I thank her and walk to the conference room, reviewing the main points of today's meeting.
Remember, this is an ultra high net worth individual, I tell myself. I know that I have a golden opportunity to help this client grow his wealth and plan it accordingly.
I mentally review his portfolio performance.
I've spent the last week preparing for this moment. I suspect he'll want to discuss tax and estate planning as well, so I make a mental note to bring this up with the client.
And just as I enter the conference room, a secretary buzzes me on the intercom and alerts me that the client has arrived. "He should be there any moment," she says.
And true to her word, I see that he's not alone. With him is an entourage of lawyers. Serious looking men in black suits. They file into the conference room and begin sitting at the long mahogany table. I'm wondering to myself which one of these men is the client—could it be one of these serious looking men in a black suit?—when another, younger man enters. He's clean cut, handsome—wait… I know this man.
No way… This can't be! He's the man from the train. This is the billionaire client. He walks into the conference room with that million-dollar smile lighting up his face, when he turns and sees me. Our eyes lock onto each other with a knowing gaze.
Have you ever been so nervous that you felt your heart in your throat?
That's me right now.
164
Derek
"Mr. Lowell, beyond your portfolio's performance and the tax and estate planning concerns that we just discussed, what goals are the most fundamentally important to you?"
I nod my head because that's a good question. A lot of wealth managers seem to miss this. I'm trying to focus on her words—I'm trying to keep this all business—I'm trying to keep my eyes above her neck—but let's be honest; the image of us on the 6 train keeps replaying itself in my mind like a song stuck on repeat.
"Sure, let's break down these goals," I say.
I steal a quick glance at her breasts because I can't help myself, and I think back to her firm ass grinding into my lap. Sure, she made the first move, but I eagerly went along with it. Why did I do that? If you knew me, you'd know it's completely out of my character. I'm not in the habit of letting random, strange women grind all over me on the subway. How exactly did that even happen again?
My focus snaps back to the present.
Alicia continues, "Among the items we should discuss are: strategic use of credit, health planning, strategic philanthropy, investing for social impact, identifying your family needs and goals, and—"
I cut her off. "I don't have a family—not yet. I mean, I'm single."
She pauses for a moment before continuing. "Well, we can discuss your extended family as well. And beyond that, we should discuss the growth of your assets. Are you willing to seek higher returns if it means more assumed risk on your part?"
I try to analyze her question, but all of her words are getting jumbled in my mind. They no longer have any coherent meaning to me, and I can't help but notice a new look forming in her eyes. Is this a loaded question? I look around the conference table and see my lawyers scribbling notes into their yellow legal pads.
"Sure, I'm willing to take that risk," I say.
I think back to this morning and how I ended up on the 6 train in the first place. My limo broke down, and instead of calling a cab, I thought I'd change things up. If I hadn't made that decision, I would never have met Alicia.
And now that I'm looking at her again, I realize just how much I admire her. It takes a good amount of confidence to approach a man like that on the subway, and then to manage ultra high net worth clients for her day job—well, that takes a level of financial savvy that a lot of people don't have. I can appreciate both of those things in a woman.
"I think we should take a quick break and resume this meeting in 15 minutes. Does that sound good to everyone?" Alicia asks.
I nod my head and the lawyers all agree in unison. I watch as Alicia steps into the hallway, and I slip out to join her.
"Wait," I say. "Now that we have a moment to ourselves, I just wanted to say—about this morning—"
"Why didn't you tell me?" she snaps, cutting me off. I can see anger flashing in her eyes and it catches me off guard.
"Tell you what, exactly?"
"Why didn't you tell me you were a billionaire?"
"And how should one go about telling strangers on the subway that they're a billionaire? Should I just wear a name tag that reads, 'Hello, My name is Derek and I'm a billionaire?'"