He’d started at fourteen, coding by the light of a desk lamp while his parents thought he was doing homework. His first "big" win wasn't a million dollars; it was the $20 he made selling a digital skin for a game. But that $20 became the seed. He didn’t buy sneakers or a new console; he opened a brokerage account with his dad's help and started learning the language of the S&P 500.
One Friday, he pulled up to the local grocery store in the modest sedan he’d bought used—he didn't like to drive much anyway. He saw Mrs. Gable struggling with two heavy bags of groceries. "Need a hand, Mrs. Gable?" he asked, hopping out. Teenage Millionaire
"Doing 'okay' usually doesn't involve venture capitalists in the parking lot," she teased. "Are you going to stay for the final exam?" He’d started at fourteen, coding by the light
By sixteen, the app had exploded. Investors were calling his house, asking to speak to "Mr. Vance," only to be greeted by a voice that hadn't quite finished breaking. The day the acquisition offer came through—seven figures—Leo didn't feel like a king. He felt terrified. He didn’t buy sneakers or a new console;