The Billionaire Heir Who Had To Apply For A Pair Of Socks

I hadn’t asked my mother for money in three months. She must have thought I’d finally learned to be a good, obedient son, because a message arrived, dripping with condescension: “I’ve already had Richard pay the registration fee. Now be sensible. Stop trying to bleed the family dry.” “I know your father isn’t an easy man, but since you chose to live with me, you need to be on my side.” She didn’t know it yet, but I had already moved my residency. No one would believe that Noah Shawn, the supposed heir to the Shawn-Davenport Group fortune, owned nothing but the clothes his parents bought before their divorce. Three full years passed without a single new addition to my wardrobe. Every single dollar I spent in private had to be requested, debated, and approved through a ridiculous shared expense portal. Even the cost of a required school event uniform demanded an attached screenshot of the notice and a price quote. Every expenditure had to be vetted by my stepfather, Richard Hayes. My mother was perpetually convinced I was “working for the other side,” paranoid that I would sneak money to my father. A month ago, I needed a mere one hundred dollars for a prestigious regional Math Olympiad application. Richard rejected the request repeatedly. “Insufficient justification,” he wrote. “Why is this specific competition necessary?” “Wait for the end-of-month review.” By the time he finally clicked “Approved,” the registration window had closed. What my mother didn’t know was that I had endured those three years only for the residency status—the key to getting into a top-tier university in Boston. Now I had secured a full scholarship and early admission to Georgetown University. This “home” had served its purpose. I had no reason to stay. 1. I laid the photocopy of the residency transfer papers on the table in front of my mother. She was watching Brad, Richard’s son, play a video game. I recognized the designer logo tee Brad was wearing. I’d seen it in a department store window last week, the price tag pushing four figures. The faded sweatshirt I wore had frayed cuffs. “What is this supposed to mean?” My mother, Veronica, picked up the paper, her brows knitted in confusion. I said, calmly, “The residency is moved. I’ll be living on campus from now on.” Brad’s game sounds cut off. He blinked his large, innocent eyes at me. “Bro, don’t be dramatic. Mom’s just trying to look out for you.” Richard walked over, holding a fruit platter, and chimed in smoothly: “Noah, your mother works hard for her money. Brad’s sports training is expensive right now. We’re a family; we need to be considerate of one another.” It was the same tired rhetoric. For three years, every time I wanted something, I was met with this condescending “consideration.” “I’m not asking for permission,” I told my mother, meeting her eye. “I’m informing you.” Veronica laughed, a harsh, disbelieving sound. “Noah Shawn, you think your wings are fully grown? Without me, you won’t even be able to afford tuition!” “I have a full scholarship to Georgetown. Tuition is covered.” “As for living expenses? I’ll earn those myself.” “A scholarship?” She paused, then looked at Richard. “Is that true?” Richard’s smile faltered for a split second before he recovered. “Oh, Noah, why didn’t you tell us sooner? Look at the fuss this is causing… But even with a scholarship, living in D.C. is costly…” “I don’t need your money,” I cut him off. “For three years, every dollar I spent in this house required an application and approval. I had to justify why I needed a new pen.” “Meanwhile, Brad can just flash your corporate credit card and buy the whole lacrosse team smoothies.” My mother impatiently waved a hand. “Brad is younger, and he’s an athlete! He needs the right nutrition! How old are you, still whining about petty things?” “I’m not whining,” I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. “I’m leaving.” She clearly didn’t take me seriously. As I turned, she added, her voice cold: “Fine. Go on, then. Just don’t come back begging! Let’s see how long this rebellious streak lasts!” She expected me to fold within a few days, just like I always had. Like the time I wanted to buy a competition prep textbook and he rejected it, citing “pirated versions are online.” I swallowed my pride and rewrote a more detailed application in the portal. Like the time before that, when I needed money for a university research trip, and Richard claimed “those trips are a waste of money.” I had to ask my advisor to personally email him to prove its academic necessity. But now, none of it mattered. If that one hundred dollars for the registration fee had arrived on time a month ago, perhaps I would still be enduring this. But she hadn’t taken my call. I had written in the expense application: “Math Olympiad registration deadline today. Need $100 fee. Attached are the competition notice and the payment screen.” Richard’s reply: “Rejected. Please state the necessity and the projected benefit of attending this competition.” I resubmitted: “Winning this competition significantly boosts the odds for early admission programs. It’s critical for my applications.” He rejected it again: “Benefit not quantifiable. Please provide metrics.” The third time, I was practically pleading: “The teacher is waiting. Deadline is 5 PM. Can you approve it now? I will provide the metrics later.” Read. No reply. At 4:30 PM, he finally messaged: “Just checked with Brad. He says the Olympiad is mid-tier and suggests focusing on final exams instead. Concentrate on your schoolwork for now.” I ran to my mother’s home office. She was on the phone, waving me off, signaling for me to wait. I heard Brad’s whining voice from the receiver: “Mom, I need these new sneakers. I have a huge game next week…” “Buy them. If you like them, buy them,” my mother laughed warmly. “How much? Two thousand? It’s fine, Mom will transfer the money.” I waited by the door. When she finally hung up, I spoke, my voice hoarse. “Mom, the competition sign-up…” She glanced at her watch. “Ask Richard about those small things. I have a meeting in five minutes.” “But he…” “Noah,” she frowned. “You need to learn to be considerate. Richard manages this household, and it’s not easy. Everything he does is for your own good.” In that moment, I knew. Nothing I said would ever matter. 2. After I left the house, I didn’t go to my father. Three years ago, he cried, begging me not to leave him for my mother. I had said terrible things to him then. I was too ashamed to go back now. I settled into a sparse dormitory room at the university. My student advisor, upon hearing the situation, helped me secure a small grant and an on-campus work-study position. The library director patted my shoulder. “Noah, I heard. Don’t worry. Tell us if you need anything.” That evening, my math teacher, Ms. Peterson, called me into her office. “Noah.” She pushed up her glasses and took a piece of paper from her desk, placing it in front of me. I looked down and froze. It was the confirmation for the Math Olympiad. My personal information was filled out. The status read: “Paid.” “Ms. Peterson, this…” “I contacted the committee and pulled a few strings. I registered you myself,” Ms. Peterson said quietly, her eyes filled with a familiar, genuine concern. “I covered the fee. You don’t need to rush to pay me back.” “Thank you,” I choked out, my voice thick. “I promise, I will pay you back.” From that day on, I started a different life: Six AM wake-up call to work in the dining hall for a free breakfast; classes and study sessions; evenings working in the library shelving books; two hours of private tutoring after closing. It was busy, but it was real. No more writing those ridiculous expense requests. No more justifying why I needed a textbook, why I had to pay class fees, or why I wanted to attend a lecture. A month later, a text came from an unknown number: “Noah, it’s your mother. Richard says you blocked him? Stop being so difficult. Just come home. Your brother Brad even misses you.” I deleted the text immediately. A minute later, the phone rang. It was Veronica. I answered. “Noah, that’s enough. I had Richard put two thousand in your account. That should last you a while. Come home for dinner this weekend. There are no lasting grudges in a family.” I glanced at my laptop screen, where I’d just finished the final code for my first freelance contract—a job that paid three thousand dollars. “No, thank you. Keep the money.” I said. “I won’t be coming back.” “You!” She struggled to control her temper. “Where are you? I’ll send the driver to pick you up.” “I’m exactly where I need to be.” I hung up. Minutes later, a WeChat message from Brad: “Bro, don’t be mad at Mom. She really cares about you. Rich is just worried you’ll develop bad spending habits. Just come back. I got a bunch of new sneakers; I can split a pair with you.” Attached was a photo: his shoe closet, overflowing, brightly lit, a veritable shrine to materialism. I saved the screenshot. My reply: “Keep them. After all, your dad said athletes need equipment, they need the gear.” “I, however, have been used to wearing hand-me-downs for years.” Brad immediately replied with a string of crying emojis: “Bro, why would you say that? Mom will be so upset if she sees this…” Predictably, Veronica called again. This time, her voice was laced with fury: “Noah Shawn, what kind of talk is that to your brother? Brad was being kind, and that’s the attitude you give him?” “Was he really being kind?” I asked. “Mom, do you know my Math Olympiad registration was delayed until the deadline passed?” She paused. “What competition? Richard said it wasn’t a good use of your time…” “Do you know that for three years, I had to write an application in a portal just to buy a pair of socks?” “That… that was to teach you financial responsibility!” Her voice rose. “Are you blaming me now? I housed you, clothed you, and paid for your school! I did all that only to be proven wrong?” It was always this. Always. I was exhausted. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You will always think you were right.” Silence hung on the line for a few seconds. Then, her tone softened. “Noah, your mother is trying to make things right. Okay? I’ll have the finance department transfer your allowance directly every month, no more portal. Does that work?” “And you have your scholarship—what do you want as a reward? A new phone? A computer? I’ll buy it.” “Brad’s birthday party is next month. Come home. We’re family…” I closed my eyes. She still didn’t understand. She thought I was throwing a tantrum, demanding more attention, more material goods. “Mom,” I interrupted her. “I don’t need a new phone, and I won’t be at the birthday party.” “I just need you to understand this: Leaving this house was not a sudden impulse. It was premeditated.” “Three years ago, when my father begged me not to leave, and I chose you for the Boston residency, I knew it was a transaction.” “The deal is over.” 3. The next time I saw my mother was at a Georgetown University admissions and recruiting fair. I was there as a student volunteer, helping direct traffic, dressed in a simple white T-shirt and jeans—clothes I had bought with my own money. She arrived with Brad and Richard. Brad was applying for the D1 athlete program. When she saw me, my mother clearly froze. Brad spoke first, his voice sickly sweet. “Bro? What are you doing here? Working a side job?” Richard eyed my volunteer T-shirt, a flicker of something close to contempt in his expression, though his tone was genial. “Noah, long time no see. Helping out? Hope you’re not letting this interfere with your studies.” I ignored Richard and Brad, addressing my mother. “Can I help you?” Veronica’s expression was a complicated mess of surprise, annoyance, and perhaps… a touch of shame? She was silent for a few seconds before speaking in a low voice: “Brad wants to apply for the sports program here. We came to check out the details.” She paused, then looked up at me, her voice laced with a strange realization. “You… you really did get the scholarship.” It wasn’t a question, but a painful, late confirmation. Perhaps she’d known all along, but she’d never truly allowed herself to believe it. Richard’s smile was strained. “Noah is so accomplished. We would have thrown you a proper party if we’d known for sure.” But my mother suddenly remembered something, and her face clouded over. “That Math Olympiad you mentioned… Would winning have helped with the scholarship?” I said nothing. Brad panicked, tugging her arm. “Mom, let’s go to the advising table. We’re running out of time…” Richard quickly intervened. “It’s in the past, Brad. Noah’s doing great now. Let’s focus on your application.” But my mother stood her ground. She looked me in the eyes, her voice dry. “That competition… you missed it because the fee wasn’t paid on time?” Brad interjected quickly. “Mom, that competition was useless, seriously! None of my friends won anything…” “Did I ask you?” My mother’s tone with him was sharper than I had ever heard. Brad’s eyes immediately welled up. Richard stepped in front of his son. “Veronica, why are you yelling at Brad? He was just trying to support his brother!” I watched the unfolding drama, feeling only an immense sense of absurdity. “Does it matter?” I asked my mother. “I got the scholarship anyway.” She opened her mouth, trying to speak, but finally just sighed. “Noah, I didn’t know the competition was so important… Richard probably just didn’t understand…” “He didn’t understand?” I smiled. “Brad participated in the National Youth Track Meet last year. The registration and equipment cost five thousand dollars. You transferred the money that same day. Was that competition really more important than mine?” My mother was stunned. Richard’s face went pale. “Noah, how can you compare the two? Brad is a D1 athlete; that meet was vital for his future!” “And my competition wasn’t vital for mine?” I shot back. “Or is it that in your eyes, only Brad’s future is a future, and mine could be casually derailed?” People in the hall began to look over. My mother, mortified, hissed, “Take this home, Noah! Don’t make a scene here!” “Home?” I shook my head. “That’s not my home.” I turned to walk away, but my mother grabbed my arm. “Noah, I’ll make it up to you.” “What do you want? Study abroad? I’ll finance your entire graduate school!” “No need.” I pulled my arm free. “What I wanted was never any of those things.” 4. After the fair, my mother began to contact me frequently. Sometimes it was a text: “Noah, I passed that gourmet wing place you used to love. I bought your favorite flavor. Want to come pick it up?” Sometimes it was a call: “Do you need anything for your dorm? I can drop it off.” Once, she came directly to campus to see me, carrying several shopping bags. “This is the newest phone, and I bought you the highest-spec laptop,” she pressed the bags into my hands. “And these clothes—Brad says these are the brands young men like now…” I looked at the logos, feeling a profound irony. “Mom, do you know my clothing size?” She froze. “Do you know my favorite color?” “Do you know I don’t care about electronics as long as I can write code on them?” The expression on her face slowly morphed from hopeful anticipation to blank confusion, and finally, sheer embarrassment. “I… I could ask…” “Don’t bother.” I pushed the bags back to her. “Keep these. Give them to Brad.” She grew desperate. “Noah, I genuinely want to be a good mother! I ignored you before; I’ll change. I promise.” “How will you change?” I looked at her. “Will you split the love you give Brad in half? Or have you just suddenly realized that you have another son who needs to be cared for?” “Mom, I am not a child anymore. I don’t need your belated compensation.” She stood there, looking like a chastised child, though she was fifty years old. “What do you want me to do?” Her voice was hoarse. “Noah, tell me. What must I do for you to forgive me?” I stayed silent for a long time. “Mom, do you remember what my father told me the day I chose to move in with you?” She shook her head. “He said: ‘Noah, you chose her, so don’t regret it. But always remember, in another man’s house, you will always be an outsider.’” “I didn’t believe him then. I thought, She’s my biological mother. How can she be an ‘outsider’ to me?’” “But for three years, I lived in your house, spent every penny only after your husband’s approval, and had to write a justification for a fifty-dollar textbook.” Brad could use your card for anything, and I had to deliberate over the wording to buy socks.” “That’s when I understood my father was right. In the unit you, Richard, and Brad formed, I was definitely an outsider.” My mother’s eyes were red. “That’s not true, Noah. You’re my son. How could you be an outsider…” “Then why was Brad’s shoe closet bigger than my wardrobe?” “Why did his private sports coaching cost six hundred dollars an hour while my request for a fifty-dollar study guide was rejected?” “Why did he get to treat his entire class to a birthday dinner while I couldn’t get one hundred dollars for a critical competition?” Each question was a thrust of a knife. My mother could not answer a single one. “Mom, I don’t hate you,” I said. “You gave me the residency status I needed for Boston. That was the transaction. You kept your end of the bargain, and I paid the price with three years of forbearance.” “Now, the deal is over. We’re even.”