In my conversations with you, you tell me how you don’t have time to manage your portfolio. You read Richard C. Young’s Intelligence Report religiously and made copies for your daughter (you weren’t supposed to tell me that).
You’re on so many committees with this board and that group; they rely on you to keep their finances straight. You’re spending more time at your desk, you tell me, than when you were working. I get it.
“Where’d everyone go?” you asked. “You know the guys I trusted to get me to where I am? I relied on Dick Young. I’m stranded without a lifeline.”
“I can help,” I quietly suggest. “I’m here.”
“Did I tell you how busy I am?” you said. “How old are you?”
“51,” I said.
“You’re a kid. I’ve got positions all over the place. My cost basis is a nightmare. We’re talking the Reagan years.”
“Did I tell you I shared all the letters with our daughter?”
“Yes, you said that.”
“She reads everything. I think she likes you guys more than I do.”
Action Line: “Well, I think we’ve found our reason to work together,” I said. Let’s talk.
