Some failed.
A few succeeded spectacularly.
When he died, his estate was worth a little over three million dollars.
Everyone assumed that was roughly what remained.
They were wrong.
With help from his longtime adviser, Leonardo, I learned investing seriously.
I read reports, asked questions, sold land at the right times, reinvested, joined coastal development projects, bought into senior living, and funded real-estate-backed private loans.
I didn’t gamble or chase trends.
I let fifteen years of patience and compounding work.
By the time I purchased the villa, my net worth was just under fifty million dollars.
I didn’t feel rich.
I felt responsible.
Money gave me security, but it never changed my taste in coffee, made clearance racks offensive, or convinced me a six-hundred-dollar handbag carried belongings better than mine.
At first, I kept my finances private because I was grieving.
Later, I stayed quiet because I wanted to know whether people loved Margarita or what Margarita could provide.
