How to Become a Millionaire or Late Happiness

The story is real, I tell it in the first person: in the mid-2000s, at the peak of the stock market, I worked in a small investment company. A distinctive feature of it was that it was in a very convenient place and had a sign of the sample "Buy expensive securities, stocks, etc." Most of the people who came to this announcement carried all kinds of shit like MMM papers – similar and long-standing pyramids, or shares of all kinds of incomprehensible structures, which at best cost a penny. There were also many owners of honestly privatized gasprom and so on. for 1 voucher receiving a pair of green hundred-dollar notes.
Amidst all this cuddle comes a woman. The intelligent is such, only the look is sad and in the eyes, and it is visible from the appearance that it has long been not in urgent need, but almost in poverty. And the woman tells the story: She herself is a teacher of the junior classes, an honest Soviet hardening (in terms of bribery does not take etc.).He lives on one salary. In the early 90s, a large, although late love married a man from a distant village, who in Moscow was on the upgrading, and was registered in some working village (this is the answer to the question why letters from the company did not arrive). They lived soul to soul, in her mother's two-bedroom apartment in Stalingrad. When their mother died, they decided to move to a single house on the outskirts (no children), invest money in something valuable and live on interest. Because a husband is like the head of the family, it is up to him to decide. The apartment was sold in 1998, at the highest price. Yes, and one bought a very small one, so the difference was quite tangible at the time. (The author's explanation - the husband's wife at the time did not write a deep-seated paragraph about possible marriage offenders wishing to get to Moscow, and then seemed to be forgotten. In fact, she didn’t have time to write it.)
In general, the husband for a couple of months thought, guessed, and decided to invest the money in a "serious office". The problem is that he did not tell his wife the name when he went to her with money. And on the way back, he had what doctors call "a sudden and sudden heart attack with a fatal outcome." And the most offensive thing is that “good people” helped my husband stay without a jacket and without money, and with a jacket – and without papers. The wife did not know then whether he was cleaned before buying or if he bought something.
The husband's only mother-old woman, one and a half classes of education, in a working village in a remote Russian depth, no phone at home, rarely calls. There was no money to come to the funeral, they burned together a couple of times on the phone and his mother stopped calling him. And then suddenly gets - a letter somewhat strange received from Sberbank, and only here there are a lot of incomprehensible words and papers. In the name of my husband. The woman says to her, “Send me the mail, I’ll see.” And whether the mail worked as usual, whether the address was incorrect, the letter returned, and the husband's mother forgot about him somehow. A year later he calls again – again the letter came, let me send you. has transmitted. The letter came back again. The husband’s mother thinks – fate means this, you don’t need to send it.
I remained silent for a few years. Letters come every year. She had a whole hole of them.
And once this horse saw her neighbor, a literate woman, and says - letters are important and necessary, let me call myself, I will write the exact address and send the ordered.
and sent it. And our woman in Moscow got this wealthy farm, with which she decided to go to our office to figure out what to do.
The woman told all this to a young manager sitting next to me, who was obviously waiting for her to finally show him her 50 shares of Gazprom or another fantasy of an MMM-like firm. There were no people that day, and the woman was clear that she was not crazy and apparently came into the matter, so her long story we, though reluctantly, but listened to the end.
I still remember the manager’s face looking at the papers. At first he was amazed. Then, taking the second letter, he became white and his hands were shaken. I immediately understood that it was a letter from a newsletter for the shareholders of the Sberbank of the Russian Federation, but I did not see the details.
Finally, the manager cut off his eyes from the letter and with a broken voice said – if these are real letters, then you have 3,000 shares, 80,000 rubles each, a total of 240 million rubles....( rubles today, dear readers, Sberbank in the year 99 was worth 450 modern rubles per paper- was the peak of the crisis, and in the late 2000s his shares were divided into 1000 parts, so they now and are worth 80-90 rubles per paper).

The owner of the office himself is not a poor man and who saw everything in the 90s, was no less shocked than the manager.
After closing us with him in the cabinet, he took from us the honest bandit (in the SB-shne plan) word not to tell anyone "years 10 minimum".
He was dealing with a woman personally and as far as I know she received everything honestly.
R. S. It has been almost 10 years. I hope you forgive me :)