At ninety, I decided to see the world differently. Disguised in shabby clothes, I entered one of my own supermarkets
to test how people would treat me if they thought I had nothing. Most avoided me; even a manager I once promoted told me to leave.
Just as I prepared to walk out, a young employee named Lewis offered me food, a drink, and respect. That small kindness struck me deeply.
For decades, I had built a grocery empire, but wealth never filled the emptiness left by losing my wife and having no children.
That day, I realized my legacy shouldn’t go to those who valued only money—it should go to someone
with compassion. Lewis embodied the principles I once built my business on: kindness, hard work, and humanity.
Later, I discovered he had a troubled past and had even served time. But when he spoke honestly
about how those mistakes shaped him, I saw resilience, not weakness. When I revealed who I was and my plan to leave him everything,
Lewis surprised me—he urged me to create a foundation instead, to help families in need and people seeking second chances.
I followed his advice. Today, Lewis directs the foundation, not for riches but for purpose.
My stores may carry my name, but my true legacy is the compassion we spread.