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Audrey's Valentine's Day

Audrey in her jeans, and Tutor in his priest pants are sitting cross-legged on the stone floor of her bedroom in The Castle making hearts from red construction paper. Audrey is signing in magic marker with a big A and XXXX for kisses. She has cards now for Big Momma, of course, Tutor, Rex, and Cook. Tutor says to make one for Cook’s cat, Zephyr, but Rex hates that haughty cat. So a discussion ensues on ethical theory. A compromise is reached with Tutor adding T and XXX to Zephyr’s card. Master Jack, Big Momma’s Most Trusted Advisor, is another matter. There will be no card for him this year. Last year, when Audrey presented him with a big red Valentine with lace and a ribbon on it, he took it, then, drew back in horror. He exclaimed, “I cannot possibly, as your Fiduciary, accept a Valentine, much less one, apparently, with kisses. It would be a violation of my moral code as Mentor to Heirs. It would violate both the terms of my ADV II, and also my E and O policy. How is it that I have even touched this vile card? I must destroy it immediately! Let us agree, Audrey,” he added, ripping the card in fragments, “that there was no card and we never had this conversation.” When Tutor suggests maybe giving Master Jack a second chance, Audrey says, “F him!” Tutor has his work cut out for him as the Morals Tutor to the World’s Wealthiest Kid.

The Good Prevails on Halloween at the Castle

Some killjoy servants to wealth, who got no candy on Halloween, and didn’t give out any either, private messaged me to ask if Audrey got honored for giving back what she had pillaged from the downtrodden waitstaff.

Honestly, she did and she deserves it, too. Yes, she extorted the candy at sword-point, but it was all in fun, and she could have kept all the candy. Instead, she gave it all back, giving the most to those who need it most. The waitstaff hoisted her onto the big trestle table in the servants’ kitchen, and raised a hearty cheer for our once and future Queen. She is back to Joan of Arc, The People’s Queen to Be.

Is this not our ideal outcome? If we are to be ruled by buccaneers and their heirs, wouldn’t it be best that they be generous with their ample gains? Not all will be. But Audrey is. We must work diligently to help Big Momma bankrupt, buy out, or roll up, all Contenders and Pretenders. Rally, all ye Wealth Advisors for the greater good! One World, one Market under God, one Heir! Let us just make sure the heir who prevails in the war of all against all is a good kid, our Audrey, who at this moment has tied Cook’s Siamese cat, Zephyr, in a pillowcase and put her into the washing machine on spin cycle. But that is another story, and The Happy Tutor will treat it as another teachable moment. Audrey isn’t perfect; in fact she is a hellion, but she is the best available option. Surely, we can all agree on that much. 

Halloween at The Castle

Audrey, the world’s wealthiest heir, she who will own, rule, and save the world,  went as Joan of Arc last year. She kept the sword and went this year as a Pirate extorting treats from the minimum wage wait staff at swordpoint. Who said life is fair? “The strong prevail,” Tutor explains in his best insane news announcer voice,  “and the weak perish.” “But that is wrong,” says Audrey. She has taken the fearsome Pirate mask off, and is redistributing her booty to those those retainers most in need of candy and nuts. She is a good kid. We as a nation, planet, and species are in good hands. 

Opportunity Cost of an Oxbridge Arts Degree?

Per The Economist, the lifetime opportunity cost of an Oxbridge arts degree, as opposed to an Oxbridge Econ degree, is 500,000 pounds Sterling. In The Happy Tutor's case, he computes his own forgone earnings since the Renaissance at well over 2 b pounds Sterling. Yes, that is offset by the great intangible value of the wisdom literature with which his Dumpster is well provisioned. As Morals Tutor to the world's wealthiest, he computes that the money he has lost is offset, in the larger view of things, by the value to the body politic of the wisdom that he has passed on to Kings and Queens, Senators and Fine Ladies, Builders of Empires, Presidents and their Heirs, and most recently our once and future Queen, Audrey, she who will inherit a controlling interest in the World's Stock and Trade. "When money is the measure of all," says Tutor, "Wisdom goes for a bargain  price." The Holy, like Tutor, take vows of poverty, which helps when working with the wealthy who pay only for Results. As for chastity in Wealth Bondage that too comes at a price. No moral judgement here. Wait! Wisdom is free for a moment. May I get you towel? 

Lessons from the Sordid Lady Ghislaine Maxwell Saga for The Most Trusted Advisors to Dynastic Wealth

Dearest Jack (not your real name, nor your actual gender of choice, nor actually a friend of mine since the work we do is both beyond reproach and highly confidential),

 

As a Fellow Oxonion (not your real College) thought you might find this interesting: Jeffrey Epstein ‘Friend’ Ghislaine Maxwell Has More Skeletons in Her Family Closet Than a House of Horrors. I certainly found it of interest from an Oxford perspective. Certain people, whether noble or just wealthy inheritors, or up and comers like young Clinton or Boris, so smart, educated, and privileged that they create a world above the world for only their higher kind to live in. C.f. Dr. James Grubman’s Island of Wealth (Strangers in Paradise: How Families Adapt to Wealth Across Generations) where the best and most accomplished people, meaning the richest, emigrate from the old country of dreary toil and middle class manners, mores, and scruples. Those entering wealth island must stay on wealth island, for to be sent back to where the rest of us live is disgrace, like being rusticated or "sent down" from Oxford, as you can very well understand, Jack (not your real name, or preferred gender, nor did you go to Oxford, and were sent down as I recall from Cambridge, actually - not). 

 

Audrey, our once and future Queen, who shall inherit 51% of the world economy, might well go to Oxford, too, as did Tutor, in the Middle Ages, which were a lot less Dark, let alone Barbaric, than now.  Audrey, too, like maybe Ghislaine, has Real Dad issues.

 

That reminds me, George Eliot wrote a great work of philosophy, Romola, disguised as a novel. In it Tito Melema, a bright lad without a character as yet formed, is washed up on the shore of Florence in the age of Machiavelli, who served as Most Trusted Advisor, for a time, to the Medici Family. An opportunist, as we all are, and as we should be, since what else is there but getting ahead and staying ahead, Tito becomes, bit by tiny bit, a moral monster. 

 

Mentoring Audrey, who is now trying to clip Rex’s nails with Big Momma’s nail clippers, is humble work on which the future of our world depends.

 

Tutor is confessing to himself his own sins, as best he can. It may not be a valid confession, but with no other priest in the Castle, it has to do. As Audrey chases Rex around her room, and Big Momma bankrupts Brazil, Tutor is lounging on the floor of Audrey's bedroom, mentoring or babysitting, by just leaving his charge alone, his feet propped against the wall, repenting himself of the thousands of wealthy young women who, back in the day in Wealth Bondage, when he was Dungeon Master to the Stars, he took such pleasure in disciplining for their moral instruction and delight.

 

And, what does Tutor repent? His own pleasure, yes; he should not have gotten so carried away. A Dungeon Master must first master himself if he to master the Wealthy. But more than that he repents himself of their pleasure. An artist must, per Horace, "delight and instruct," but the shrieks of giddy delight. How was that helpful, really?

 

Meanwhile, Audrey has wrestled Rex onto his back, all four paws meekly raised. "Good boy, Rex," murmurs Audrey. And he is a good boy. Audrey rescued him from the so-called "Shelter." He owes his life to her. He would lay his life down to protect her against all harm. "May these tender moments form her soul," says Tutor to himself, "then we might send her to Oxford without risking her immortal soul." 

Should Audrey be allowed to go trick or treating tonight by helicopter?

Generally, I would say yes, but she wants to go dressed in a blue blazer, as Master Jack, offering moral advice to the kids in the neighboring castles. "Be good and never do wrong and give me some candy" is how she puts it. I somehow don't think this is a good idea. Maybe when she grows up and becomes a Most Trusted Advisor in her own right. But now it might only serve to call our Noble Trade into disrepute, or make us an object of derision. Improving the ethics of those who will inherit the earth is a serious business. Give me the candy! 

Global Stewards, Beyond Reproach

https://www.forbes.com/sites/russalanprince/2018/10/17/how-the-heirs-of-the-super-rich-become-global-stewards/amp/ 

 

Own, Rule, Save. Tutor is doing his best with Audrey, but she is now confined to her room for using Master Jack’s paisely suspenders as a massive slingshot to fire cantaloupes at a passing steamer. 

Family Systems in the Castle

Tutor has noticed what other's have not. What puzzles Master Jack, makes perfect sense to Tutor. In all the market turbulence, Big Momma, with collars and straddles, and options, increased her share of the world's wealth from 51% to 72%, bankrupting several undeserving billionaires. Yet, her pace was slow, her face drawn, even the music from her flute, as she paused to watch the waves, was sad. Reason? Her beloved, Audrey, she who will one day rule us all, was depressed. "The Polar Bears are dying." She had seen a picture. Big Momma will own and rule the world. But only Audrey can save it. Tutor, a 2,000 year old child himself, will accompany her as she does. Civilizations rise and descend to barbarism. Species die out. Humans mutate into whatever comes next. But always there will be a Queen, and when she no longer needs a Tutor, he can always play her Fool. Of course, he can also double as hangman. "Innocence must be protected," say he, turning the wheel of his rack, on which a miscreant is torn asunder. If only Tutor did not enjoy it so much. But in truth we all have issues. And you can't blame a moralist for loving his job.

Saving Polar Bear Families, too

When Audrey and her Tutor have serious work to do, in owning and saving the world, they retreat to her enormous wooden toybox, and sit facing each other soles pressed to soles, peddling as they ruminate. Audrey’s coverlet is pulled over the top of the crate, making a canopy. Master Jack and his protege, Master Bliffil,  are on other business bound. They may be talking to Momma about Family Systems.  Trust Protectors. Mentors. Black Sheep. Heirs, in general, and Audrey in particular, as Asset or Liability on the Family Balance Sheet. Who knows what all. Our business is different. “Did you know polar bears are falling through the ice, Tutor?,” Audrey asks. “How can we save them?”

Audrey's Family History in a Leather Binding Stamped in Gold Courtesy of Wealth Bondage Private Client Services

Audrey is flipping to D in the index of her Family History, provided, with gilt pages, by Master Jack, as a Value Add from the Private Bank of Wealth Bondage. “Where is Dad?” Awkward silences. She throws the book at Master Jack, Momma’s Most Trusted Advisor, and takes to her bed, eyes open and unseeing. Body rigid. Will not eat. Will not talk. Rex licks her face, but gets no reaction. Who can blame her? What use is a Family History if it leaves out the parts we really need to know? Doctors come and go, recommending strong drugs, or forced feeding, intravenous life support.  Ultimately it is Tutor who called in to help. His is a mixed reputation. Preferred Clients are uneasy with his delight in taking Penitential Scenes too far, but he is good with children. They consider him a defective child to be patronized. Which is how he sees himself.

So, lanky Tutor in Hawaiian shirt and faded black priest pants, kneels by Audrey’s bedside, letting his breathing synch to hers. “Are you westing in you Westinghouse, you little wascal?” No smile from her, but as a cartoon scholar she is processing the allusion. “Sad wabbit! Your big ears are all flopped down!” Tutor points in heartfelt consternation. “They are all folded over!”

Her hands clap to her ears. “No they are not!”

Tutor hops heavily off, hands making big upstanding bunny ears. Audrey leaps from the bed. “That is not how bunnies hop!” And it is true, she bounces and bounds much more like a real bunny. He has to admit defeat, as she crows in victory.

The little moments that matter most don’t get into the history books, but history turns on them. The world will be saved by a wascally wabbit, or not at all. The next time you work for a billionaire family, even in the most humble capacity, mowing a lawn, driving or repairing a car, teaching high school or prep school English, providing investment advice or a full body massage, watering plants, providing wisdom, facilitating the sorting of values-cards, creating a family mission statement, writing a family constitution, conducting an offsite family meeting, or just following orders conveyed down the line through your immediate superior, remember that you may be the difference between saving that Dynasty, and having it fall into tawdriness, opportunism, and chaos like the rest of the world.