When I was ten, my father, Edward, chose to marry again. Lynette, his new wife, brought her eight-year-old son, Henry, into our home. Just like that, we became what society kindly calls a blended family.
It looked like a perfect setup on paper: two sons, two parents, and one happy suburban home. But the truth was completely unique inside our walls. From the very first day, a hierarchy was set up. I was the responsible, independent person, and Henry was the youngster who needed constant attention, validation, and support.
This pattern set in early and stayed the same with tiring consistency. My father signed Henry up for guitar lessons right away when he said he was interested in them for a short time at age twelve. My dad said something else when I asked to join the school debate team when I was fourteen.
He told me, “You can figure things out on your own, son,” and then proceeded without hesitation. Henry acquired a new wardrobe each season, but I learned how to extend the life of my existing clothing for another year. They hired a private tutor for Henry for sixty dollars an hour to help him with his arithmetic when he had trouble with it.
I taught myself calculus by reading books from the public library. Lynette’s favorite saying, “You’ve always been so self-sufficient, Dorian,” made this okay. I never grumbled about the difference or threw a fit. I just watched, wrote down the information, and got used to the situation.
I had learned to expect nothing and get ready for anything by the time I turned sixteen. I got a part-time job at Best Buy, saved every dime, and paid for my community college before going to the University of Washington.
Henry, on the other hand, had all of his college costs covered. Thanks to Dad’s diligent financial planning, there was $35,000 waiting for him. Unfortunately, that strategy did not extend to his firstborn child. However, the pivotal moment that crystallized the dynamic occurred in December 2023.
I was thirty-two years old, had a satisfying job as a data analyst, and lived alone in an apartment on Capitol Hill. Although there was a history, I still returned home for the holidays because they were family. Henry, who was 25 and had been underemployed for a long time, had been dropping signals for months that he needed a car. He had to use Uber and ridesharing apps because his 2014 Honda Civic had finally died.
The usual showy commotion happened on Christmas morning. Lynette cooked her famous cinnamon pastries, the tree was perfectly adorned, and the gifts were neatly arranged under it. Henry’s pile was clearly bigger than mine, but that didn’t concern me anymore.
I had gotten everyone lovely, thoughtful gifts. For Dad, I got him a leather portfolio; for Lynette, I got her a silk scarf; and for Henry, I got him Bluetooth headphones because he was often grumbling about his noisy neighbors. Next, the big revelation started.
Dad and Lynette gave each other one of those knowing, smug grins that married people give each other when they are about to reveal a surprise. Dad took out his iPhone to record Henry’s reaction and said, “Henry.” “Why not look in the garage?”
Henry’s uncertainty turned into pure excitement when he opened the garage door and saw a brand-new 2024 Honda Civic parked there with a big red bow on the hood. It was a shiny gray color and had all it needed. He really cried. Lynette cried. Dad’s pride lit up the whole room. It was a lovely family moment that probably cost them $26,000.
I was the last one to go. Dad smiled and gave me a thin, flat envelope. “Don’t say we never give you anything, Dorian,” he said with a laugh. Inside the envelope was a single Powerball ticket, the kind you buy at gas stations for two dollars. A yellow Post-it note, featuring Lynette’s handwriting, was stuck to the ticket.
The note read, “Maybe you’ll get lucky, huh?” followed by a smiley face. Everyone in the room started laughing. Henry even joined in, saying, “Oh man, that’s perfect,” while wiping away tears of ecstasy.
Dorian has a lottery ticket, and Henry has a new automobile. They thought the difference was amusing. The older brother, who was responsible and independent, got a humorous gift, while the infant of the family got something that would change their life. I smiled.
To keep the peace, I even laughed with them. But that morning, something cold and heavy settled in my chest. It was a feeling that had been growing for twenty-two years. I took a mental note of this exact moment when I folded the lottery ticket and put it in my wallet. Which was more important, the car or the lottery ticket? The young person who shines brightly contrasts with the one who is often overlooked.
I put that event in a file with all the other little embarrassments and broken promises. What they didn’t know, and what they couldn’t have known, is that I never obtain rid of anything. In March 2024, three months later, I was cleaning out a desk drawer when I spotted the crumpled lottery ticket.
On impulse, I decided to verify the numbers. It was just an old habit I learned in data analyst school: always verify your facts. The first number was correct. The second one came next. My hands were shaking so much by the third match.
The winning combination from the drawing on December 26, 2023, had all six numbers in the right order. I had just won $134 million. I did nothing whatsoever at first. I sat in my flat for three hours, looking at that piece of paper and checking the figures on my laptop.
I looked at the official Powerball site, the Washington State Lottery site, and three news items on the prize that no one claimed. Every source agreed on what was impossible. I was the person in Seattle who won the largest lottery jackpot in state history.
The second thing I did was call my lawyer. I didn’t call a family friend or someone my dad could know. Instead, I got in touch with a corporate lawyer I had worked with on a freelance job two years before.
Jennifer Walsh was an expert in helping tech companies start out and secure their assets. She was careful, thorough, and reassuringly pricey. She was just what I needed. I said, “Jennifer, this is Dorian Thatch.” “I need to set up a blind trust right away.” “Like, right now.”
“Dorian? She said, “It’s Saturday morning,” and her voice was drowsy. “What kind of blind faith are we talking about?” I said, “The kind that wins the lottery.” There was silence on her end of the line for exactly five seconds before she went into work mode. “I’ll see you in two hours at my office.” Don’t sign anything. Don’t let anyone know. And for the love of God, don’t publish anything on social media.
By Monday, I had a legal structure that the CIA would be proud of. Jennifer was the public trustee, and I was the anonymous beneficiary of the “Cascade Holdings Trust,” which won the prize. Upon deducting federal and state taxes, the lump sum payment amounted to slightly over $72 million. I invested $65 million across three distinct companies in a portfolio. I kept $4 million in cash and spent the other $3 million on radically changing my life.
But getting rich fast doesn’t change you; it just amplifies your character. For twenty-four years, I had been careful, methodical, and diligent to see. Having money didn’t make me showy. It helped me plan. I kept my apartment on Capitol Hill, my 2019 Toyota Camry, and my freelance business. Nothing had changed for anyone around me, even my family. I remained the responsible and independent Dorian, earning a modest salary by analyzing data for small businesses and digital startups.
The only thing that changed was how safe I felt. I was not concerned about being able to pay my rent next month or whether I could purchase a new laptop if my current one broke for the first time as an adult. I had choices, I had power, and most importantly, I had time to think. It took three months for the inevitable to happen.
The Seattle Times had been running the story for weeks, focusing on the mystery winner who had not yet said anything about the $134 million jackpot. Local news outlets published stories about how “lottery fever” was taking over the city. People were guessing who might have won, where they bought the ticket, and why they didn’t want to be known.
My phone rang on a Thursday night in June 2024. The caller ID showed Dad’s name. “Hey, son, how are you doing?” “This was strange.” Dad usually only called when he needed to or to say happy holidays. He usually only sent short text messages. We said the usual kind things to one another. The work was excellent. The weather was like a regular summer in Seattle. I was in excellent health. Lynette’s voice joined the chat after that. They had me on speakerphone.
“Hey, Dorian, we were just talking about that story about the lottery winner,” she said. “Can you believe that someone in Seattle won all that money and hasn’t come forward yet?” I said, “Interesting,” and kept my voice completely neutral. “Maybe it’s best to stay quiet.” “That much money changes everything.” “Oh, absolutely,” Dad said. “But I bet they’re going crazy trying to figure out what to do with it all. “What do you even do with all that money?”
In the background, Henry’s voice could be heard. “I’d buy a house right away and get out of this tiny apartment.” That’s when I got it. They weren’t calling to talk about the news. They were catching fish. They had begun to wonder about their data analyst son, who never seemed to worry about money and always got what he needed without any drama or complaints.
“Well,” I answered gently, “I guess the person who won has some big choices to make.” “Speaking of big choices,” Lynette added with barely hidden excitement, “Henry has some news to share.” Henry picked up the phone. “Dorian, I asked Sarah to marry me last weekend. She answered yes. Sarah had been Henry’s girlfriend for two years and was a nursing student at Seattle University. She was a lovely girl, down-to-earth, and just the kind of person my chronically reckless half-brother would get along with.
I said, “Congratulations, Henry.” “That’s great news.” “Thanks, man,” he said. “We’re thinking about getting married in the fall.” Not too insane, but you know how these things go. “Venue, catering, and all of those things add up fast.” He stopped for a moment to make his point.
“We’re trying to figure out the budget,” and there it was. Why you really called. They had put the pieces together. A Seattle lottery winner is a mystery. Dorian is from Seattle. Dorian is a freelancer, although he never seems to be worried about money. So, Dorian must be the one who won the jackpot. Dorian would want to help his little brother start his married life right away if he suddenly became worth more than a hundred million dollars.
I told them, “I’m sure you two will work something out.” “Sarah seems like a planner.” “She is,” Henry said, “but you can’t plan too much when you don’t have a lot of money.” I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s time for me to seek help from my family. “You know, for something this important.” “That sounds like a talk for you and Dad,” I said to change the subject.
Dad said, “Actually, we were all hoping we could talk the matter over together.” This weekend, maybe? You may come over for dinner. We might talk about how the family could help Henry and Sarah as they start this new chapter. It’s not as if I had ever been asked for my opinion on family money matters before. It’s as if Henry’s need for guitar lessons, college funds, or a new car to replace his broken Honda had any bearing on my opinion. I said, “This weekend isn’t good for me.” “Pretty busy with work for clients.”
“Then the weekend after?” Lynette pushed. “Dorian, this moment is very essential. I could hear her voice getting more and more frustrated as she said, “Henry’s getting married.” They thought that right away people would be excited, offer to help, and maybe even tell me about my lotto victory. Instead, they were getting the same measured, noncommittal answers I had been giving them for years. I said, “Let me view my calendar and return back to you.”
I thought about my possibilities while I sat in my living room after I hung up. I could keep acting like I don’t know anything forever. I could tell the truth and watch them try to explain why they had been biased for twenty-two years. Or I could do something entirely different.
I opened my laptop and began writing an email. I did not intend to send it immediately; however, I wanted it to be prepared for the appropriate moment. One thing data analysis teaches you is that trends always come back. My family had made it clear that they prioritized Henry’s needs and wants over mine. They were about to find out what happens when that pattern eventually breaks.
They weren’t being subtle anymore two weeks later. Henry called me straight on a Tuesday afternoon. His voice had that old wheedling tone that I recalled from when we were kids and he wanted something. “Hey Dorian, I’ve been thinking about what we talked about with Dad and Lynette, like the wedding plans and all that.” “Uh-huh,” I said. “Listen, I’m just going to be honest with you,” he said. “Sarah and I have been looking at places to hold the event, and the prices are crazy. We absolutely adore the place, but they want fifteen thousand dollars simply to rent it, and that’s before meals, flowers, photography, and everything else. We might need to spend fifty thousand dollars on the kind of wedding Sarah deserves.
I didn’t say anything. I’ve found that when individuals are quiet, they say more than they mean to. Henry hurried to fill the silence and said, “The thing is, I know you’re doing well.” Your freelance work seems to be going well, and you’ve always been successful with money. I wondered if you could help us out. It’s not a gift or anything, unless you want it to be. Maybe it’s a loan? “We could pay you back over time.” “How much are we talking about?” “Why?” I questioned. “Maybe $25,000? That would pay for the photographer and the venue. I am responsible for the food, and Sarah’s parents are responsible for the flowers and her outfit.
$25,000. Henry undoubtedly thought this was a giant request, since it was a lot of money that had taken him months or years to save. It was less than what I had earned in interest the week before. But it wasn’t about the cash. The money had never been the point. “That’s a lot, Henry,” I said. “I know, I know.” I would only ask if it was vital. You know Sarah, right? She’s the one. And after all the aid Mom and Dad gave me over the years, I thought it might be time for me to be more independent. But my big brother helped me.
“Help from my big brother.” The irony was too much to handle. For twenty-two years, people told me I could take care of myself. Now, all of a sudden, I was supposed to be the family bank. “Give me a minute to think about it,” I said. “Really, Dorian, that would be wonderful,” he said. “I was nervous just asking, but I said I’d think about it.”
Three days later, Lynette called again. “Dorian, sweetie, I hope you don’t mind that I’m getting in touch with you directly.” He said he talked to you about the wedding,” I said. “He did,” I said. “I want you to know how much it would mean to him and all of us if you could find a way to help.” Henry has finally found someone who makes him happy and is good for him. Sarah is a lovely girl who is down-to-earth and realistic. “She is precisely what Henry needs.” “I know she is,” I said.
She lowered her voice and said, “The truth is, your father and I have been talking, and we realize that we may have expected too much independence from you over the years.” You were always so smart and able to take care of yourself. “Maybe we didn’t thank them enough for that.” This was a new area for us. Lynette had never come close to admitting how the family had treated me previously, but I knew what it was. Not real regret, but a planned move. They needed something from me right away, so my independence was suddenly a good thing, not just something that made things easier for them.
I said, “Thank you for saying that.” She swiftly turned around and said, “We’ve been wondering too, and please don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem very comfortable lately.” Not as worried about money as you used to be. Your dad said you haven’t asked to borrow anything in years, and you even paid for supper last month. There it was, the exact question I had been waiting for. I said, “Freelance work has been steady.” ” That’s great, really great.” And if your business has been excellent, that just makes us even more pleased with you. You’ve always been the one who takes care of things and works them out. Perhaps you can help Henry figure the issue out now as well.
I told them I would think about it again before ending the call. That night, I finished the email I had been writing and set it to send the next Monday morning. On Monday, at exactly nine o’clock, my carefully written message went to all three of them at the same time. The subject line was “About Henry’s request for a wedding.” The email was professional, precise, and completely heartbreaking.
I began by going over the family’s financial choices in order of when they happened, starting with when I was a child. Henry receives guitar lessons, but I don’t wish to join the debate team. Henry’s college tuition is fully paid for, while mine is through community college and student loans. Henry bought a car, and I made a joke about a lottery ticket. I added exact dates and numbers when I had them and precise quotes from talks I had documented in my personal journals over the years. I did not record these facts because I had planned this specific act of revenge; I documented them because that is how my mind functioned.
The email went on, “I want to be clear that I don’t resent these choices.” Parents decide what to do depending on what they think their kids need and can do. You always thought I could take care of myself, but you thought Henry needed more help.”
That assessment shaped how we spent our money for twenty years.” Then came the big news. “You gave me a lottery ticket for Christmas last December. You thought it was funny to compare Henry’s car to my two-dollar ticket. I thought it was intriguing. That ticket earned $134 million. I currently have about $72 million in assets after paying taxes and legal fees.
I let that soak in for a minute before I moved on. ” Henry has asked me to lend him $25,000 for his wedding. “This is about 0.03% of what I own right now. It’s just a rounding error in the money I make each month from my investments. The answer is no. The next part carefully laid out the reasons.
“This choice isn’t based on how much I asked for or how much I can pay. It is predicated on the idea that once patterns are set, they tend to stay the same. You taught me for twenty-two years that I shouldn’t expect aid, a safety net, or anyone to care about what I need or desire. You taught me to be self-reliant not because it was a beneficial thing, but because it was necessary.
I arrived at a clear conclusion. “I learned those things quite well. Henry is in charge of his wedding, just like I was in charge of my school, profession, and finances. I won’t be helping with the wedding, the honeymoon, or any other requests for help in the future. “This decision is final and cannot be changed.” The email also had a PDF attachment with photocopies of the original lottery ticket, the announcement of the winning number, and the official claim paperwork from the Washington State Lottery Commission. The attachment has the words “For verification purposes” on it.
I sent copies to all three of them, then shut off my phone and went for a long walk around Green Lake. I had forty-seven missed calls and over a hundred text messages by the time I came home two hours later. The trend had finally changed. Just like I thought, the first part of their response was disbelief, followed by desperate attempts to fix things. Dad’s voicemails went from shocked—”Dorian, we need to talk about this right away”—to begging—”Son, I think there’s been a misunderstanding”—to almost threatening—”This is family, Dorian.” “Family doesn’t leave family.”
Lynette’s texts were just ways to control her emotions. “Why are you being so mean to Henry? He is your brother. We’re talking about his wedding day here. Dorian, money isn’t everything. Henry went through the whole sorrow cycle in digital form. “Love and family should matter more than some old grudges,” he said. Denial: “There’s no way you really won that much money and didn’t tell us.” Anger: “You’re really going to let me have a hard time with my wedding because of some dumb thing that happened when we were kids?” “Look, forget about the twenty-five thousand. Could you just help with fifteen? Ten? Anything?”
I didn’t answer any of it. The calls, texts, and emails that got more and more desperate didn’t work. In that first message, I expressed everything I needed to say. Anything else would just be a comment. But I did see. And what I saw was very interesting from a behavioral analytic perspective. Henry launched a GoFundMe campaign called “Help Henry and Sarah Start Their Dream Life Together” within a week. The description was very well written to seem compassionate without giving away the humiliating truth. “We’re a young couple trying to plan the perfect wedding on a tight budget.” “Every donation, no matter how small, gets us closer to our dream day.” The campaign raised $1,247 in just two weeks.
Word was getting around in our extended family and social circles, but not because I said anything. It was just something they did. After getting a really intriguing call from Lynette, Aunt Rebecca contacted me. “Dorian, sweetie, Lynette told me the most amazing story about you winning the lottery. She looked really upset about something going on in her family. Are you okay? “I’m fine, Aunt Rebecca,” I said. “Actually, better than fine.” “She said something about Henry’s wedding and you not being able to help.” “I know there’s more to the story,” I thought. But I made it simple. “Henry and Sarah are the only ones who can plan Henry’s wedding. I’m not a part of it.
I had the same kinds of talks with family friends, old neighbors, and even Henry’s college roommate, who somehow acquired my phone number. Each call showed how the narrative was changing and spreading. In some stories, I was a rich man with no heart who had left my family behind to suffer. In other stories, I was the victim of years of favoritism and had finally had enough. As always, the truth was more complicated than either story.
Henry and Sarah had a little ceremony at a community hall in Ballard six months after I sent them an email. Fifty people came. There was a reception that included food. Sarah’s cousin took the pictures. Everyone said it was beautiful, private, and personal, and it was all about what really mattered.
The pictures I saw on Instagram showed Sarah and her cousin looking happy. I wasn’t invited, and that was fine with me. At the same time, I made the first big adjustment to how I lived. I bought a house in Portland. It wasn’t a mansion, but it was a lovely craftsman-style house in the Alberta area with a home office, a small garden, and most significantly, 280 miles between me and my family’s constant drama.
I also started the Thatch Foundation, which provides scholarships to first-generation college students from mixed households. These youngsters had learned early on that they could only count on themselves, and they had to be strong because they had to be. I understood the irony. I was utilizing Henry’s humorous gift to assist marginalized children, a service my family had never provided for me.
The first person to receive help from the foundation was Maria Santos, an 18-year-old from Yakima. Her stepfather used her college cash to pay for his biological son’s wedding. She wanted to work full-time and go to community college part-time until she could afford to go to a four-year school. I changed my mind about that strategy. She got a full scholarship to the University of Washington, as well as money for living and books. At the scholarship ceremony, she tried to thank me, but I just smiled and said, “Pay it forward someday.”
It’s been almost two years since that Christmas lotto ticket changed everything. Dad continues to send me birthday cards containing the same familiar sentiments, expressing his hope that I am doing well. Sometimes Lynette “likes” my LinkedIn posts, which I take to mean she’s trying to be kind. Henry and Sarah welcomed a daughter named Emma in July. Sarah’s mom posts images of her all the time on Instagram.
I still follow them on social media, so I know about Emma. This is not because I miss them or yearn for their return, but rather because I am drawn to patterns and eager to observe the development of this new generation. Will Emma be raised with the same favoritism that Henry had as a child? Will she find out that love has rules and expectations? Or will becoming a dad teach Henry something about fairness that his childhood didn’t? I hope it’s the latter for her sake.
These days, I help small non-profits and social service groups maximize the most of their work by applying my data analysis talents. The income isn’t great, but after accumulating about ten million dollars in assets, I no longer viewed money as my primary purpose. Now, purpose is more important.
I also started dating again, and her name is Jennifer Walsh. My lawyer, who later became my financial advisor, evolved into someone more intriguing. She knows that it’s important to construct anything slowly and deliberately, with clear rules and respect for everyone involved. She never asks about my family, and I never ask about her ex-husband. We both know that some stories are better left in the past.
Last month, Henry unexpectedly sent me an email. This time he didn’t want money; he wanted something that might be more valuable: recognition. He penned, “Dorian.” “I’ve been thinking a lot about our youth lately. Maybe it’s because Sarah is having a baby?
Maybe it’s because I’m finally becoming an adult? I know I had advantages that you didn’t, and I never thought about why or if it was fair. I apologize for that. I’m also sorry for how we dealt with the lottery. We thought you owed us something because we were relatives, but we never thought about what we owed you.
He didn’t ask to make up or fix their relationship. He didn’t say we should start anew or forget about the past. He just accepted reality and took responsibility for what he did. It was perhaps the most grown-up thing he had ever said to me. I haven’t answered yet, and I’m not sure if I will. Some apologies should be accepted, others should be considered carefully, and some should not be accepted at all. This one is in the middle.
I did keep the email, though. I put it among the lottery ticket, the Christmas photos, and all the other papers that show our shared past. Patterns are important, and the present may be the start of a new one or just another attempt to gain something from me. The future remains uncertain.
I know for sure that the two-dollar lottery ticket taught me something worth more than $134 million. It taught me that retribution isn’t necessarily the same as justice. It can look like lines at times. It may seem like building something new instead of pulling something down. And occasionally, if you’re really patient and very smart, it looks like watching people finally get what their decisions mean.
