“So, there's this thing called a shark tank, and I want you to know my grandfather isn't going to throw your grandfather into one.”
Nine-year-old Vertran Stepforth was discussing his research in Investopedia after talking with his grandfather, billionaire Thomas Stepforth Sr., with his neighbors the eight little Ludlows, and so they were learning about family and friends, angel, mezzanine, and venture capital levels of financing.
But learning is different for different people. The three oldest, Eleanor (11), Andrew (10) and Glendella Ludlow (10), were actually learning what Vertran was talking about, but eight-year-old Edwina fell out laughing.
“You better be glad your Pop-Pop is smart!” she said. “Like our Papa wouldn't have taken all his shark pets from him over our inheritance!”
“The sharks, the tank, the water – all of it, gone!” nine-year-old George said. “Papa does not play about us!”
“Well, you know, they aren't actual sharks,” Vertran said as Andrew put his head in his hands.
“Look!” Edwina said. “At least sharks have a few rows of teeth to work with – humans?”
She broke out laughing again.
“Yeah, uh,” seven-year-old Amanda said, “you should probably know that there were a whole bunch of foster parents and stuff that tried to keep money coming in off of us, and they were glad to go to a prison to be safe. Anything having to do with us, Papa gets kind of rough about. Remember when he lifted the whole defendant's table that one time and scared those folks into changing their whole case, Mandie?”
“Yeah, that was hilarious,” Edwina said. “They thought they were so big, bad, and bold until they met somebody that could take a whole table and beat them up like they were beating me up with hangers – I guarantee I was never as afraid of them as they were of Papa at that moment!”
“And, he told them that to their face,” Amanda said. “Some stuff about he got PTSD just thinking about what had been done to Eddie – they changed their plea and got to prison in a hurry!”
“I was there too and I woulda helped Papa, but I was young then and didn't know what going on,” five-year-old Lil' Robert Ludlow said. “But if I had been four then, I woulda helped him!”
“Y'all should have picked me up first, and we coulda done that with a crane,” six-year-old Grayson Ludlow said. “Just needed enough Lego engines and enough rope.”
“Um,” Vertran said.
“I'm sorry, man – I'm so sorry,” Andrew said. “Here you are telling us how the world works, and we went somewhere else!”
“Yeah, but, getting back,” Glendella said, “isn't there something called a private placement level? I think that's how Uncle Tarquin is going to buy what was the Ludlow Winery back from Papa so that our branch of the family that had it can have something to do again. Not that Uncle Vanderbilt needs something to do – he can always take more time with Aunt Susanna because cancer even after it's over is kinda rough – but some people in the branch I'm from really do rent out their idle minds to be the devil's workshop, so they need to have something to do.”
“Yes, but that's not really a level because that can happen at any level of financing,” Vertran said. “You can always make private custom deals with willing folks. It's a safer way of doing big business if you are in the right circles, but hard coming in from outside. My grandfather couldn't get many of those kinds of deals in Lofton County as a Black man way back when, but then the Black Loftons in Washington D.C. noticed him.”
“Wait, what?” Eleanor said. "There are Black Loftons?"
“Yep,” Vertran said. “General J.J. Lofton's son had a child by a slave, and Gen. Lofton did what he said he would. He never owned slaves, and actually ran Fruitland as a stop on the Underground Railroad. He told his son that if he ever raped a slave, he would give everything he owned to the child of the slave instead of his son. Colonel Frederick Lofton got drunk and forgot what his father said one night in 1848 … and so Frederick James Lofton, to be the richest of them all, was born on May 14, 1849. But of course, he couldn't be that rich around here and live, so his grandfather left Fruitland to his brother Major Jonathan Lofton, and left everything else he owned around the country and the world to his Black grandson, who settled in Washington D.C. The Black Loftons have the kind of money now that you have to count it like Rob here does.”
“One, two, skip a few, a zillion!” Lil' Robert offered.
“So, that's where Pop-Pop learned about private placements and such, and never even thought about becoming a shark when his turn to be a billionaire came," Vertran said. "His own goal in getting rich was to pay it forward, like the Black Loftons have done. He doesn't discriminate, meaning he's not going to shut y'all out of a good deal because you Ludlows are white. We don't pay bad things forward.”
“Like I said, you oughta thank God your Pop-Pop worked that out before meeting Papa!” Edwina said. “Papa is not the one, the two, the skip a few, or the zillion for the foolishness!” Edwina said.
“Yeah,” George said. “Papa really doesn't care about how much money anybody has – he's just not with the foolishness when it comes to the Ludlow Bubbly because that's going to be the base of our inheritance. I mean, he doesn't take foolishness off of us-- I've been grounded enough times -- so he definitely isn't taking it off anyone else about our stuff.”
“Like that time folks drove our soda into Lake Esmeralda and wished they had gone off in there with it!” Edwina said. “Woulda been better off with the sharks in there!”
“Um, Lake Esmeralda is man-made and I don't think there's ever been sharks in there,” Vertran said as Andrew put his head back into his hands.
“Well, they coulda put some in and still been happier!” Edwina said as she rolled laughing again.
Later on, Vertran went and talked with Mr. Stepforth about this.
“I see why you don't do venture capital for another reason, Pop-Pop,” he said. “As a Black man, you being a shark would have been inviting serious violence – we're not protected like others are, and there are some people out there who will get crazy over their businesses.”
“And Capt. R.E. Ludlow is definitely one of those,” Mr. Stepforth said. “He especially, being the son of Edwin Ludlow, with all that Lee, Carter, Bolling, and Slocum blood back there too – and Lees were noble back to the time of Richard the Lionhearted – would not take that off of me. Edwina, his granddaughter most like him, instinctively knows this. Not that Capt. Ludlow is not doing well in recovering from being a racist, because otherwise my billionaire status would offend him too much. But it's all still back there and can be triggered, and, he's a 33-year military veteran. He knew what he was doing when he lifted that table at the courthouse – he could have hauled off, called it PTSD, and walked away after treatment, and he knows that. That is an exceptionally dangerous man, although credit where credit is due: he didn't haul off on those folks. But even the possibility, even after all this time, is why your Trent uncle cousins keep drilling with their Jubilee-of-the-mountain inheritance.”
“Yeah, Uncle Vincent and Melvin and now Vanna stay practicing with their guns, and they've even pulled Aunt Melissa in and you know she used to hate that stuff,” Vertran said.
“Remember this, Vertran. You never know when you are dealing with a veteran with serious PTSD until he or she tells you or you find out the hard way. But at all times, you never know who you are dealing with until you humiliate them or mishandle what they think is most valuable. The killer can come up out of anyone, under the wrong circumstances.”
“So, let's just treat people right,” Vertran said.
“Exactly, grandson,” Mr. Stepforth said. “Doing the right thing protects us from a lot of bad outcomes.”