by Paul Mampilly
The Sovereign Investor
“Please don’t die, Daddy,” I prayed.
My mother was driving, and I was in the backseat with him lying in my lap.
My father had come home early from work complaining that he was in pain from indigestion. Somehow, my mother sensed that it was something worse.
This was 1985 — before cellphones, medevac helicopters or emergency equipment.
By the time we got to the hospital, my father was going through a full-scale massive heart attack. One second, he was standing next to me at the reception to the emergency room … and the next they were wheeling him to an operating room.