At dinner, my sister threw water on my pregnant wife’s dress and sneered, “Don’t sit there, that’s my spot.” My mom laughed, “Pregnancy makes you clumsy,” while my dad sent her to eat in the kitchen. My wife silently grabbed her coat. I grabbed my keys—and called the travel concierge. “Cancel the first-class flights and VIP Mediterranean cruise resort.” On Monday, my family arrived at the airport with designer luggage. Then security escorted them out.

I didn’t pace the room. I didn’t pour myself a drink to calm my nerves. I sat down at my massive mahogany desk, booted up my encrypted laptop, and pulled my phone from my pocket.

My family believed they were royalty. They genuinely, arrogantly believed their upcoming Mediterranean cruise was a testament to their own inherent superiority and class. They conveniently forgot the reality of their existence: I had paid the $150,000 for the first-class Emirates flights, the VIP Owner’s Suites on the Royal Caribbean liner, the private shore excursions, and the black-car service to JFK airport.

 

I dialed the dedicated, 24-hour hotline for the exclusive Platinum Travel Concierge service that managed my corporate and high-net-worth personal accounts.

“Good evening, Mr. Vance. This is William. How can I provide exceptional service for you tonight?” the concierge answered smoothly on the first ring.

“William,” I said, my voice echoing coldly in my silent office. “Pull up the European itinerary for Richard, Eleanor, and Vanessa Vance.”