That year, my dad was still fretting over not being able to afford a pair of leather shoes.
I became his closest childhood friend.
I taught him how to appraise antiques, helped him find hidden treasures, and got him started on his first pot of gold.
He clapped me on the shoulder and called me a "good brother," his eyes filled with gratitude.
Only I knew that in my previous life, he had secretly sold his blood three times to put me through school.
This time, I'll be the "fool" for him.
In the 1990s, I'm going to make sure Dad is among the first to get rich.
