Chapter 2

Growing up, if there were ever discussion of

the one percent, not that that’s what we’ve always called those

privileged people in the world who have more money than most people

could even imagine, but if those discussions did come up I could

usually expect a long talk with my parents afterward. You see, my

family is not just part of the one percent. We are probably part of

the one percent of the one percent. My father came from an old

Virginia family that almost lost everything when they sided with

the North during the Civil War, but when that war was over, they

came back like gangbusters. My mother came from an old Maryland

family, who also supported the North in the Civil War. With a

shipping industry in Baltimore on one side, and a tobacco plant in

Richmond on the other, my parents’ families had made a fortune. As

time went on, those family businesses diversified. When my parents,

both only children and heirs to humongous fortunes, married, they

decided to combine their business interests. What is now Passenger

Industries (once again not the real name, but it does put you in

mind of it) is a conglomeration of two humongous corporations that

have diversified so much that if we lost both of them, all of our

other holdings could support me and generations to come without

ever having to earn another penny. So, you see, I am fabulously

wealthy. Thus the responsibility lectures from my parents.

First of all, let me begin by saying that

neither of my parents actually ran the companies they inherited.

They did what smart business people do. They stood as figure heads

and then hired amazing, and trustworthy, people to run the

day-to-day management of those companies, while they, my parents,

maintained controlling stock shares. Then they expanded all the

other smaller companies they had inherited, and bought or created a

ton more. For those smaller companies, they also hired talented

people. Frequently, if my parents knew of a worthwhile company that

was going bankrupt, they would go in and rescue it by either buying

it from an owner who didn't mind taking a huge sum for a failing

company and then staying on as CEO with a rather generous salary,

or for those owners who wanted to keep their companies, my parents

would buy in as partners. In both cases, they brought in

consultants who were great at making companies with potential grow

with a long-term plan. My mother and father believed in giving

people chances, and to be honest, there was always enough money

that if these investment companies still failed, which was rare, we

were still very okay, and in those instances my parents made sure

that the owners, and their employees were alright as well. Usually

in those rare cases when a failing company we bought out still

failed, we hired the employees in another company we owned. This

was part of the responsibility that my parents instilled in me.

“When you have a lot, it’s important to

remember that many people don't. It never hurts to help people,

Peter. We all need help some days,” they would say.

This was also why it was important to my

parents to keep controlling interest in Passenger Industries. They

made sure that the corporation offered good benefits, and great

wages. Every year we were highlighted in some magazine as one of

the best businesses to work for.

“Why should people be loyal to companies

that exploit them?” my father would ask. “When you are in charge

one day, Peter, we expect you to watch out for not only Passenger

Industries, but also for the people who make it up. If you take

care of people, they will take care of you.”

This philosophy carried on at home. Several

of our servants were people my mother met while volunteering at the

homeless shelter. Her personal assistant at work was a woman who

had been staying at one of the women's shelters where my mother sat

on the board, and our chauffeur was a man who had originally asked

my father for change at the airport.

I remembered this while leaving customs at

Dulles. A few minutes later, as I approached the rental car area, I

heard my father’s voice.

“Peter!” he yelled.

I turned to him, the way I always did when I

heard his voice behind me. In my mind, I must have known that he

wasn't there; although it's hard to believe that such information

could register in only a few hours. My heart had definitely not

registered anything. My heart is what turned my body to that voice.

My heart is what hoped to see my father as I turned.

It took a moment for my brain to catch up

and take charge. I looked behind me, my eyes trying to find my

father, when suddenly, they found someone else.