Mom Said “You’re Just A Stock Broker” Until Wall Street Needed Their Youngest Billionaire
Dad’s phone buzzed yet again. He ignored it. The man who used to answer every business call mid-sentence now couldn’t seem to look away from his own daughter.
“What do we do now?” Mom asked softly. “Where do we… go from here?”
“You continue your lives,” I said. “I continue mine.”
“That’s it?” Marcus demanded. “You just drop the billionaire bomb and walk away?”
“The money doesn’t change who I am,” I said. “It just reveals who you are.”
Silence.
After a moment, Marcus picked up his phone again. “My boss wants to talk to you,” he said.
“The same boss who told you ‘stocks are a casino’ and ‘real estate is king?’” I asked.
“Yes.”
“No,” I said.
“You don’t even want to hear—”
“No,” I repeated. “My client list is closed. And even if it weren’t, I don’t take on people who only respect what I do after CNBC tells them to.”
He stared at me, then let out another shaky laugh. “You sound like every article I’ve read in the last fifteen minutes,” he said. “‘Exclusive.’ ‘Elusive.’ ‘Invitation-only.’”
“I wrote my own rules,” I said. “It’s one of the perks of not working in ‘brick and mortar.’”
Dad cleared his throat. “Would you—” He hesitated. “Would you ever consider… investing in the family business?”
Mom jumped in. “We could expand. Buy more property. Develop new sites. With your capital, we could—”
“No,” I said.
Dad flinched. “You didn’t even let me—”
“I heard your offer,” I said. “My answer is no.”
“Why not?” he asked, voice thin.
“Because it’s a bad investment,” I said.
He stared at me like I’d insulted his religion. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not saying it’s a bad business,” I said. “You’ve built something solid. Conservative leverage, stable cash flow, decent returns. But decent isn’t what I do. Twelve percent over five years is considered outstanding in real estate. For me, that’s—” I shrugged. “It’s noise.”
Dad swallowed. “Twelve percent is very good,” he said stiffly.
“For you,” I said gently. “Not for me. Not for my clients.”
“We’re your family,” Mom said.
“Which is exactly why I won’t make a charity investment,” I said. “You spent seven years telling me your way was superior. You don’t need my capital if real estate is as unbeatable as you say it is.”
Marcus’ eyes flicked between us like he was watching tennis.
“What about me?” he blurted. “Would you… hire me?”
All three of us looked at him.
“I’m serious,” he said. “You said I was good. Organized. Detail-oriented. That wasn’t sarcasm, was it?”
“No,” I said. “You are good. You understand property markets, financing, deal structures. I’ve been considering launching a REIT division, primarily to structure some of my existing holdings more efficiently. I could use someone with your knowledge.”
He stared at me like I’d just told him he’d won the lottery. “What… what would that look like?”
“Two million base,” I said. “Eight-figure upside. Full benefits. Equity participation.”
Dad actually choked on his wine.
Marcus’ face went through several shades of shock. “Two… million… a year,” he repeated.
“Plus bonuses,” I said.
Mom’s eyes filled with tears. “You’d do that for your brother?”
“It’s not charity,” I said. “I’d be paying market rate for top talent. If he performs, he stays. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t. That’s how my world works.”
“And I’d be…” Marcus swallowed. “Working… for my little sister.”
“Yes,” I said. “That may be the hard part for you. So you should think about whether your ego can handle it.”
“I…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I need to… think.”
“The offer expires when I leave tonight,” I said. “Time is my scarcest asset.”
“That’s not enough time,” Mom said.
“It’s more than I get when a market dislocates,” I said. “He’s a big boy. He can decide.”
No one spoke for a long moment. The TV kept chattering about me. My phone continued buzzing. The salmon got cold.
Finally, I pushed my chair back and stood.
“I need to go,” I said. “Security says there are reporters outside my building.”
“Your building,” Dad said faintly. “That… you own.”
“Yes,” I said.
“My god,” Mom whispered.
I laid my napkin down next to my plate. “Thank you for dinner,” I said to her. “The salmon was excellent.”
“Jamie, wait,” she said, standing so abruptly her chair tipped, then righting it with trembling hands. Tears clung to her eyelashes. “We… we’re sorry. We really are. We didn’t understand. We should’ve listened. We should’ve… believed you.”
“I never asked you to believe in billions,” I said. “I just wanted you to believe me when I said I was okay.”
“We were scared,” Dad said. “We wanted security for you.”
“You wanted familiar for me,” I said. “There’s a difference.”
“Can we start over?” Mom whispered. “Please? Can we… learn who you actually are?”
I looked at my parents. At my brother. At the table where they’d spent an hour telling me I was failing at life because I didn’t own a building or a German car.
“The money doesn’t change who I am,” I said softly. “It just changed what you see when you look at me. That kind of vision problem doesn’t go away overnight.”
“Is this it, then?” Marcus asked. “You just… walk out and never come back?”
I sighed. “No,” I said. “We’ll still have dinners. You’ll still complain about my schedule. You’ll still tell me real estate is better than stocks. The difference is, next time you start to lecture me about ‘building wealth,’ you’ll know exactly how ridiculous it sounds.”
Dad winced.
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