughter-in-law thought she was conquering. It all started when my son David met Sarah five years ago. She was working as a junior sales rep at Thompson Marketing, fresh out of business school with an MBA and enough ambition to power a small city. David was smitten from day one. She was everything he thought he wanted—beautiful, driven, successful—or so we all believed.
“Mom, you’ll love Sarah,” he told me over coffee that first week. “She’s got this incredible business sense. She just became the top salesperson at her company.”
I smiled and nodded, genuinely happy for his happiness. After losing his father to cancer two years earlier, David deserved some joy. The first time I met Sarah, she arrived at my modest suburban home in a designer suit, checking her phone constantly and making comments about the cute little neighborhood. She was polite enough, but I caught her rolling her eyes when David mentioned that I volunteered at the community center.
“That’s sweet,” she said with a condescending smile. “Everyone needs hobbies.”
What she didn’t know was that I’d been running a successful consulting firm for forty years. Wittmann Strategic Solutions had helped over 200 businesses increase their profits, streamline operations, and navigate complex market challenges. We were small, efficient, and extremely profitable. When David and Sarah got engaged after two years of dating, she insisted on having the wedding at the country club.
“David deserves the best,” she announced as if I might argue.
I wrote the check without complaint, happy to see my son marry someone he loved. The problems started almost immediately. Sarah had opinions about everything—my clothes, my car, my furniture. She’d make little comments during family dinners about how I needed to get with the times or try harder with my appearance. David would laugh nervously and change the subject.
“Maybe we should get you a smartphone, Mom,” Sarah suggested one Thanksgiving. “It might help you stay connected to the modern world.”
The way she said it made me sound like I was living in a cave, but I bit my tongue. David was happy, and that mattered more than my pride. Two years into their marriage, Sarah landed what she called her dream job as head of sales at Preston Industries, a midsized consulting firm. She couldn’t stop bragging about it. Every conversation included updates about her commission checks, her new office, or her plans to revolutionize their entire sales strategy.
“I’m going to turn that place around,” she declared at our monthly family dinner. “Their current sales team doesn’t know what they’re doing. I’ll probably be running the whole company within five years.”
That’s when I realized exactly which company she was talking about. Preston Industries wasn’t just any consulting firm. It was my biggest competitor. And if Sarah was now their head of sales, things were about to get very interesting indeed. Sarah’s success at Preston Industries became the only topic of conversation at our family gatherings. Every month brought new stories of her achievements, each one delivered with increasing arrogance.
“I closed the Henderson account last week,” she announced during Sunday dinner, cutting into her steak with theatrical precision. “Biggest sale in company history. They said it couldn’t be done, but I made it happen.”
David beamed with pride.
“Tell Mom about the bonus.”
“$50,000,” Sarah said, watching my face carefully for a reaction. “Cash, plus they’re giving me a company car and talking about profit sharing.”
She leaned back in her chair, savoring what she clearly thought was my amazement. What she was actually seeing was my calculation. The Henderson account. I’d been courting them for three years. My team had done all the groundwork, built the relationship, identified their needs. Preston had swooped in at the last minute with an aggressive bid and stolen the contract.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page to discover the rest 🔎👇
