Bulletproof Investing - James FitzGerald

Скачать книгу

about the money — we'll be able to figure that out.’

      My mind, at least momentarily, was put to rest.

      In the middle of 2010, while I was chipping away at my dual degrees, an envelope from FEE-HELP arrived in the mail. Enclosed was an invoice for the following semester's fees — roughly $3000 for each of the four subjects ($12 000 in total). I had never received a bill before. FEE-HELP had paid the debt automatically, but now my funding had clearly run out. I had prioritised my law studies but still had about 10 per cent of the subjects to complete before I graduated and I was only 20 per cent of the way through my accounting degree. Despite Dad's ‘don't worry, we'll be able to figure that out’ assurances, I was hit by a wave of panic. That night I tentatively presented him with the invoice, hoping payment wouldn't be an issue. My worst fears were realised.

      ‘Geez, $12 000! That's dear as poison. Mate, we don't have $12 000,’ Dad admitted.

      I could tell he was panicked and flustered, which for him was very unusual. He was always so positive and optimistic.

      ‘Well, what are we going to do?’ I asked.

      Reflecting on that moment, I realise how naïve and entitled I was. Deep down, I had known that the FEE-HELP funding was going to run out at some point. I just assumed Dad had put aside money or had some sort of plan to meet the expense. My expense. And yet I took no responsibility. Dad told me not to worry about the money and, selfishly, that's what I did. Typical 20-year-old male thinking! Gloss over the problem and hope it simply goes away. I should have tried to understand how he was going to pay the bill. As kids, even young adults, we think our parents have all the answers in life when in fact they're just as human as we are!

      The tuition fees were due in two weeks and, if the money remained outstanding, I wouldn't be able to attend classes and do my allocated subjects that semester. Again, with the benefit of hindsight, I should have seen the writing on the wall. My parents had been trying unsuccessfully for about six months to sell the family home in Robina. As I would later learn, Dad's income in his latest incarnation as a business broker was dropping, while his expenses remained static or even on the rise. My sisters were both still at school and their fees certainly weren't cheap.

      I occasionally think about the alternatives. What if Dad had told me he didn't have the money for the accounting degree? Would I have just continued with law? Would I have transferred to a cheaper university? Would I have dropped law and only studied accounting? Would I have done anything differently? Who knows?

      Cultural and gender stereotypes have us viewing the male as the main breadwinner. Historically, males have been expected to know how to generate enough money to fund a family's lifestyle and associated costs, but how does any person become savvy with money? The ability to earn, to manage finances and turn money into more money is hardly genetically bestowed! I think back to when I was 20, having been baptised in the ‘bread-winner’ gene pool, having gone to a great school and graduated with good grades, then having enrolled in law and accounting at uni. I ticked all the right boxes, yet I didn't feel at all comfortable about money. This is when I had my first taste of anxiety associated with money, experiencing a few sleepless nights.

      Fortunately, my fee problem was quickly resolved. We learned that Bond University had a relationship with the ANZ, which agreed to lend me the $40 000 required to finish my degree, with no repayments required until after I graduated. Interest would accumulate at 11 per cent per annum while I was studying, after which I would have to pay back the loan, plus the interest, over a period of three years. The arrangement sounded okay to me, and Dad agreed. There weren't any other options, so I accepted the terms without giving any thought to the monthly repayments I'd face when I finally graduated.

      But a big lesson in life and money awaited me just around the corner.

      In May 2010, I landed in the offices of my uncle, John Fitzgerald. John had invited me to do a couple of weeks of work experience, without knowing I was at a crossroads academically and professionally.

      John is nothing if not an enigmatic character. Up until that point, he was somebody I knew well socially in a family context, but not professionally. Growing up, my exposure to John was restricted to exploring his Disneyland-esque house and all its impressive accoutrements on the river at Carrara. He was clearly very successful, but when you're 10, you don't wonder why or how. John had a big house (three in fact — there was also a beach house and a farm) but beyond that, I hadn't stopped to contemplate the process behind these trappings of success. My only genuine exposure to him through my teenage years was undertaking joint physical challenges: running around the hills of Burleigh together at breakneck speed, doing 100 × 100-metre sprints at the Ashmore athletics track (that wasn't much fun!) and getting up at 3 am to climb Mount Warning. A little later, he had also come over to watch the footy with Dad and me, having separated from his wife around the time my parents split up. But what his office or his business looked like, I had no idea.

      John has an interesting back story. He was born in 1963, the middle of five children, my dad David being the eldest. Then there's another brother, James, and twin sisters, Louise and Julie, who are 10 years younger than my father. The family was raised in Moorabbin in suburban Melbourne from the late fifties through the sixties. Their father, Jim Fitzgerald, ran a small chain of menswear stores in Victoria, two in the suburbs of Melbourne and the other at Stawell, in the central west of the state. Tragically, at the age of 37, the family patriarch was killed in a car accident, leaving his wife Marie to raise five children under the age of 12, as well as run three menswear stores.

      Through fate or good fortune, he stumbled into the office of George Margolis, a successful property investor, who mentored him in the principles of real estate. By midway through the following year, John had accumulated sufficient knowledge (or, more to the point, confidence) to branch out on his own.

      In 1981, he launched JLF Corporation Pty Ltd, quickly hooking up with a group of property moguls who had made, or were about to make, vast fortunes from the Queensland real estate boom. They took him under their wing, mentoring him and giving him the financial backing to hone his craft in property investment

Скачать книгу