The topic of family finances is always a slippery slope at larger gatherings. Most reasonable people instinctively avoid it, since everyone has a different background, different expenses, and nobody in their right mind wants to flaunt their payslips or bank balances in front of relatives. In our extended family, this worked perfectly for years. No one looked down on anyone else, we all respected each other, and celebrations were relaxed and pleasant. That was, at least, until my brother-in-law Tomáš married into the family.
Tomáš is the embodiment of someone whose entire self-worth is built on the impression he makes on others. He works in corporate sales and treats every family gathering as a stage for his personal success story. He arrives in a spotless, shiny car on a lease, makes sure everyone sees his watch, and within the first half hour, he’ll mention three times how much his suit cost or what record month he just closed at work.
Last month, we celebrated our grandmother’s 80th birthday. For weeks in advance, we agreed in our family WhatsApp group that we wouldn’t buy her any useless knick-knacks, but instead would chip in for a proper, practical gift—a quality adjustable armchair with a massage function, something she’d wanted for her living room for ages. The price was twelve thousand crowns. There were four of us in on it: me, my sister and her husband, our cousin, and Tomáš with his wife. Each of us was to contribute three thousand. I took care of the purchase and pickup from a specialty store, paid for the chair upfront by card, and sent the account number and purchase confirmation to the family chat. Everyone sent their share right away. Only Tomáš didn’t reply, but I figured we’d settle up in person at the party.
On Sunday, in the restaurant’s private room, Tomáš took the floor right at the soup course. Instead of letting the birthday girl have her moment, he started prying into everyone’s professional lives with intrusive curiosity. He lectured my brother, who works as a manufacturing technologist, that in this day and age it’s laughable to earn less than a hundred thousand net, and that if he’s not freelancing and optimizing taxes, he’s robbing his own kids. When our cousin mentioned he was dealing with a mortgage, Tomáš laughed theatrically, sipped his expensive wine, and announced to the whole table: “Look, only the financially illiterate take out mortgages these days. I rotate my spare cash in crypto funds and private capital, my passive income covers all my living expenses, and I only work for fun. If you can’t make at least two hundred a month nowadays, you’re just sleeping.”
Grandma just shook her head in confusion, an awkward silence fell over the table, and everyone stared at their plates while Tomáš cheerfully lectured us on big business.
After lunch came the highlight of the afternoon—the gift presentation. My cousin and I brought the chair out from the back room, tied with a big ribbon. Grandma was moved to tears, hugging us and thanking us for such a wonderful gift. That’s when Tomáš pushed himself into the spotlight again. He hugged grandma around the shoulders, positioned himself right in front of the photographer, and loudly declared: “Grandma, you can’t put a price on family and your comfort—we always think of you and picked out the very best on the market.”
After coffee, when the atmosphere relaxed and guests started to drift home, I stopped Tomáš in the hallway by the coat rack. I pulled out my phone with the banking app and calmly said, “Tom, about the chair. Everyone else sent their share last week—your three thousand is still missing. Here’s a QR code so we can settle up.”
At that moment, the whole corporate big-shot mask dropped. Tomáš froze, patted his pockets, and put on an awkward, evasive expression. He started mumbling: “Oh, the money… Look, most of my funds are currently tied up in term deposits and my investment account, waiting for clearing, so I don’t have free cash in my current account. And besides—we bought that big bouquet of roses for seven hundred, so I thought maybe that could count toward the gift, right?”
I just stared at him in disbelief. The guy who’d spent the last hour preaching to the whole table about six-figure passive income and belittling everyone else for their salaries couldn’t pay three thousand crowns for his own grandmother’s gift—and tried to weasel out of it with a bouquet worth a few hundred.
I gave him a cold look and, without raising my voice, said: “Tomáš, ten minutes ago you were boasting in front of the whole family about paying for grandma’s chair. And now you’re telling me fairy tales about clearing and want to deduct a bouquet? Either you take out your phone right now and send me the money from whatever account you have, or we’ll go back to the table and I’ll tell grandma, mom, and father-in-law that the famous big businessman refuses to pay his share and left the rest of us to cover it.”
Tomáš turned pale instantly. The fear that his carefully crafted image of a successful rich guy would burst in front of the whole family was stronger than his stinginess. Without another word, he pulled out his phone, scanned the code with trembling hands, and sent the payment in silence. He didn’t even say goodbye, just grabbed his coat and left with a sour look on his face.
For our whole family, that was the final straw for Tomáš’s financial lectures. Ever since, whenever he opens his mouth at a party to show off about money or investments, all it takes is a meaningful look from across the table and a mention of the chair. He immediately goes quiet, because we all know that the loudest people about money are usually the ones who barely have enough to pay their own share.
