Fables of Fortune

by Richard Watts

  As we exited the suite and walked down the marble hallway, a man staggered through the door. Obviously very drunk, he was supported on both sides by two of the most gorgeous women I’d ever seen. My wife and I stopped in our tracks and stared as these six-foot glamazons propelled the slightly pudgy, middle-aged man down the hall and into one of the suites.

  “Included.”

  Was this member of the super-rich truly happy? He was drunk, unable to appreciate his fabulous surroundings. Instead of enjoying the wealth of true love and affection, he was seeking some semblance of happiness in the arms of prostitutes. Was this super-rich individual any happier than we were? Not at all. Jen later explained the story behind this lucky gambler was a life of incredible sadness. He had been married three times. The children of the first two marriages were not speaking to him. The son from his third marriage worked in his company and rarely showed up for work. Like his father, he spent much of his time in Las Vegas showing off how much money he could afford to lose. His numbing agent of choice was nose candy, which was a downgrade from his prior addiction to meth. Yet everyone in the hotel was trained to jump at the command of either one of them. “Money,” after all, is a respectable resume.

  HAVES AND HAVE NOTS

  Money opens doors to a world most of us will never see. A four-month wait for a reservation at one of the country’s top restaurants? Never. A single phone call guarantees a meal at the chef’s table that very night. “Sold out” never really means “sold out.” Front-row seats are instantly available for the right price. In material terms, the trappings of wealth are nearly limitless. If you can imagine it … and pay for it … it’s probably within reach.

  Late one evening, during the last leg of a personal vacation, my wife and I checked in at an expensive hotel in New York City. We were tired and wanted to get straight to bed. Unfortunately, we were mistakenly given the key to the penthouse.

  In the center of these exquisite accommodations sat a giant, king-size bed made up with the finest of linens and surrounded by antique French furniture. On top of the entire bed and all over the floor steamed a two-foot-high mound of freshly popped popcorn!

  The sight permanently twisted my conservative sense of romance. Nearly twenty-five years have passed since that night, but the smell of popcorn still evokes that memory. Like a couple of children walking into their parents’ bedroom at the wrong time, my wife and I dove for the door and closed it behind us. We were speechless. All I could think to ask my wife as we returned to the lobby was, “I wonder if it was buttered.”

  Super-rich people are good-looking, well-dressed, physically fit, smart, exciting, and fulfilled … or are they? Our society tells us they are. Be honest: Isn’t that what you think? According to Thomas Jefferson, every man and woman is entitled to “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” While the great majority of us are still mired in the pursuit, we observe the rich and believe they have already won the race.

  As we spy on the wealthy through the media or interact with the “haves” in our own lives, we receive a painful glimpse of our most private dreams and aspirations as they are lived out by others. In the marina, a tanned, glowing family may be laughing and smiling aboard the yacht you have dreamed about owning some day. On the garden tour you took last year, you sighed over the $10 million dream house you would have bought if you could. You would love to see the Eiffel Tower in Paris, but your ordinary life takes you on a business trip to Pittsburgh for your boss.

  While you fold your knees into the six inches of space between your airplane seat and the one in front of you, the wealthy family boarding the aircraft ahead of you settles into spacious, first-class lounge chairs on their way to Europe for a vacation. Or, more frequently, their Gulfstream jet receives priority clearance for take-off ahead of your commercial jet, heading off for a private island in the Caribbean as you panic about making your connecting flight. They didn’t have to strip down or be scanned by airport security. They have their own private terminal: “Have Nots Not Allowed.”

  Have your observations of the rich relegated you to a life of jealousy and envy? Do you feel “less than” because you lack the material trappings of the wealthy? When you daydream, are you caught up in what will be or what will never be? What would you give to join the ranks of the super-rich?

  REALITY CHECK

  For most of my career, I have dealt with families whose net worth is in the $100+ million range. I’ve observed when most people attain enough extra money to fulfill their basic needs, they form a new wish list. Too often, as the money flow increases, so does the scope and length of this wish list. “Wants” become “needs.” Before long, few recognize the difference.

  Those of us without the problem of excess money dedicate at least part of our lives to dreaming about one thing, the one item we are sure we need to make our lives complete. Most of us firmly believe a boat, a luxury automobile, an exotic vacation, a second home, a larger diamond ring, a new wardrobe, a remodeled kitchen, a swimming pool, breast implants, a healthy retirement income, or $100,000 cash in the bank will bring fulfillment and happiness. In reality, we may never attain that one thing. But hope is a powerful motivator. While we work to attain our dream we must make do with what we have; as we do so, life force-feeds us a realistic perspective.

  Although we may never be super-rich, we have moments … moments when we gain a little ground in the struggle, when we achieve a small victory, when the pressure lets up for just a second and we realize life is good. Everyone longs to be in that moment. But the super-rich, who live in that moment full-time, find it difficult to appreciate the privilege. They often miss the joy we find in everyday blessings: a healthy marriage, a close family, a position of respect in the community, a happy memory from childhood, or time with a few good friends.

  “Whatever!” you say. “My life is pure hell, and I never feel fortunate to be who I am. My days are filled with endless scheduling hysteria, I barely get enough sleep to wake up and start again, and I never have enough money to meet my family’s needs.”

  Granted, you may have only survived at times, but hold on to the truth that challenges and trials refine us. We become stronger and more resilient each time we come through a struggle on the other side. Simply because when we don’t have more, we can hope for a better future—an improvement over what is and a dream for what could be.

  After reading these stories, you might feel proud that the hard work and struggles of everyday life you face confer their own brand of personal satisfaction. It is not that the super-wealthy are unhappy all of the time. Nor is it my contention the poorest of the poor aren’t miserable. The rest of us fall somewhere in between. And from each of our individual stations we look over the fences of our neighbors and compare lawns. We disregard our own blessings and overlook the others’ negative attributes. Why? Because we think more is better. And more than anything, we desire more, believing it will make us feel better. It would. For a while.

  I have spent the last three decades managing the affairs of super-rich families. Together, we make crucial decisions about how to handle difficult family issues, after which I am directed to execute their wishes. Quite simply, if you are not related by blood, you can’t get to them without going through me. Lawyers, accountants, mortgage brokers, investment bankers, brokerage houses, real estate brokers, congressmen, senators, lobbyists, special-interest groups, contractors, property managers, landlords, corporate presidents, charities, salespeople of every variety, and occasionally the butler, chef, or gardener all want one thing: money. I am the last line of defense between the families I protect and the masses who want what they have.

  My training at Harvard Business School and my law degree mean little to my clients. They can buy and sell a pedigree with pocket change. The privileged, the haves of the world, hire me because I speak two languages: the language of the super-rich and the language of the working American. From the perspective of the super-rich, their world is civilized and ours is uncharted
wilderness. I am a scout. As Sacagawea guided Lewis and Clark into new, dangerous territory, I forge ahead to clear their way of unexpected complications, execute their directives, and minimize the contact with the outside world that often generates a significant amount of stress for them.

  At the same time, I have spent my career dealing with problems created by wealth. As a man of faith, I know true wealth does not come from money, and people in the most modest circumstances can lead wonderful and fulfilling lives.

  I also understand “normal”—our normal. Although today I am blessed with financial security, I remember what it is to be poor, to eat hot dogs and beans in order to survive until the next paycheck. I know what it’s like to make Christmas gifts from supplies gleaned from clearance bins at a craft store because money is too tight to buy presents at the mall. I know what it is like to be married with a child and one on the way, working full-time during the day and going to class at night. I know this life, too. Those were good times. I just didn’t recognize it at the time.

  That is why you can trust me to be your guide as we enter the unfamiliar world of the super-rich. We’ll experience shocking excesses and extreme sorrows along the way. It will be an exhilarating ride that will help you understand the meaning of true wealth. Shall we continue?

  CHAPTER TWO

  UNCOMMON LIVES

  Dave and I were talking about his plans to propose to his girlfriend, Annie. “It has to be something totally unexpected, something no one could pull off … something our grandkids will tell people about someday. Wait. How about the Eiffel Tower on New Year’s Eve?”

  I need to mention this was November 1999. Welcoming the New Year and the new millennium from the Eiffel Tower would be impressive, to say the least. “Great idea, but there’s no way to pull that off. Are you kidding?”

  Six weeks later, on January 1, 2000, I got a phone call from Dave in Paris. “She said yes!”

  “What?”

  “She said yes! And you have to hear the story.”

  As my friend began to tell the tale, I felt my jaw sliding toward the floor. Apparently, he found out the Eiffel Tower restaurant was hosting a New Year’s Eve dinner at $10,000 per couple. This was the most exclusive place in the world to have dinner at the turn of the millennium. Every table had been booked at least five years in advance. So Dave and Annie dressed to the nines and left their hotel in the early evening. Dave had hidden $10,000 cash and an engagement ring in his pocket. His mission was to gain entry and conquer the Eiffel Tower.

  When they reached the elevator, the security guard stopped them. “Sir, the Tower is closed for a private party tonight. I must see your passport to confirm you are on the attendance list.”

  “I don’t think I am on the list, but I’ll give you $500 to let me take my girlfriend up on the elevator and just walk around before the party starts.”

  The guard pocketed the money, and up they went. Once they reached the restaurant level, Dave and his girlfriend stepped out to enjoy the view. He slipped away to speak to the doorman at the restaurant. “Are there any reservations available for tonight?”

  The doorman could hardly contain his laugh.

  “Well, can I take my girlfriend in to see the restaurant?” Dave asked. With a $1,000 handshake, they were inside.

  As Annie walked around the restaurant, watching the staff set up for the night’s bash, Dave found the maître d’ issuing orders near the kitchen. “Do you have any tables left for this evening?” Dave grimaced.

  The man stopped, held up a dismissive hand, and asked Dave how he’d managed to get inside. Grinning, Dave spread his hands and revealed a roll of $100 bills (about $5,000 worth). The man’s eyebrows shot up. Dave mildly asked, “Couldn’t you just shove a little table over there on the side? We’ll sit anywhere. And we won’t eat much.”

  The maître d’ grabbed the cash and pulled over a busboy. Within seconds, Dave and his soon-to-be-fiancée were sitting at a table against the window, looking out over all of Paris, ready to attend the most exclusive New Year’s Eve party in the entire world.

  They partied with royalty from all over Europe, shocking and entertaining everyone they met with the unashamed story of how they had crashed their way into the party. They dined on lobster, Russian caviar, foie gras, and other delicacies prepared by Michelin-starred chefs. They sipped the finest wines and toasted the new millennium with Dom Perignon.

  At the stroke of midnight, Dave asked Annie to marry him, handing her a five-carat, custom-designed Neil Lane ring.

  After she said yes, Dave paid the bandleader $1,000 to play some current dance tunes rather than the orchestral stuff they had been playing. Then he grabbed the microphone and told all of his new friends Annie had agreed to marry him. The crowd cheered, and Dave dared them to join him on the dance floor. But there was no dance floor. Easy fix for Dave. Another $1,000 and tables were being moved to accommodate the crowd’s request.

  The party continued until 4:30 in the morning. They danced until they couldn’t dance any more. Then, with the last of his cash, Dave paid the kitchen crew to make breakfast for everyone. When the revelers began to stumble out the door, they each wanted Dave’s card and contact information. He made dozens of new friends and contacts that night. In fact, he has visited many of them over the past few years. They couldn’t get enough of the creative, fun-loving party crasher.

  Neither could Annie. They were married six months later. I guarantee their children and grandchildren will be telling that story again and again.

  Riches do afford uncommon access to remarkable experiences. The rich need only think of an adventure and they can make it happen. What fun! There is no denying it. But unlike my friend Dave’s experience, these opportunities are most often about things and places … not people.

  THE QUALITY OF THE ORDINARY

  When we think of a winter vacation, most of us imagine driving to the closest mountain range and checking into a modest hotel with our family. We spend the days hauling equipment up the mountain on creaky lifts and winging our way down the slopes with the frosty wind in our faces and a sense of great exhilaration. We spend the evenings ordering pizza and watching a movie, resting up for the next day of fun in the snow. After a few days, it’s time to drive home, telling stories about our most spectacular thrills and spills all the way.

  In contrast, the super-rich board their private jets for Aspen or the Swiss Alps, and their drivers ferry them to their own spectacular vacation homes. Others check into the Four Seasons or Ritz-Carlton for a week or two. Their skis are checked by the valet, waxed, tuned, stored, retrieved, and carried to the slopes each day. When they want lunch, snowmobiles are available to whisk them to a lodge that features a five-star meal and a famous “has-been” ski legend mingling with everyone as if he cared they were there. Then they spend their afternoons with a dashing ski instructor from Turin, Italy, who promises to make them ready for the next Olympics, so long as the tip is good.

  On their way to another gourmet meal, where the only sounds are the clinking of silver against fine china plates, perhaps the rich might pass the local pub, where the meek and mild hang out after an exhausting day of skiing. Happy hour means plenty of cheap beer and bar snacks. The room is crowded and noisy; the regulars openly mingle with strangers. In one corner, a group is howling with laughter over the story of one man’s close encounter with a tree stump and an errant ski pole. Another is celebrating the completion of his first black-diamond run. The off-key strains of “Happy Birthday” float in the air.

  Most of the super-rich would never contemplate stepping into a bar for a $2 beer and a few minutes’ camaraderie with a bunch of sweaty strangers. But in many ways, they may be missing out. Genuine friendship grows out of shared successes and failures. Isn’t it comforting to laugh when life’s wrestling match gives you an hour or two to rest before throwing you to the mat again? Those of modest means appreciate a reprieve from the workaday world and modest accomplishment. Our perception determines our p
erspective.

  SOMETIMES MORE IS JUST MORE

  Never assume the person doing something more expensive than you can afford must be having a better time than you. Sometimes more is just more.

  Often the wealthy have so many opportunities for pleasure they become easily bored with even the most remarkable experiences. Imagine learning the art of fly-fishing. The super-rich hire an instructor who schools them quickly in the skill of casting. A professional guide takes them to a stream in Montana or Patagonia, Chile, to a spot where the fishing is epic. The guide selects the proper fly for the water’s speed and clarity, the size of the fish, the time of year … and surprise! They immediately catch the limit their first time out! Challenge met. Fly-fishing is checked off the list. Another outing would be redundant.

  Compare that to the child who is taught fly-fishing by his father. Years of effort go into learning each nuance and skill. More years are spent finding the good fishing spots. Some are winners; others yield nothing. When is it best to go? What conditions favor good fishing? What bait is used in different conditions? How do you tie a dry fly as opposed to a wet fly? If we were to ask that fly-fisherman, “What do you know about fly fishing?” he would tell hundreds of stories about his adventures with his dad. His passion for the sport is probably contagious. Try to compare that lifelong passion to the most expensive guided fishing expedition money can buy.

  Years ago I decided to take each of my three sons on a once-in-a-lifetime trip when they reached the age of thirteen. Motivated by a desire to invest in memories to be revisited with my progeny for decades, we carefully planned every detail of our itinerary. I went all-out to give them the best experiences I could afford.