The ultra-high net worth family sits across from a financial advisor. They've got nine figures. They've got complexities. They've got needs that regular people couldn't possibly understand, like which Caribbean island offers the best trust laws and whether the Gulfstream G700 holds its value better than art.
The number one question they should ask is probably "How do I preserve dynastic wealth across multiple generations while minimizing tax exposure in seventeen jurisdictions?" But that would require acknowledging they're just as f*cking clueless as everyone else, only with more zeros.
Here's what actually happens. The advisor shows up in a suit that costs four grand. Talks about bespoke portfolio construction. Mentions alternative investments. Drops the phrase "family office" six times in eight minutes. The rich guy nods like he understands what carried interest means. He doesn't. Nobody does. It's a tax loophole designed to sound boring enough that senators fall asleep during the repeal vote.
The real question should be "What's your fee structure?" But rich people hate asking about fees. Makes them sound poor. Makes them sound like they're comparison shopping at Costco instead of building generational wealth through sophisticated financial instruments they'll never read the prospectus for.
You know who asks good questions? Nobody. The guy with eight million asks the same dumb sh*t as the guy with eight hundred million. "What's the market gonna do?" "Should I buy gold?" "Is now a good time?" Different tax brackets, same smooth brain.
The financial advisor's job is simple. Collect fees on assets that would've gone up anyway while occasionally moving money between accounts to justify the invoice. The ultra-high net worth family's job is even simpler: pretend the fees are worth it because admitting you parked everything in index funds sounds too middle class.
Photo by Cyril Muhammad on Unsplash
Leave a Comment