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POV: You Won the Lottery — And Kept Living in Your Tiny Apartment — Transcript

by POV Wealth · 3,088 words · 449 segments · language en · Watch on YouTube

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0:00At 4:36 on a Monday morning, you're
0:02standing in your doorway in a Navy bus
0:04driver uniform and your landlord is
0:07holding a past due notice for $1,175
0:11in an account he will never see. You
0:14have $34,220,000.
0:18Lester Teague is 71 in a brown cardigan
0:21with one button missing and he wags a
0:23finger at you like you've tracked mud
0:25across his hallway. Your rent is 3 days
0:27late. He says he runs a building, not a
0:30bank. You apologize, and you mean it,
0:33because behind you, inside the studio
0:35you've rented for 7 years, a keepsake
0:38ticket stub is taped to the mini fridge,
0:40and you aren't ready to explain it.
0:42Here's how a bus driver ended up
0:44apologizing for $1,175
0:48and why she kept her key. 11 weeks ago,
0:51you bought a quick pick at the news
0:52stand in the transit center because the
0:54line was long and you had a dollar.
0:56That's the whole story of the win. The
0:58lottery paid you once through a trust
1:00your state allows and your name was
1:02never read aloud. Nine days ago, the
1:05money landed. Day one with the money,
1:07you sit on the bench at the depot before
1:09your shift and read one number on your
1:11phone. After the federal bill, which the
1:14lottery only partly withholds and your
1:16state's 4%, what's yours is $34,220,000.
1:22The tax is already parked and paid. You
1:24aren't hiding a debt, only a secret.
1:27That night, you stand at your one window
1:29and you look at the glass tower across
1:31the street. It's lit up like a stack of
1:33lanterns. The penthouse has been listed
1:36at $6,350,000
1:38since spring. You could pay cash for it
1:41tomorrow, and you know exactly why you
1:43won't. You make a list of three reasons
1:45on the back of a transfer slip. Moving
1:47is the biggest giveaway there is because
1:50a bus driver who suddenly changes
1:52addresses is the first thing people
1:53notice. Your life already works and
1:56you'd like to decide who you are before
1:58the money decides for you. And the
2:00people in this building have been your
2:02people for 7 years. On day six, you take
2:05the elevator up to the penthouse anyway
2:07in your workshoes with a leasing agent
2:09who is far too polite. She quotes you
2:11$6,350,000,
2:14then reads out the carrying costs like a
2:16train schedule. The building's monthly
2:18fee is $5,150.
2:21The property tax runs about $69,850
2:25a year, which is another $5,821
2:29a month. That's $10,971
2:33every month just to live above the
2:36street, the one you've driven down for 7
2:38years. You stand at the glass and you
2:41can see your own window, one small
2:44yellow square. It's the only light over
2:46there that you recognize. You thank her
2:49and you take the stairs down because you
2:51don't want to be seen in the elevator.
2:53Then the bank makes things complicated.
2:56Over one weekend, a private banker moves
2:58you into a new account, closes your old
3:00checking, and forgets that your rent
3:02autodraft points at the old one. The
3:05transfer takes three extra days. That's
3:07how a woman with $34,220,000
3:11of all people ends up late on $1,175
3:17in a doorway at 4:36 in the morning. You
3:20pay Lester on the spot, plus the $65
3:23late fee he doesn't want to charge. He
3:25takes the money and doesn't meet your
3:27eyes. Third of the month, I'm short, he
3:30mutters, and you wonder for a second why
3:33a late fee would matter to him so much.
3:36On day 11, you call a fee only planner
3:38named Alda Rasque because a co-orker at
3:41the depot swears by her. She's 58 with
3:44short gray hair and reading glasses on a
3:46chain and she meets you at a bakery near
3:48the depot at 3:30 in the afternoon when
3:51you're off shift. She asks what you want
3:53from the money and you say you want your
3:55life to stay the same, only without the
3:58fear. She writes that down. Be
4:01unremarkable on paper. She says
4:03everything interesting can happen at
4:05home. She gives you the plan in three
4:08buckets. $2,500,000
4:11goes into treasury bills for safety and
4:13cash. $18,720,000
4:16goes into broad lowcost index funds. And
4:20$13 million goes somewhere you've never
4:22heard of, which she calls the quiet
4:24bucket. It's municipal bonds. You say
4:27you've never owned a bond in your life.
4:30Week three, she shows you the math at
4:32your folding table with a calculator and
4:34a mug of tea gone cold. A city sells a
4:37bond to build something, a school or a
4:39water mane. The interest it pays you is
4:42generally free of federal income tax and
4:44often of state tax, too, if the city is
4:46in your state. A taxable bond pays more,
4:49but then the government takes a bite.
4:51The formula is simple. Divide the MUN
4:53yield by 1 minus your tax rate. She does
4:56it live. Say the MUN pays 3.6%. 6%. For
5:00dollars taxed at the top rate, 37%, you
5:04divide 3.6 by 0.63.
5:07It comes out to 5.71%.
5:10So, a taxable bond would need to pay
5:12about 5.7% just to match it. And there's
5:16an extra 3.8% sir tax on investment
5:19income. She says MUN interest dodges
5:21that too. We'll ignore it so nobody says
5:24I was dramatic. Then she compares the
5:26real thing. $13 million in nunis at 3.6%
5:31earns $468,000
5:33a year all taxfree which is $39,000 a
5:37month. A taxable bond paying a juicier
5:405.2% would earn $676,000
5:44but at 37% the government would take
5:48$250,120.
5:51You'd keep $425,880.
5:54The MUN wins by $42,120
5:58a year with a smaller headline number.
6:01Not risk-free. Alda says cities can
6:04stumble, so we buy highquality ones and
6:07a lot of different ones. You look at
6:09$39,000 a month and then at your rent
6:12$1,175.
6:15The interest covers your rent 33 times
6:18over. You do not feel richer. You feel
6:21like the floor has quietly gotten very,
6:24very far down. Week four, you try to
6:27spend a little on yourself and can't.
6:30You walk into a mattress store on your
6:32day off, lie down on a $2,350
6:35bed, and stare at the ceiling for 4
6:38minutes. Your own bed is a 12-year-old
6:40futon, and it gives you a backachche
6:42every morning at 4:15. You buy a $620
6:46mattress, the second one the salesman
6:48showed you, and you ask them to leave it
6:50at the curb so no truck with a logo
6:52parks outside. The salesman thinks
6:54you're shy about money. You are a little
6:57in the opposite direction. You keep
7:00driving the 14. The route starts at 5:05
7:03a.m., and the first rider is always the
7:05same man with a cooler, and you smile at
7:07him like it's your whole job. At week
7:10five, the washer in the basement dies.
7:12Hattie Lond in 3B hauls her laundry in a
7:16cart 11 blocks to the laundromat and she
7:18does it after a night shift as a hospice
7:20aid. She's 44. Her daughter Immani is in
7:23her second year of nursing school and
7:25her rent is $1,040.
7:28On the stairs, she tells you what she'd
7:30do if she ever won anything. Buy this
7:33whole building and fire the boiler, she
7:35says, grinning. Her laugh echoes up the
7:38stairwell. She isn't careless. What she
7:40has are a few small habits that keep the
7:43week from closing on her, and singing in
7:45the stairwell is one of them. Lester
7:47says a new washer costs $1,380,
7:51and he doesn't have it. That weekend,
7:53you find a secondhand one for $285
7:56online, and you tell the building it
7:58came from a friend's garage. Nobody asks
8:01a second question. Generosity that small
8:04never does. At month two, you walk into
8:07an open house on Finch Hollow. It's a
8:09$689,000
8:11bungalow with a crooked garden and a
8:13kitchen window above the sink. You fall
8:15for it in 6 minutes. By evening, the
8:18agent has emailed a contract with your
8:20name in the buyer's box and a $12,500
8:23earnest money check due at signing. Alda
8:26calls an hour after you sign, and her
8:28voice is calm and fast. "Stop," she
8:31says. "Open your laptop." She walks you
8:33through your county's records website.
8:35You type in the address of your own
8:37building. In 11 seconds, it shows the
8:39owner, Lester Teague, who bought it in
8:421987 for $127,000.
8:46It also shows a loan against the
8:47building, $186,000,
8:50recorded last spring. A deed is a public
8:53record. She says, "Your name, your
8:55purchase price, and your new address
8:57would sit on this site by Friday.
8:59Reporters read it. Cousins read it. So
9:01do people who sell things to winners.
9:03You hadn't thought of that." You tell
9:05the agent you're backing out. Alda gets
9:07you out under the inspection contingency
9:09and it cost you $350.
9:12You sit with the number a while. The
9:14loan against Lester's building is
9:16$186,000.
9:19You wonder what he needed it for. At
9:21month four, you tap the bumper of a
9:23black SUV outside the tower at night in
9:26your 15year-old hatchback. The damage is
9:28$2,240.
9:31The driver gets out, a woman in her 40s,
9:33and says her neck feels a little stiff.
9:35She's perfectly polite. Eight days
9:37later, a letter arrives from her
9:39attorney demanding $29,000.
9:42Your policy is the state minimum,
9:44$25,000 per person. Your insurer settles
9:48it for $18,500.
9:51It's over and nobody ever learns your
9:53name beyond a claim number, but you sit
9:55in your car in the depot lot with your
9:58hands flat on the wheel and you do the
10:00real arithmetic. The limit on your
10:02policy is the number your insurer will
10:04pay. It isn't the number the other side
10:07asks for. That's the gap Alda tells you
10:10the next day. Once people know you have
10:12assets and lawyers can find out, you
10:14become a target. An umbrella policy sits
10:17on top of your car and home coverage and
10:19it pays when those run out. You buy $5
10:22million of umbrella coverage. They cost
10:25roughly $1,120
10:27a year, plus another $460 or so to raise
10:31your car insurance to the $250
10:34level, which most insurers require
10:36first. That's about $1,580
10:39a year to protect $34,220,000.
10:44You find that it's the cheapest sleep
10:46you've ever bought. At month five, the
10:49boiler dies on the coldest morning of
10:51the year. You find Lester in the
10:53basement with a flashlight in his teeth
10:54and the whole building is standing in
10:56the stairwell in coats. The quote is
10:59$88,500
11:00for a new boiler and the pipes. He has
11:03$28,500
11:05saved. That afternoon, a letter arrives
11:08for every tenant, and Hattie reads hers
11:10out loud on the landing. A developer
11:12named Bryce Halverson, it says, has
11:14offered Lester $1,610,000
11:18for the building. His plan is to
11:20renovate every unit and rent them at
11:22$2,900.
11:24Nobody on this staircase can pay $2,900.
11:28Hadtie lowers the letter and says
11:30quietly, "Well, that's that." Lester
11:34finds you later in the hallway and
11:36finally says it. His wife Dolores died 4
11:39years ago and the building was theirs.
11:42The loan against it paid for her last
11:44year of care and the payment, $1,940,
11:48is due on the 5th. "I don't hate you,"
11:51he says. "I hate being 3 days short."
11:54You realize your late rent had put him
11:56behind on his own bank. You apologize
11:59again, and this time you really mean all
12:01of it. 2 days later, Bryce Halverson
12:04walks the building with a tape measure
12:06and a tablet in a quilted vest, and he
12:08doesn't bother knocking on the doors
12:10he's measuring. He tells Lester the
12:12offer expires in 30 days. After that, he
12:15says, the boiler becomes the building's
12:17problem and the price drops by $140,000.
12:21He isn't cruel about it. He sounds like
12:23a man reading out a price he already
12:25decided on. Lester stands on the landing
12:28and says nothing, and you watch his
12:30shoulders shrink an inch. That night,
12:33you call Alda from the stairs, and you
12:35ask a question you haven't asked yet.
12:37Could you buy the building? She's quiet
12:40for a long second. It's a bad investment
12:43on paper. She says, "I'll say that now
12:45so you can't say I didn't." Then she
12:48tells you how it would work. At month
12:50seven, you sit in the office of a real
12:52estate attorney named Mr. Admi. You are
12:55not buying in your name. His firm forms
12:58a limited liability company called
12:59Tamarak 8 LLC and his own office is its
13:03public contact. The county deed will
13:05name the company and not you. You tell
13:08yourself this isn't magic. The bank
13:10knows who owns the company. The IRS
13:12knows. Mr. Admy knows. Only the public
13:16record doesn't. And the public record is
13:18the part that follows people home. He
13:20tells you one more rule, and it's the
13:22one that matters most. Form the company
13:25before you make any offer because an
13:27offer in your name leaves your name
13:29behind. For tax purposes, a company with
13:32one owner is mostly invisible. The rent
13:35it collects will land on your own
13:37return. And the company needs its own
13:39liability policy because a stairway fall
13:42in a building is a different animal than
13:43a fender bender. Your umbrella sits on
13:46top of that like a second roof. Your
13:48offer is $1,745,000
13:52all cash, which is $135,000
13:55more than the developer. It closes in 38
13:58days, and it comes with nothing to
14:00renovate and nobody to evict. Lester
14:03says yes in 2 days and he asks his
14:05lawyer twice who the buyer is. The
14:08lawyer says an investment company and
14:10that's all. The numbers are plain. The
14:12building has eight units at about $1,130
14:16each. So $18,480
14:20a year in rent. After taxes, insurance,
14:24repairs, heat, and a management fee, it
14:26nets about $48,771.
14:30On your $1,745,000
14:34plus the $88,500
14:36boiler you'll replace the week you
14:38close, that's roughly 2.7%.
14:41Your MUN bonds pay 3.6%.
14:44You'll earn about $17,200
14:46a year less than a bond would. You buy
14:49it anyway. And Alda signs the papers as
14:52a witness, still shaking her head.
14:55Meanwhile, the building is a rumor mill.
14:58At the Thursday tenant meeting in the
14:59lobby, Hattie says the buyer is probably
15:02a church. A man from 2A says it's a
15:05hospital. Someone in 1C swears it's the
15:08developer in a different hat, and a few
15:10people nod. You stand by the mailboxes
15:12with a bag of groceries, and you say,
15:14"It might be nice if it's somebody
15:16decent." Nobody looks at you for more
15:19than a second. Then the money slows
15:22down. 3 days before closing, your bank
15:25flags the 1,745,000
15:28wire, and a compliance officer asks for
15:30documents on where the funds came from.
15:33It's routine, but your hands go cold on
15:35the phone anyway. Alda sends the claim
15:38paperwork and the trust records within
15:40the hour, and the wire clears the next
15:42morning. The bank knows exactly who you
15:44are, and that's fine. Privacy was never
15:47about hiding from the bank. The company
15:50sends every tenant the same short
15:52letter. New ownership, no rent increase
15:54for two years, and after that, never
15:57more than 3% a year. A property manager
16:00will handle repairs. You pay your own
16:02rent to your own company on the first
16:05through the same portal as everyone
16:06else. At month nine, the boiler runs and
16:10the radiators knock like someone tapping
16:12on a door. Hattie stands in the lobby
16:14holding her letter and her eyes are wet.
16:17Either that's God, she says, or a very
16:20stupid investor.
16:22Immani's tuition is $2,640
16:26this term. Hattie pays it herself and
16:28for once she doesn't skip a meal.
16:31Lester's last day is a Friday. He leaves
16:34his keys at the desk and on his way out,
16:36he knocks on your door at the end of the
16:38hall. He shakes your hand. You're the
16:41only one who never complained about the
16:43radiator. He says he's moving to Tucson
16:46to be near his daughter, and the loan is
16:48paid off in full. He never asks where
16:50the money came from. That Sunday, you
16:53drive 2 hours to your mother's. Norine
16:56is 66, a retired dental receptionist,
16:59and she's making meatloaf the way she
17:00has since you were eight. You tell her
17:03at the kitchen table with nothing
17:05between you but a salt shaker. the
17:07number, the trust, the tower, the
17:09building. She puts down the fork. So,
17:12you're your own landlord. She says,
17:15"Yes." "Then pay yourself on time." She
17:18laughs first and the crying shows up a
17:20second later. She asks if you'll quit
17:22the bus, and you say, "Not yet, because
17:25you like the first rider with the
17:26cooler." You hand her a check for
17:28$19,000,
17:30the annual gift limit, no form and no
17:32tax, and tell her it's for the furnace.
17:35She says the furnace is fine. She'll
17:37find a use. Her real question comes at
17:39the door. Were you alone with all this?
17:42She asks. You say mostly yes. And she
17:45holds your face in both hands. One year
17:48later at 4:36 on a Monday morning,
17:50there's a knock at your door. It's
17:52Lester in the same brown cardigan tanned
17:55from a winter in Tucson holding a bag of
17:57pastries. He's in town for a week to see
17:59old friends. Rent on time? He asks,
18:02grinning. and you say you haven't missed
18:04one since the day you paid the late fee.
18:07He peers past you at the mini fridge
18:08where a keepsake ticket stub is still
18:10taped. A little faded now. Waste of a
18:13dollar those things, he says. Never won
18:15a nickel myself. You say depends. He
18:19laughs and he tells you the new owners
18:21fixed the boiler and never raised a
18:23rent. Either saints or fools, he says,
18:25and I'm too old to care which. You close
18:28the door, tuck a pastry in your uniform
18:30pocket, and walk to the depot in the
18:32dark. Across the street, the tower glows
18:34on. A 100 lit windows with nobody you
18:37know behind them. You wave at no one in
18:40particular. None of this needed an
18:43audience, and the next story won't
18:45either. But if you don't want to miss
18:46it, subscribe. It's the one place in
18:49this whole story where I'd actually like
18:51your name on the list. And if you've
18:53ever kept good news to yourself because
18:55the room wasn't ready for it, say so in
18:57the comments. Not for me, just so you've
19:00heard yourself say it once. I'll be here
19:02either way.

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