The Dreamer’s Victory

He called me a dreamer. Now I own his empire. "You're a disgrace, Mark! A dreamer!"

My father's face was purple with fury. I was twenty, fresh out of college,

telling him I wouldn't join Miller Steel & Fabrication. My passion wasn't the clang of metal;

it was lines of code, building virtual worlds. "I'm making my own

way, Dad," I tried to hold steady. "Then make it somewhere else!"

he roared, pointing to the door. "Don't come back until you're a *Miller*

man." Bags packed in an hour. I left with a twenty-dollar bill,

burning resentment, and fierce determination. He thought I was nothing? I'd prove him wrong.