"We're worried about your finances," Mom said. I clicked my garage remote. "That's my Lamborghini collection. The blue one's worth $4.8 million."

"Update 2. We're worried about your finances," Mom said. "I clicked my garage remote. That's my Lamborghini collection. The blue ones worth $4.8 million. Stadium lighting activated automatically, illuminating row after row of the world's most exclusive automobiles. Lamborghini's, Ferraris, Bugatti's, and ultra-rare vintage cars gleamed under perfect lighting, each positioned on a rotating platform with museum-like precision. What? What is this?" Dad stammered, his CEO composer cracking for the first time I could remember. Before I could answer, a voice called from inside. Mr. Peterson, perfect timing. My collection manager, Thomas, approached in his impeccable suit. The new Lamborghini Revolto has just been positioned, and Christie's confirmed the auction estimate for the 1962 Ferrari. They're saying $23 million minimum. Marcus Whiskey buzz evaporated instantly. $23 million. I stepped inside, gesturing for my stunned family to follow. Welcome to Peterson Automotive Collection. Currently valued at just over $380 million. I paused by the gleaming blue Lamborghini. This one's my newest edition, $4.8 million if anyone's interested in the Toyota alternative. Mom's perfectly manicured hand tremble as she pointed to a red Ferrari. That's impossible. That's a 250GTO. There are only 36 in the world. 37. Actually, I corrected. The warehouse next door houses my restoration facility. We just finished rebuilding one from original specifications, which made quite a few headlines in the collector world. Amanda's designer heel caught as she stumbled backward. Headlines? What headlines? Thomas stepped forward, tablet in hand. Shall I show them the Forbes article, sir? Or perhaps the Wall Street Journal feature on your collection's impact on the luxury car market? The Wall Street Journal? Dad's voice cracked. You're in the Wall Street Journal? I walked them past a row of classic Aston Martin's, that private consulting you were concerned about? I advise ultra-high net worth individuals on rare car acquisitions. That tiny house in the industrial district is actually five connected warehouses housing the most valuable private car collection in North America. Marcus Rolex suddenly looked very small. But the bus is excellent for the environment. I finished. Plus, it gives me time to manage my overseas acquisitions. Speaking of which, I turned to Thomas. How's the Dubai negotiation going? The chic accepted your offer, sir? The rare Bugatti collection will arrive next month. Would you like me to show your family the rendering of the new wing we're building to house it? Mom swayed slightly and dad grabbed her elbow. A whole wing for Bugatti's, Amanda whispered. Six of them, I said casually. All pre-war, all one of a kind. The acquisition made some noise in the collector world. That's actually why Christie's is here. As if on cue, the clicking of professional heels echo through the showroom. A woman in a sharp business suit approached, flanked by two photographers. Mr. Peterson, everything's ready for tomorrow's photo shoot. The magazine wants to feature the collection on their cover. She stopped noticing my family. Oh, I apologize. Should I come back? No need. Miss Hartford. My family was just learning about my concerning financial situation. I couldn't help but smile slightly. How many collectors reached out about the auction? Over 40 billionaires so far. Your restoration of the Ferrari has the whole industry talking. The waiting list for your consulting services is now two years long. Dad's face had gone from red to white. Consulting services? My minimum fee is $2 million per acquisition. I explained, plus a percentage of the car's value. Last year's revenue was, I glanced at Thomas, $147 million. Sir, this year, we're projecting $210 million, not including the Dubai acquisition. Marcus actually had to sit down on a nearby bench designed to let visitors admire the Porsche collection. But you take the bus? Because I love cars too much to see them stuck in traffic, I replied. Besides, my garage space is better used for this. I gestured to a silver Aston Martin DB5. James Bond's actual car from Goldfinger. That one caused quite a bidding war. The Christie's representative cleared her throat. Mr. Peterson, about tomorrow's valuation. Of course, I said, would my family like to stay and watch the world's top auction house assess their sons concerning car collection? The photographers might want some family photos for the magazine cover. Mom's pearls had become entangled in her trembling fingers. Dad's proud CEO posture had deflated entirely. Amanda was staring open mouth at a yellow McLaren and Marcus couldn't tear his eyes away from the Ferrari that was worth more than his law firm. Unless, I added innocently, you'd prefer to continue the intervention about my financial choices. The following week's family dinner had a markedly different atmosphere. Gone were the condescending smirks and dismissive comments. Instead, my family sat in awkward silence at their massive dining table, watching me calmly enjoy my appetizer while occasionally checking notifications about upcoming auctions. So, James, dad began, his voice lacking its usual authoritative tone. I heard from the the Henderson's again.