The Invitation Read: “Mountain Crest Resort — Daniel, Don’t Attend.” I Replied: “Understood.” The Day Of The Event, The Resort Director Walked Up To My Dad And Said, “Sir, The Owner Would Like A Word.” Then He Looked Past Him… And Pointed At Me. Dad’s Face Drained Of Color. Security Waited For My Instructions.

He wears suits that cost $3,000 and has photos with the governor on his office wall. And then there’s me, Daniel. The one who never finished anything.

The one who dropped out of law school after one semester. The one who started some internet thing the family never quite understood. At family gatherings, the introductions went like this.

“This is Victoria, our daughter, the heart surgeon.”
“This is James, our son, partner at Morrison and Wells.”
“And this is Daniel, our other son. He does website work… online stuff.”

The pause before my introduction always lasted two seconds longer than everyone else’s. I never corrected them.

Never explained that my internet thing was actually a SaaS platform for enterprise resource management. I never mentioned that I’d sold my first startup for $8 million in 2019 and used that money to build something bigger. I never brought up the fact that my current company, Zenith Solutions, was valued at $180 million and served clients in 14 countries.

I was watching, testing, waiting to see if anyone would ask the right questions. They never did. In 2021, I made an unusual investment: Mountain Crest Resort.

It was a luxury property three hours north of Seattle—fifty acres of pristine wilderness, a main lodge with 35 rooms, private cabins, a world-class restaurant, and event facilities that could host up to 300 guests. The previous owners were retiring. They’d listed it at $28 million.

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