My guilty pleasure is about to pay off. But I'm not sure the spoils will be worth it
Filthy stinking rich. That's me. I'm loaded, baby.
Subscribe now for unlimited access.
Login or signup to continue reading
Sixty-million dollars. That's right. More moolah than Elon Musk earns in a day. Haven't even bothered checking my Powerball ticket in this week's draw. No need. Known for days it was a certainty. Hundred per cent guaranteed.
Expecting a call any moment. Probably the lotto's chief executive. Sixty-million surely warrants someone important. He's probably flat out counting my cash and organising one of those ridiculously oversized cheques I can be photographed holding.
Nice touch, though. No point being obscenely wealthy if nobody notices.
My little guilty pleasure of the past 40 years - buying a weekly lotto ticket - will finally pay off. Knew it would. Just had to be patient and ignore the boring mathematics. You know, the one in 134.5 million odds of winning.
Just checked my phone again. Nothing yet. The call could come at any time. Meanwhile, there's work to do. Sixty-million bucks won't spend itself.
First, the kids. Four of them. How much should they get? Five million each feels generous. Life-changing. No more mortgages. No more pretending supermarket home brands taste as good as the expensive stuff from artisan delis. Then again, is $5 million too much? They're already spoiled. Don't want to ruin them.
Make it three. But how far will that go these days? Their old man wins $60 million and only coughs up $3 million each? He can buy just about anything. But can he afford to be seen as a stingy bastard? Back to five. A third of the loot gone already. Bloody kids.
Then the grandchildren. Trust funds, for sure. Couple of million each for education and a future home. But not enough so they spend their days on yachts moored off Mykonos hobnobbing in expensive crumpled linen suits with the spoiled offspring of an oil-rich sultan while waiting for their next distribution.
Everyone needs to learn the value of money. My money.
Then the extended family. Tricky business, this. Brothers. Sisters. Nieces and nephews. And that bloke who cornered me at a funeral decades ago and said our grandmothers were second cousins once removed? Sorry mate. No point calling now. You should have kept in........
