asset.
Neither was the emergency account.
Several years earlier, after my father’s restaurant failed, I had started buying small commercial properties.
One became two.
Two became five.
Eventually, I built a modest portfolio.
I had never talked about it much because whenever I mentioned work, my father dismissed it.
“It’s just paperwork,” he’d say.
My mother used to joke that I “pushed papers around for a living.”
They had no idea.
By the time Madison’s wedding approached, my company owned several commercial buildings.
I wasn’t wealthy enough to buy yachts
