I Was Publicly Shamed Over a Spilled Glass of Wine—Until a Billionaire Stood Up and Said My Name

a sunny day. He was twenty-two—four years older than Otto—and managed his father’s car dealership. More significantly, he was Margaret Morrison’s brother, and Margaret was my supervisor at the bookstore.

“My brother’s been asking about you,” Margaret told me one Thursday afternoon as I shelved returned textbooks. “He saw you here last week and thought continue reading …