The day Tom received that first package—a sleek, designer watch—I remember joking about whether he had a secret admirer. We laughed it off, but as more gifts began to arrive at our doorstep, each more lavish than the last, the laughter slowly faded into unease.
Each gift came perfectly timed: rare wines after a particularly stressful week, bespoke suits before a major company presentation, and high-tech gadgets just when he mentioned wanting them. Tom always had an explanation, always linked to his booming career and the endless stream of new clients he boasted of at his tech consulting firm. But doubt gnawed at me. Business gifts were one thing; a steady stream of luxury items was another.
One chilly evening in December, my fears seemed to materialize. A gift arrived with a note unlike the others, “Meet me at the Grand Plaza Hotel, 8 p.m.” The words were like a dagger through my heart. Tom read the note, stuffed it into his pocket, and dismissed it as a normal client meeting. But nothing about this felt normal.
Driven by a mix of fear and curiosity, I decided to follow him. Dressed in a nondescript coat and hat, I felt like a character out of a spy novel, trailing my husband to what I was sure would be an encounter that would end our marriage. I imagined every possible scenario—each more dramatic and heart-wrenching than the last.
I arrived early, the grandeur of the Grand Plaza looming large as I stationed myself in a dim corner of the lobby. People came and went, but none matched the image of the mysterious, lavish gift-giver I had conjured up in my mind. Then, just as the clock struck 8, my heart leapt into my throat. I saw Tom walking briskly towards the hotel bar. My breath caught as I prepared myself to face the other woman. But when he stopped, it wasn’t a glamorous older woman who greeted him; it was my brother, Jack.
Confused, I watched from a distance as they embraced, laughing and clapping each other on the back. I couldn’t make sense of it. Why would Jack be giving these gifts? My curiosity peaked, and I approached them, my previous fears morphing into bewilderment.
Seeing me, Tom’s expression changed to one of relief, while Jack’s broke into a mischievous grin. “I guess it’s time for the truth,” Jack said, pulling up a chair for me. “I’ve been the one sending the gifts, but not for the reasons you might think.”
It turned out, Jack had recently come into a considerable sum through a startup sale and had decided to use some of his windfall to experiment with a luxury goods subscription service he was planning to launch. Tom had been helping him out by being his ‘guinea pig,’ testing whether the service felt exclusive and personal.
The relief I felt was immense, mixed with a tinge of embarrassment over my own wild imaginations. We laughed about it later, after all the explanations and apologies were made. Tom wrapped his arm around me, whispering his appreciation for my, albeit misguided, detective work.
From then on, Jack included me in his extravagant ‘test phases,’ and I too enjoyed the perks of luxury, albeit knowing the source. The incident became a favorite family story about misinterpretations and secrets that were, thankfully, just a sign of familial love and entrepreneurial creativity.