On Christmas Day 2002 a West Virginia man won $315 million. A few years later he said he wished he had torn up the ticket.

He was 55, a contractor who had built his own company and was already worth more than $17 million.

On Christmas Eve 2002 he stopped at a store in a, and bought a Powerball ticket. The next night it hit. $314.9 million, at the time the biggest jackpot ever won on a single ticket in America.

He took the cash. About $113 million after taxes.

At first he did what a good man would do. He pledged 10% to churches. He put $14 million into a foundation. He bought the deli manager who sold him the ticket a house, a Jeep and a check for $44,000.

Then the money started pulling in the wrong people.

In 2003 thieves took $545,000 in cash from his car outside a strip club. Asked why he carried that much, he said: “Because I can.”

His granddaughter Brandi was the light of his life. He gave her about $2,000 a week. At 17 she had four cars.

New friends came. Then drugs. Her boyfriend was found dead of an overdose in one of her grandfather’s houses.

A few months later Brandi disappeared. On December 20, 2004, she was found dead, wrapped in a plastic sheet behind a junked van.

“My granddaughter’s dead probably because of the money,” he said.

His wife said she wished she had torn up the ticket. He said he wished the same.

His daughter died in 2009. His house burned down in 2016. He died in 2020.

“I don’t like what I’ve become,” he said.

His name was Jack Whittaker.

Would you still take the $315 million? Yes or no.

Larry King was married to Shawn for 22 years. Two months after filing for divorce, he wrote a will by hand, and her name was not in it.

In the video below, you see the will itself, and Shawn explains why she never thought it would come to this.

Larry King interviewed about er that lasted more than six decades. He married eight times, to seven women. His marriage to Shawn, a singer and actress, lasted 22 years, the longest of all. They had two sons.

In August 2019, at 85, he filed for divorce. It was never finalized. “In my heart I didn’t think it was really going to happen,” Shawn said. Some reports say they still spoke every day.

Two months after filing, he wrote a new will by hand. “This is my last will and testament. It should replace all previous writings.” He wanted 100% of his money split equally among his five children. You can see where he crossed out “20%” and wrote “100%.”

Shawn’s name was not in it.

In 2020 two of those children died, weeks apart. Larry died in January 2021, at 87.

Shawn went to court. She said they had a “watertight” family estate plan from 2015, and that someone must have influenced him. His oldest son, Larry Jr., fought her.

Reports put his fortune at around $50 million, much of it held in trusts.

Was it Larry’s right to cut her out, or should 22 years of marriage count for something?

Larry King was married to Shawn for 22 years. Two months after filing for divorce, he wrote a will by hand, and her name was not in it.

In the video below, you see the will itself, and Shawn explains why she never thought it would come to this.

Larry King interviewed about er that lasted more than six decades. He married eight times, to seven women. His marriage to Shawn, a singer and actress, lasted 22 years, the longest of all. They had two sons.

In August 2019, at 85, he filed for divorce. It was never finalized. “In my heart I didn’t think it was really going to happen,” Shawn said. Some reports say they still spoke every day.

Two months after filing, he wrote a new will by hand. “This is my last will and testament. It should replace all previous writings.” He wanted 100% of his money split equally among his five children. You can see where he crossed out “20%” and wrote “100%.”

Shawn’s name was not in it.

In 2020 two of those children died, weeks apart. Larry died in January 2021, at 87.

Shawn went to court. She said they had a “watertight” family estate plan from 2015, and that someone must have influenced him. His oldest son, Larry Jr., fought her.

Reports put his fortune at around $50 million, much of it held in trusts.

Was it Larry’s right to cut her out, or should 22 years of marriage count for something?

In 2012 a Chicago man won $1 million on a scratch-off ticket. The day after the state issued his check, he was dead. Doctors said natural causes.

He was 46, an immigrant from India who had built up a few dry-cleaning shops in Chicago.

He scratched the ticket at his local I hit a million!” The Illinois Lottery took his photo holding the ticket, smiling.

He chose the lump sum. After taxes, about $425,000. He planned to pay off mortgages, grow his business and give some to charity.

On July 19 the state issued his check.

That night, after a family dinner at home, he reportedly began screaming in pain. Before dawn on July 20 he was dead.

There was no sign of trauma. The medical examiner ruled it natural causes, hardening of the arteries. No autopsy. He was buried.

On August 15 the check was cashed.

But a relative called the medical examiner’s office. It didn’t seem natural, the family said. Take a closer look.

They reran the blood tests with a wider screen. Months later the result came back: a lethal dose of cyanide. Routine tests had never looked for it.

His death was ruled a homicide. His body was exhumed, but there was nothing more to find. He had died without a will, and his widow and his siblings went to court over the money.

No one has ever been charged. His name was Urooj Khan.

Should lottery winners be allowed to stay anonymous? Yes or no.

In 2012 a Chicago man won $1 million on a scratch-off ticket. The day after the state issued his check, he was dead. Doctors said natural causes.

He was 46, an immigrant from India who had built up a few dry-cleaning shops in Chicago.

He scratched the ticket at his local I hit a million!” The Illinois Lottery took his photo holding the ticket, smiling.

He chose the lump sum. After taxes, about $425,000. He planned to pay off mortgages, grow his business and give some to charity.

On July 19 the state issued his check.

That night, after a family dinner at home, he reportedly began screaming in pain. Before dawn on July 20 he was dead.

There was no sign of trauma. The medical examiner ruled it natural causes, hardening of the arteries. No autopsy. He was buried.

On August 15 the check was cashed.

But a relative called the medical examiner’s office. It didn’t seem natural, the family said. Take a closer look.

They reran the blood tests with a wider screen. Months later the result came back: a lethal dose of cyanide. Routine tests had never looked for it.

His death was ruled a homicide. His body was exhumed, but there was nothing more to find. He had died without a will, and his widow and his siblings went to court over the money.

No one has ever been charged. His name was Urooj Khan.

Should lottery winners be allowed to stay anonymous? Yes or no.

In 2001 a broke man in Kentucky borrowed money to get his water turned back on and spent $7 on Powerball tickets. He won $27 million. Twelve years later he died with nothing.

He was 46, out of work, an ex-con who had done time for robbing a gas station. He bought the tickets in ation in Ashland, Kentucky.

He was one of four winners of a $280 million jackpot. He took the lump sum: $27 million after taxes.

He told reporters he wanted to accept it with humility. He wanted the money to last for his daughter and for generations.

Then he showed a TV crew his new life. “I never have to worry about a hotel room, what I pay, worry about a menu.”

He bought a Bentley. His fiancée got her Ferrari. Then a Lamborghini, mansions in Palm Beach and Palm Springs, a Learjet, racehorses, a $178,000 diamond ring and a $78,000 watch.

He spent about $12 million in the first year.

Then came the drugs. Police found cocaine and needles in the mansion. The homes, the cars and the jet went to foreclosure. By 2007 the couple was living in a warehouse where they had stored their collectibles, until they were evicted from that too.

He went home to Ashland broke and sick.

In 2013 he died in a hospice at 58. Alone, the papers said, and penniless.

His name was David Lee Edwards.

If you won $27 million tomorrow, would you trust yourself with it? Yes or no.

In 2001 a broke man in Kentucky borrowed money to get his water turned back on and spent $7 on Powerball tickets. He won $27 million. Twelve years later he died with nothing.

He was 46, out of work, an ex-con who had done time for robbing a gas station. He bought the tickets in ation in Ashland, Kentucky.

He was one of four winners of a $280 million jackpot. He took the lump sum: $27 million after taxes.

He told reporters he wanted to accept it with humility. He wanted the money to last for his daughter and for generations.

Then he showed a TV crew his new life. “I never have to worry about a hotel room, what I pay, worry about a menu.”

He bought a Bentley. His fiancée got her Ferrari. Then a Lamborghini, mansions in Palm Beach and Palm Springs, a Learjet, racehorses, a $178,000 diamond ring and a $78,000 watch.

He spent about $12 million in the first year.

Then came the drugs. Police found cocaine and needles in the mansion. The homes, the cars and the jet went to foreclosure. By 2007 the couple was living in a warehouse where they had stored their collectibles, until they were evicted from that too.

He went home to Ashland broke and sick.

In 2013 he died in a hospice at 58. Alone, the papers said, and penniless.

His name was David Lee Edwards.

If you won $27 million tomorrow, would you trust yourself with it? Yes or no.

In 1967 a young man stopped for a hurt old man lying by a Nevada highway. Nine years later he was named in a will worth $156 million.

He was 23, driving alone at night on a desert highway north of Las Vegas. He saw an old man lying in the dirt by the road.

The man was thin, ng man took him for a drifter or an old prospector. He offered to take him to a hospital. The old man refused. He just wanted a ride to Las Vegas.

So he drove him there and dropped him off behind the Sands Hotel. Along the way the old man told him who he was. The young man did not believe him.

In April 1976 the old man died. He was one of the richest men in America, and nobody could find his will. People punched holes in walls looking for it.

Three weeks later an envelope turned up at church headquarters in Salt Lake City. Inside was a handwritten will. One line left a sixteenth of the estate, about $156 million, to a name nobody recognized.

The young man from the desert. By then he ran a small gas station in Utah.

At first he said he knew nothing about it. Then his fingerprint was found on the envelope. He admitted he had delivered it and said a stranger had left it at his gas station.

In 1978 a jury decided the will was a forgery. He never got a penny.

He never changed his story. Decades later a retired FBI agent said a pilot claimed he had flown the old man to a brothel near that same highway that very night. Others call it nonsense.

Hollywood made a movie about him that won two Oscars.

His name was Melvin Dummar. He died in 2018. The old man in the desert, he always said, was Howard Hughes.

Was he a liar, or the unluckiest man in America?

In 1967 a young man stopped for a hurt old man lying by a Nevada highway. Nine years later he was named in a will worth $156 million.

He was 23, driving alone at night on a desert highway north of Las Vegas. He saw an old man lying in the dirt by the road.

The man was thin, ng man took him for a drifter or an old prospector. He offered to take him to a hospital. The old man refused. He just wanted a ride to Las Vegas.

So he drove him there and dropped him off behind the Sands Hotel. Along the way the old man told him who he was. The young man did not believe him.

In April 1976 the old man died. He was one of the richest men in America, and nobody could find his will. People punched holes in walls looking for it.

Three weeks later an envelope turned up at church headquarters in Salt Lake City. Inside was a handwritten will. One line left a sixteenth of the estate, about $156 million, to a name nobody recognized.

The young man from the desert. By then he ran a small gas station in Utah.

At first he said he knew nothing about it. Then his fingerprint was found on the envelope. He admitted he had delivered it and said a stranger had left it at his gas station.

In 1978 a jury decided the will was a forgery. He never got a penny.

He never changed his story. Decades later a retired FBI agent said a pilot claimed he had flown the old man to a brothel near that same highway that very night. Others call it nonsense.

Hollywood made a movie about him that won two Oscars.

His name was Melvin Dummar. He died in 2018. The old man in the desert, he always said, was Howard Hughes.

Was he a liar, or the unluckiest man in America?

In 1980 Americans lined up to sell their grandmother’s silver forks. Two brothers in Texas were the reason.

Their father was a Texas oil billionaire. In the 1970s the sons feared inflation and did not trust paper money. So they started buying silver.

Not paper contracts. Real anes to fly them to vaults in Switzerland.

By the end of 1979 they and their partners controlled about 195 million ounces. Some estimates put it at a third to half of the world’s deliverable supply.

Then the price went crazy. Under $10 an ounce in the summer of 1979. Nearly $50 in January 1980. Every $1 jump made them about $100 million on paper.

Across America people lined up to sell their silver bowls, candlesticks, knives and forks to be melted down. Tiffany ran an ad in the New York Times calling it “unconscionable.”

But much of it was bought with borrowed money. The exchanges changed the rules, limiting new buying. The price started to fall, and the brokers wanted more cash.

On March 27, 1980, they did not come up with it. Silver crashed to $10.80. It became known as Silver Thursday.

A group of banks put together a $1.1 billion loan to keep the family afloat.

Asked about the losses, the older brother said: “A billion dollars isn’t what it used to be.”

Six months later the younger brother told a TV reporter he was as bullish on silver as the day he started.

In 1988 a jury found they had conspired to corner the market. They filed for bankruptcy.

They were Nelson Bunker Hunt and Herbert Hunt, sons of H.L. Hunt. Bunker was once called one of the richest men in the world.

Geniuses beaten by a rule change, or did they get what they deserved?

On a snowy day in 1963, a company older than the Civil War told its workers it was leaving town.

It started as a blacksmith shop in 1852. Its wagons rolled west with the pioneers and carried supplies for the Union Army. Later it built cars, and at one point it employed about diana city.

For generations it was the job in town. Fathers, sons, uncles and grandfathers on the same line.

On December 9, 1963, the company announced it was closing the plant. Less than three weeks before Christmas. More than 6,000 people out of work at once. Eleven days later the last car came off the line.

Then came the second blow. The pension fund did not have enough money to pay what it had promised.

Workers 60 and older got their full pension. About 3,600 people.

Workers between 40 and 59 with at least 10 years got about 15 cents for every dollar they had been promised. About 4,000 people.

Everyone else got nothing. About 2,900 workers.

Men in their fifties who had given the company their whole working lives walked out with a small check and no retirement.

Their story reached Washington. It took more than ten years.

On Labor Day 1974, President Gerald Ford signed a law that set rules for workplace pensions and created a federal insurance fund that pays workers when a pension plan fails.

The company was Studebaker, in South Bend. The law is ERISA.

If you have a workplace pension or a 401(k) today, you are covered by the law those workers made necessary.

Should a company ever be allowed to walk away from a pension promise? Yes or no.

He owned 10% of a company for 12 days. Then he sold it for $800.

In 1976 he was 41, an engineer at a video game company in California. A young coworker and his friend kept fighting over their little business idea. He sat them down in his apartment and settled it in under an er said, right there, “We are going to form a company.” The friends would get 45% each. He would get 10% and break the ties.

He typed up the partnership contract himself. He drew the first company logo by hand.

Then he started to worry.

Years earlier his own slot machine business had failed, and it took him a year to pay off the debts.

In a partnership, every partner is personally on the hook. The two young men had almost nothing. He had a house, a bank account and a car. If it all went wrong, the creditors would come for him.

So 12 days later he went to the county office and had his name taken off the contract. He got $800 for his 10%. Months later came a $1,500 check to sign away any future claim. He signed.

Years later he found his copy of the founding contract in a filing cabinet and sold it to a dealer for $500. In 2011 it sold at auction for more than $1.3 million. He says that is his one regret.

The young coworker was Steve Jobs. His friend was Steve Wozniak. The company was Apple.

His name is Ronald Wayne. In 2010 he was living on Social Security in the Nevada desert. He says if he had stayed, he would probably have ended up “the richest man in the cemetery.”

“I’ve never been rich,” he says. “But I’ve never been hungry either.”

Did he make the worst mistake in business history, or the right call?

In November 1963, one of America’s most trusted companies was falling apart. A young investor in Omaha went to a steakhouse to decide what to do.

A businessman in Bayonne, New Jersey, ran a company that traded vegetable oil. He stored it in giant tanks and borrowed against it. oans.

The receipts proving the oil was there came from a subsidiary of American Express. Bankers trusted them because of the name.

But the tanks were mostly water. Oil floated on top, so inspectors saw what they expected to see. Some tanks had hidden compartments. Oil was pumped from tank to tank and counted again.

At one point he claimed more soybean oil than the U.S. government said existed in the whole country.

In November 1963 it all collapsed. 51 banks and companies were left with about $180 million in losses. Days later President Kennedy was shot and the market panicked.

American Express stock fell from about $60 to $35. People asked if the company would survive.

In Omaha, a 33-year-old money manager did something strange. He spent an evening at a local steakhouse, standing by the cashier and watching how people paid.

They kept pulling out American Express cards.

The scandal had scared Wall Street. It had not scared the customers.

So he put about 40% of his partnership’s money into the stock. Around $13 million. 5% of the whole company.

A few years later he sold it for a profit of about $20 million.

The salad oil man went to prison. His name was Tino De Angelis.

The young money manager was Warren Buffett. Decades later he bought back in. Today Berkshire Hathaway owns about a fifth of American Express.

Was it genius, or just luck?

In November 1963, one of America’s most trusted companies was falling apart. A young investor in Omaha went to a steakhouse to decide what to do.

A businessman in Bayonne, New Jersey, ran a company that traded vegetable oil. He stored it in giant tanks and borrowed against it. oans.

The receipts proving the oil was there came from a subsidiary of American Express. Bankers trusted them because of the name.

But the tanks were mostly water. Oil floated on top, so inspectors saw what they expected to see. Some tanks had hidden compartments. Oil was pumped from tank to tank and counted again.

At one point he claimed more soybean oil than the U.S. government said existed in the whole country.

In November 1963 it all collapsed. 51 banks and companies were left with about $180 million in losses. Days later President Kennedy was shot and the market panicked.

American Express stock fell from about $60 to $35. People asked if the company would survive.

In Omaha, a 33-year-old money manager did something strange. He spent an evening at a local steakhouse, standing by the cashier and watching how people paid.

They kept pulling out American Express cards.

The scandal had scared Wall Street. It had not scared the customers.

So he put about 40% of his partnership’s money into the stock. Around $13 million. 5% of the whole company.

A few years later he sold it for a profit of about $20 million.

The salad oil man went to prison. His name was Tino De Angelis.

The young money manager was Warren Buffett. Decades later he bought back in. Today Berkshire Hathaway owns about a fifth of American Express.

Was it genius, or just luck?

In 2006 a man who could not read won $30 million in the Florida lottery. Three years later his body was found under a concrete slab.

He was 40, a truck driver’s helper in central Florida. He could not read or write. He had spent most of his life washing dishes, working on ing by.

In November 2006 his truck stopped at a little store in a town called Frostproof. He bought a couple of lottery tickets. One of them hit: $30 million. He took the lump sum, $17 million.

Then the phone never stopped ringing.

He gave away money to almost everyone who asked. He paid off mortgages for friends and for men he barely knew. A friend said he was so good-natured he just could not say no.

He told his brother he would have been better off broke. “I wish I could go back to my old self,” he told people at the barbershop.

In 2008, with his money running low, a woman showed up. She said she wanted to write a book about him. Soon she was managing his money. She moved about $1 million into her own accounts and took over his $1 million house.

In April 2009 he disappeared. For months she told everyone he had just left town to get away from people asking for money. She sent texts from his phone.

In January 2010 police found his body in her backyard, buried under a fresh concrete slab. He had been shot twice.

Her name was Dee Dee Moore. She was sentenced to life in prison.

His name was Abraham Shakespeare.

Would you tell anyone if you won the lottery? Yes or no.

In 2006 a man who could not read won $30 million in the Florida lottery. Three years later his body was found under a concrete slab.

He was 40, a truck driver’s helper in central Florida. He could not read or write. He had spent most of his life washing dishes, working on ing by.

In November 2006 his truck stopped at a little store in a town called Frostproof. He bought a couple of lottery tickets. One of them hit: $30 million. He took the lump sum, $17 million.

Then the phone never stopped ringing.

He gave away money to almost everyone who asked. He paid off mortgages for friends and for men he barely knew. A friend said he was so good-natured he just could not say no.

He told his brother he would have been better off broke. “I wish I could go back to my old self,” he told people at the barbershop.

In 2008, with his money running low, a woman showed up. She said she wanted to write a book about him. Soon she was managing his money. She moved about $1 million into her own accounts and took over his $1 million house.

In April 2009 he disappeared. For months she told everyone he had just left town to get away from people asking for money. She sent texts from his phone.

In January 2010 police found his body in her backyard, buried under a fresh concrete slab. He had been shot twice.

Her name was Dee Dee Moore. She was sentenced to life in prison.

His name was Abraham Shakespeare.

Would you tell anyone if you won the lottery? Yes or no.

On Christmas Day 2002 a West Virginia man won $315 million. A few years later he said he wished he had torn up the ticket.

He was 55, a contractor who had built his own company and was already worth more than $17 million.

On Christmas Eve 2002 he stopped at a store in a, and bought a Powerball ticket. The next night it hit. $314.9 million, at the time the biggest jackpot ever won on a single ticket in America.

He took the cash. About $113 million after taxes.

At first he did what a good man would do. He pledged 10% to churches. He put $14 million into a foundation. He bought the deli manager who sold him the ticket a house, a Jeep and a check for $44,000.

Then the money started pulling in the wrong people.

In 2003 thieves took $545,000 in cash from his car outside a strip club. Asked why he carried that much, he said: “Because I can.”

His granddaughter Brandi was the light of his life. He gave her about $2,000 a week. At 17 she had four cars.

New friends came. Then drugs. Her boyfriend was found dead of an overdose in one of her grandfather’s houses.

A few months later Brandi disappeared. On December 20, 2004, she was found dead, wrapped in a plastic sheet behind a junked van.

“My granddaughter’s dead probably because of the money,” he said.

His wife said she wished she had torn up the ticket. He said he wished the same.

His daughter died in 2009. His house burned down in 2016. He died in 2020.

“I don’t like what I’ve become,” he said.

His name was Jack Whittaker.

Would you still take the $315 million? Yes or no.

39 years ago today, Peter Lynch was on a golf course in Ireland while $3 billion vanished from his fund.

In October 1987 Lynch ran Fidelity Magellan, the biggest mutual fund in America. He felt the market was fine, so he and his wife Carolyn flew to Ireland for a golf trip.
Friday it fell more. He told Carolyn that if it dropped again on Monday, they would go home.

On Monday, October 19, the Dow fell 508 points, about 22 percent, the worst day in its history. Ireland is five hours ahead, so he watched it happen from a golf course in Killarney.

In two trading days Magellan went from about $10.7 billion to $7.7 billion. He joked that shareholders called in and heard he was on the sixth hole, even par, but stuck in a trap.

He flew home anyway. There was nothing he could do, he said, so he came back to suffer with everybody else.

He did not dump the fund. He kept owning companies he understood. The Dow got back to its old high in less than two years, and Lynch finished at Magellan with a 29 percent average year.

The crash took $3 billion from his fund in two days. Selling would have made that loss permanent.

His line about it still holds. Everybody in the world is a long-term investor until the market goes down.

Be honest. Where were you on Black Monday, October 19, 1987? Did you sell?

39 years ago today, Peter Lynch was on a golf course in Ireland while $3 billion vanished from his fund.

In October 1987 Lynch ran Fidelity Magellan, the biggest mutual fund in America. He felt the market was fine, so he and his wife Carolyn flew to Ireland for a golf trip.
Friday it fell more. He told Carolyn that if it dropped again on Monday, they would go home.

On Monday, October 19, the Dow fell 508 points, about 22 percent, the worst day in its history. Ireland is five hours ahead, so he watched it happen from a golf course in Killarney.

In two trading days Magellan went from about $10.7 billion to $7.7 billion. He joked that shareholders called in and heard he was on the sixth hole, even par, but stuck in a trap.

He flew home anyway. There was nothing he could do, he said, so he came back to suffer with everybody else.

He did not dump the fund. He kept owning companies he understood. The Dow got back to its old high in less than two years, and Lynch finished at Magellan with a 29 percent average year.

The crash took $3 billion from his fund in two days. Selling would have made that loss permanent.

His line about it still holds. Everybody in the world is a long-term investor until the market goes down.

Be honest. Where were you on Black Monday, October 19, 1987? Did you sell?

A stranger once paid for this old man’s breakfast. He thought the old man could not afford it.

You could understand why. His coat was held together with a safety pin. His flannel shirts were worn thin. He drove a used Toyota and always hunted for a parking spot without a meter.
n the same stool at the hospital coffee shop. A cup of coffee and an English muffin with peanut butter. That was it.

He grew up poor on a Vermont farm. He walked and hitchhiked four miles a day to high school and became the first in his family to graduate.

Then the war. North Africa, Italy, the Pacific.

He came home and pumped gas for about 25 years. Then he worked as a janitor at JCPenney for 17 more, vacuuming floors and taking out the trash.

But every day he read The Wall Street Journal. And Barron’s. And stacks of company annual reports.

In 2014 he died at 92. His lawyer opened his safe deposit box and found stock certificates stacked five inches high.

At least 95 companies. Boring ones. Procter & Gamble, Johnson & Johnson, railroads, banks, utilities. He bought what he understood, took the dividends and held on.

His estate was worth nearly $8 million.

He left $4.8 million to the hospital where he ate his breakfast and $1.2 million to the town library. The biggest gifts either had ever received.

His name was Ronald Read. Gas station attendant. Janitor. Millionaire.

The stranger had bought breakfast for a millionaire.

Was he a genius, or did he miss out on his own life?