“Mom, are you comfortable with the $8,000 Lauren sends you every month?” my millionaire son asked on Mother’s Day. I looked at the can of soup on my table and almost laughed. “Jared, I’ve been getting my food from the church pantry.” His face went completely blank. Lauren had told him I lived in a private senior residence. She had told him everything was taken care of. She had forgotten one thing: I had spent forty years auditing money.
Chapter 1: The Blood on the Altar of Illusion There is a profound, insidious danger in willingly stepping into a cage just because the bars are painted gold. You convince …
“Mom, are you comfortable with the $8,000 Lauren sends you every month?” my millionaire son asked on Mother’s Day. I looked at the can of soup on my table and almost laughed. “Jared, I’ve been getting my food from the church pantry.” His face went completely blank. Lauren had told him I lived in a private senior residence. She had told him everything was taken care of. She had forgotten one thing: I had spent forty years auditing money. Read More