By the time I turned eighteen, life had begun to settle into a rhythm that most teenagers couldn't even imagine. My $1 million was working for me in the stock market, quietly growing while I focused on other things. The rental income from my property provided enough stability to cover my studies at Stanford, ensuring that money would never be an obstacle.
As my eighteenth birthday approached, my father surprised me with a car. Learning to drive became yet another small conquest — freedom, mobility, independence. After a few weeks of practice, I had my driver's license, another box checked in the life of a young man who was already planning decades ahead.
Stanford welcomed me without difficulty. My photographic memory, combined with consistent academic excellence, made the admissions process almost trivial. Once on campus, I began work on a small thesis analyzing Black Monday. It wasn't perfect — nothing revolutionary yet — but it was enough to demonstrate analytical thinking and foresight. I didn't aim to impress the famous professors; my goal was building my own network of connections, because wealth without connections was like a castle without gates.
Stanford had always been my primary target. In my first life, I had read about its alumni: Yahoo, Google, Excite. Entrepreneurs, innovators, and financiers had walked these halls. The potential for venture capital and Wall Street connections was unmatched. My father had given me ties in Hollywood, my mother in the legal world, but Stanford would open the door to the future of tech, finance, and investment — all the arenas I needed to dominate.
The campus itself was inspiring. The energy, the creativity, the ambition of every student around me — it was contagious. I declared my undergraduate focus in economics, with computer science and management as minors. Knowledge, systems, and strategy — all three combined.
Then, while reading the Stanford Review one morning, a name caught my eye: Peter Thiel. A familiar name from the stories of entrepreneurship and venture capital. Someone already thinking beyond the present, shaping the future.
I smiled. Here was exactly the kind of mind I wanted to connect with. Stanford wasn't just school — it was the launchpad for influence, wealth, and the networks that would allow me to turn plans into reality.
The game had changed. The board was bigger, the pieces more powerful, and the opportunities limitless. I wasn't just a student now — I was a strategist, positioning myself at the very heart of tomorrow's empire.