The other parents at pickup were tech executives, entrepreneurs, venture capitalists.
They knew who I was now. The Phantom Investor had a face.
Some tried to pitch me in the parking lot. I politely declined and referred them to my website.
Others tried to befriend me, sensing opportunity.
I was cordial but distant. I had learned my lesson about trusting people who wanted something from me.
My children did not know about their father.
When they asked, and they did ask, I told them the truth in a way they could understand.
“Your father and I wanted different things,” I said. “He wanted to live in a world I did not fit into. So I built my own world. And that is where you live now.”
“Do we have a grandfather?” Lucas asked once, his serious eyes studying my face.
“No,” I said firmly. “Family is not about blood. It is about who shows up. And I will always show up for you.”
They accepted that. Children are remarkably adaptable when you give them honesty instead of fairy tales.
By the time they turned five, my net worth had crossed ten billion dollars.
Ten billion.
More than Arthur Sterling had made in his entire lifetime.
More than the Sterling family fortune, built over five generations.