At Thanksgiving, My Sister Found Out I Had $12 Million And My Family Demanded…

Gaining Trust

But here’s the real kicker: Harrison started to trust me after that. He began giving me other artifacts to authenticate.

Suddenly, my pointless pastime of sorting antique jewels acquired real significance. I devoted myself to learning everything I could about vintage jewelry.

I took every online course I could afford. I spent weekends at estate sales researching items and even began a small notepad to document various authentication procedures.

My apartment looked like a jewelry scholar’s fever dream, with walls covered with printouts of vintage hallmarks and certification guidelines. The auction house started getting results.

I was discovering important items that others had overlooked, developing contacts with collectors, and knowing the market. My commission checks became larger.

For the first time in my life, I was not simply surviving; I was also saving money. Family still remarkably uninterested.

At Sunday dinners, which I still went to like a fool, the discourse went like this:

“Sarah’s still at that antique shop, right?” Mom asked. “Auction House. And yes, actually, I just authenticated a rare Tiffany piece,” this is me. “Oh my God, speaking of jewelry, you guys have to see this charm bracelet I bought at the mall!” Rachel interrupted.

But I didn’t care anymore. For once in my life, I had discovered something wholly mine, something I was actually excellent at—something unrelated to being Rachel’s sister.

The Rothschild Collection

Then came the Rothschild collection. This was about two years into my employment at the auction business.

A massive estate, old money family—there’s a lot of buzz in the industry. I was part of the team that cataloged their jewelry collection, and that’s when I noticed it.

A fairly commonplace Art Nouveau piece that everyone else had missed. I spent three days investigating it; I barely slept.

It turned out to be a piece from a famous French jeweler’s private collection, which was supposed to have been lost during World War II. When it sold at auction for $238,000, Harrison summoned me to his office.

I believed I was being promoted. Instead, he said something that completely changed the situation.

“Sarah, you’re wasting your talent here. You should be running your own authentication business,” he said.

Initially, I shrugged it off. Me? Start a business with what money?

However, the notion took root. I began doing modest freelance authentication projects on the side.

Word spread that I had a terrific sight; private collectors began contacting us directly. One night, I was sitting in my modest apartment surrounded by jewelry manuals and authentication tools that I had gradually accumulated when I had an epiphany.

This is something I could actually do. I could create anything on my own.

Taking the Leap

So I did what any reasonable person would do. I took out a large debt against my car.

I emptied my savings account. I rented a small office space in a less desirable area of town.

People believed I was insane; perhaps I was. I transformed a storage room above a Chinese restaurant that was about the size of a college dorm room.

The rent was low because it always smelled like kung pao chicken, and the Wi-Fi only functioned if you sat in the corner by the window. But it was mine.

The struggle—the first few months were interesting, and by interesting, I mean scary. I’d awaken at 4:00 a.m. with cold sweats, calculating how many months till my savings ran out.

Loan payments felt like a rope around my neck. My office furnishings comprised of a card table I purchased from Goodwill and a chair I literally found on the curb.

Don’t worry, it was thoroughly cleaned. However, in the world of high-end jewelry, reputation and contacts are everything, and my experience at the auction house provided me with both.

I started small by doing authentication work for local antique dealers. My fees were lower than the larger organizations, but my attention to detail was becoming known.

A Watershed Moment

Word spread. Six months later, a watershed moment occurred.

A dealer I had dealt with at the auction house inquired about a collection of Victorian-era brooches. The owner requested confirmation before selling.

It turned out to be a massive collection with pieces from three generations of families. I worked on it for two weeks straight, rarely sleeping and documenting everything.

I discovered two extremely rare pieces that had been misinterpreted as later replicas. The owner was so delighted with my detailed analysis that she not only paid my fee but also offered me a 10% commission when the piece sold.

Was that a commission? $86,000.

More money than I had earned in the preceding two years combined. Suddenly, my phone rang a lot.

Private collectors had heard about my knack for finding missed pieces. Estate lawyers were seeking advice on inherited jewelry.

Even my previous auction house began sending me authentication work. I’m quite sure Harrison was secretly helping spread the news.

“Thanks, Boss,” I thought.

Scaling Up

By year two, I’d hired my first employee, Jenny, a fresh gemology graduate who reminded me much too much of myself at that age. She was extremely intelligent, yet she was neglected since she was quiet.

She is now my head of authentication and is well worth her weight in gold. The firm expanded quicker than I could have predicted.

I moved to a proper office downtown—goodbye kung pao chicken odor—and created a team of specialists. I’ve earned a reputation for finding misplaced items.

You wouldn’t believe how many important historical jewelry items get misinterpreted as costume jewelry in people’s attics. However, success came with its own set of obstacles.

The bigger we became, the harder it became to keep it a secret from my family. They still thought I worked in an antique shop.

Rachel would make these sarcastic remarks during family dinners.

“Sarah, I have some old jewelry I was going to donate to Goodwill. Maybe your little shop would want it?” Rachel asks. “Sure, I’ll look into it,” I said, having just authenticated a $1.2 million Fabergé item that morning. “My other daughter… she works with old jewelry or something,” Mom continues to introduce me to everyone.

Meanwhile, I was quoted in Forbes, luckily under my company name, and we had recently built our third office. What’s strange about it is that keeping the secret became almost enjoyable, like this private joke with myself.

The Cognitive Dissonance

I’d sit at Sunday dinner in my Target discount outfit—really Chanel—listening to Rachel speak about her entry-level marketing job, knowing I just closed a deal for more than her annual income.

I even started playing tiny games with myself, such as wearing authentic Harry Winston pieces to family gatherings and seeing whether anyone noticed. They never did.

Rachel once spent 20 minutes showing off her expensive $200 Michael Kors watch. I was wearing a vintage Patek Philippe that cost more than her automobile.

However, the real challenge was managing growth. By year five, we’d established offices in Detroit, Chicago, and New York.

I spent more time on airplanes than in my own bed. We built a reputation for discretion.

It turns out that many wealthy people want their jewels verified without the rest of the world knowing. The money was enormous.

For example, we needed to hire a large team of financial advisers. Nonetheless, I maintained a relatively modest lifestyle.

I purchased a nice but not flashy house in a desirable neighborhood. I drove a high-end but not obvious car.

The only place I truly splurged: my home office. Advanced authentication equipment, the most effective security system money can buy, and a custom-built vault to make Fort Knox envy.

What’s with the irony? They believed I was being frugal by aiding them.

“It’s so sweet of Sarah to help out. She must be eating nothing but ramen to manage it,” Mom would remark.

Meanwhile, I had just validated a collection which earned me a commission greater than their mortgage. You know what’s strange about success?

The more you have, the more difficult it is to explain to others who have always perceived you as inferior. It’s like explaining color to someone who has only seen black and white; they lack the necessary context.