Eddy did.
Her hands began trembling.
“Sam… this is… Oh my God…”
“What is it?” Marta demanded.
Eddy turned the envelope toward them.
Inside was the deed to a fully furnished three-story brownstone in Tribeca worth about $4.5 million.
The room fell silent.
Farlow stared at me.
“You’re poor. You rode a bus here. You’re wearing old clothes…”
“Exactly,” I said calmly.
“I wanted my son to be loved for who he is, not for what he’ll inherit.”
I removed my worn jacket, revealing a simple but very expensive shirt.
“I invented an industrial sealant twenty years ago,” I continued. “It’s used in aerospace and automotive manufacturing.”
I paused.
“My net worth is somewhere north of two hundred million dollars.”
Marta stood frozen.
Farlow slowly set down his glass.
“We live in a mansion in New Hampshire. Will drives that old Civic by choice. He’s been ‘poor’ at Yale so he could find real friends—and real love.”
I looked directly at them.
“Not people who see him as a walking ATM.”
“You… you tested us?” Marta whispered.
“I did,” I said. “And you failed spectacularly.”
