Rich Dad Poor Dad Summary Chapter 1 Novels & Stories

Immediately, sensing the uncomfortable atmosphere I had created, I turned a bit embarrassed to my younger brother, who was interested in nothing but devouring those chicken spaghetti as soon as possible. "How are your classes, Ryan?" I asked. "At that stupid university, there are only rich kids, but it's bearable," he grumbled, frowning with annoyance at the Jackson University atmosphere, which was a daily routine. I had also had to deal with it and understood it perfectly; however, along the way, I had encountered good people like Nia or one or two of my classmates, who despite being from families swimming in money, sometimes managed to be humble when they felt like it.

Your dad and I are just going to have to keep molding him in the projects a bit longer. My gaze froze. Darkness crept into the edges of my vision, and a loud buzzing filled my ears. It was an act… The poverty was fake. My family was filthy rich. They had deliberately pinned that 100 dollars on me too… "No, no… That can't be true!" I lunged at Dad, wanting to grab him and scream at him, but my fingers passed straight through his body. "What the hell?" I collapsed heavily onto the floor. As I realized what was happening, a choked sob escaped me. "I'm dead…"

The vibration of Royal's phone cut him mid-laughter, and his smile morphed into something deadly as he glanced at the screen. "Speak." he half roared into the speaker and took off, leaving Lucious with his face covered in dough. "Daddy is rich, and we are poor.” Lucious intoned after a momentary silence and a flare of pain lasered inside. Wait for kids to attack you with the ugly truth. "Daddy is surely rich baby," I added, with a pang of bitterness lazing my insides. Did he really have to call me out like that? I was about to give Lucious a pep talk, something straight from Rich Dad; Poor Dad when Royal sauntered into the kitchen, a dangerous shadow marring his perfectly refined features.

His look was daring and unapologetic, which got Edward angry. “Why are you pretending to be the victim here? I am the victim here!!!!! I am the one who fucking grew up in poverty without my father by my side while you on the other hand, lived in affluence, taking our father all to yourself” Richard yelled in frustration, which got everyone surprised.

“I was wrong.” I watched her, unsure where this was going, but her voice kept pulling me in. “I came from a poor family,” she said. “We were five children — me, and four little mouths that never had enough to eat. I was the eldest. My father was a carpenter growing old; my mother, a cleaner. We lived from day to day, praying not to go hungry. Then one day, I met a man.” Her eyes went distant, lost somewhere far away. “He was kind, or so I thought. Poor like me, or so he said. He promised love. He promised a future. I believed him. When I told him I was pregnant, he ran before the sun came up.”

He didn't say a word but kept on staring at me and began to sniff. I stood him chest to chest and said, “oh, are you going to stand there and say nothing? You don’t have anything to say right?” I asked. “I have said my mind” he completed. I shook my head and said, “the rich do whatever they want, and they do not care about the consequences of it on the poor” “so hilarious” I added. “That’s because the poor doesn't have what the rich ones have and it will take ages, centuries and even their generation to make it” he spilled out.

Richard sighed, leaning back again, “I know you must be going through a lot, and I get that, but this is a lot to ask from a stranger.” “Well, you're right,” I forced a smile, “but think of this as a business deal instead.” Richard smirked, stroking his beard again. A single ray of hope glowed in my heart when I saw him look up. He was intrigued and I didn't want the opportunity to slip away. “Money is not a problem, if that's what you're worried about,” I added, "My dad's a billionaire.” "Yeah, I can see that," Richard exhaled, glaring at the coffered ceiling and marble walls before turning to me. “How much are we talking about, exactly?”

I muttered under my breath, my fist clenching clutching onto the fabric of my cheap chiffon dress as I stared at the picture again. He was indeed curled up in the arms of another woman while I was being forced to make a hard decision. Why did I think that a wealthy billionaire like him would choose a poor woman like me with nothing to her name? He’d promised me a lifetime of love, peace and happiness with him, but instead, he inflicted me with pain and despondence. How was I to take care of this child on my own?

"From a tender age, he had learned that people do not like to associate with poverty except those who are equally poor. But that day, it was clear that their visitors weren't the regular poor ones, these ones were rich, judging from their shoes he had seen just at the doorstep. He was about to walk into the house, when he saw two huge men, dragging a struggling Giorgia out of the house. He screamed for his mama and Papa who eventually came out, but seemed unfazed by the whole situation. He eventually tried to fight one of the men, with such young Hope's of defeating the hefty man, but ended up on the floor, with blood flowing from his broken lips." "He was still on the floor, when the last m

This was a piece of cake for her. They both tottered towards the door, a few feet apart from each other, each planting firm steady steps into the ground, carefully placing one after the other until they reached the door and came back. Alita was conflicted between being impressed or disappointed. She had hoped to win because she didn’t expect much from him. She thinks him to be a petty rich kid who had everything he needed given to him on a platter. One of her life’s theories is that everyone who is now wealthy came from a wealthy family. Apple’s don’t fall far from the tree. What are the odds that someone from a childhood seriously stricken with poverty, lack of every basic need, and arrant