I didn’t always have a Porsche 911 GT3 RS.
I didn’t always have a multimillion-dollar real estate portfolio.
And I certainly didn’t always have the freedom to travel the world, first-class, with my family and loved ones.
Had you met me as a child in Britain’s foster system, you never would’ve thought I’d be writing to you today.
You see, I grew up dirt poor. Food stamps, clothing vouchers, free school lunch – the whole nine yards. My early years were spent ping-ponging between group homes, foster homes, and hospital wards (I was very ill as a child).
Looking back, I was an outcast in many ways.
I was ashamed of being in foster care and would lie about it. As far as anyone else knew, I lived with my mother. That meant I was socially isolated. I couldn’t take the risk of people finding out, so I kept everyone at arm’s length.
