At 90, I disguised myself as a homeless man and walked into one of my own supermarkets—just to see who still treated others with decency when no one was watching. What I found broke my heart. Employees I once promoted mocked me, customers avoided me, and the manager kicked me out. But one young man, Lewis, offered me food, dignity, and kindness, without knowing who I was. He reminded me of the kind of man I’d always hoped to meet—honest, empathetic, and guided by compassion, not status. That day, I rewrote my will. I was ready to leave my entire empire to him.

But just before signing it, a letter arrived warning me about Lewis’s criminal past. I confronted him, and he didn’t deny it—instead, he explained how prison had changed him and shaped his belief in second chances. He didn’t want my money, only the chance to do good. So I created the Hutchins Foundation for Human Dignity and named him director. Not because he was perfect, but because he proved that character is what you show when no one’s looking. I may not have children, but I’ve found an heir. And if you’re wondering whether kindness still matters in this world—Lewis is your answer.