tory Introduction: I turned 73 last Tuesday. Most men my age would be proud. I had spent my life transforming my grandfather’s humble construction company into a sprawling empire that stretched across three states. But what good was any of it when I sat alone at my mahogany dining table, staring at a cake with no one to share it?

I had called my son Gregory, my daughter Caroline, their spouses, and all five of my grandchildren to invite them to celebrate my birthday. Yet, one by one, they all answered with excuses. They were too busy to spend one evening with me.

That night, sitting alone in my study nursing a glass of scotch, I thought about what I could do to finally get their attention.

The Plan: Money. It had always been the one thing that got their attention, the one thing that made their schedules “magically open up,” as my late wife Helen used to say. So, I rented the most luxurious tour bus available and planned a weeklong trip to the coast. All expenses paid.

I sent out new invites to my family, asking them to join me for the “real birthday celebration.” The responses were predictably enthusiastic—this time, they were getting more than just a slice of cake and a few hours with an old man.

When the day arrived, all 15 of them showed up with piles of luggage and wide smiles.