“Move your crap,” sister yelled, dumping my files. “We need this for inventory. Work from Starbucks.”
I said, “Nothing.” I left.
The next morning by 7:30 a.m., eviction notice. By 8:00 a.m., 63 messages.
I’d owned the $8.7 million building for 4 years. But let me start at the beginning because the day my sister kicked me out of my own building wasn’t random. It was the inevitable conclusion of 30 years of being the sister who didn’t matter.
The one who was supposed to be grateful. The one who should just get out of the way.
My name is Sarah Kim. I’m 34 years old. And I’ve spent most of my life being invisible next to my older sister’s spotlight.
My sister Jessica is 37, 3 years older. 3 years more everything according to our parents. Growing up in San Jose, California, Jessica was the achiever. Straight A’s, student body president, Stanford acceptance.
She was the daughter our immigrant parents dreamed of. Proof that their sacrifice meant something.
I was different, quieter, more interested in computers than people. I went to UC Berkeley for computer science. Good school, but not Stanford.
Jessica got her MBA, went into consulting, then moved to tech product management at Google, married a software engineer named David. They bought a house in Palo Alto worth $2.3 million.
I started as a software engineer at a small startup, made $95,000, lived in a studio apartment in Oakland, rode my bike to work.
Every family dinner was a performance where Jessica was the star. Jessica got promoted to senior PM. Mom would announce she’s leading a team of 12 people now.
That’s wonderful.
I’d say, “What about you, Sarah? Are you still doing the coding thing?”
“I’m a senior engineer now, building infrastructure.”
“That’s nice. Jessica, tell us about your new house project.”
I learned to stay quiet, to smile, to let Jessica shine.
What they didn’t know was that while Jessica was climbing the corporate ladder, I was building something else entirely.
In 2017, I was 27 years old. The startup I worked for, DataFlow, was growing fast. We’d built a data pipeline product that companies loved. Revenue was climbing. We had momentum.
Our CEO offered early employees the chance to buy additional stock options, discounted, but you had to pay cash upfront.
“I can offer you options to purchase 0.5% of the company,” he told me at $3 per share. “That’s $75,000.”
I had $82,000 in savings. Every penny I’d saved since college.
“I’ll take it,” I said.
Jessica told me I was insane.
“You’re putting all your savings into a startup. That’s terrible financial planning. You should be buying a condo.”
“I believe in what we’re building.”
“This is why you need to think bigger. Startups fail. Real estate is tangible.”
I didn’t argue, just bought my options.
18 months later, Salesforce acquired DataFlow for $850 million. My total equity 0.5% plus my standard employee grant of 0.3% was worth $6.8 million after taxes. I was 29 years old.
I didn’t tell anyone. Not my parents, not Jessica, not my co-workers who assumed I was moving to another startup.
I did move to another company, but not as an employee, as an investor. With $6.8 million, I hired a wealth adviser. Margaret Chin at Bay Area Capital Management.
“What do you want to build?” she asked.
“Long-term wealth. I want to own assets that appreciate and generate income. Commercial real estate.”
“Yes. Specifically, I want to buy a building, something in the South Bay, tech-focused office space that I can lease to startups. That’s capital intensive.”
“I have capital.”
We started looking. In 2019, we found it. A four-story office building in Mountain View, built in 2005, 45,000 square feet, eight separate units, currently 85% occupied.
The building was owned by a developer who’d overextended himself. He needed to sell quickly. Asking price, $9.2 million.
“It’s underpriced for the location,” Margaret said. “He’s motivated.”
“What’s it generating?”
“Annual rental income is $1.8 million. Operating expenses are about $650,000. Net operating income $1.15 million. That’s a 12.5% cap rate. That’s excellent.”
“It is, but you’d need to finance part of it. Banks will lend you about 70%. You’d need a down payment of around $2.8 million.”
“I’ll offer $8.7 million. All cash. Close in 30 days.”
“All cash. Sarah, you’d be putting almost all your liquid capital into one asset.”
“I believe in this market. Tech is growing. Office space in Mountain View will always be valuable.”
Margaret paused.
“We’re creating an LLC. Kim Property Holdings. You’ll own the building through the entity. Protects you from liability.”
“Perfect.”
We closed on November 15th, 2019. I paid $8.7 million cash for a commercial building in Mountain View. My family thought I was still working as a software engineer living in my Oakland studio.
I hired a property management company, Premier Commercial Management, to handle day-to-day operations. I reviewed financials monthly, but stayed hands-off otherwise.
By 2020, I’d increased occupancy to 95%. Annual revenue $1.9 million, net operating income $1.25 million.
By 2022, I’d raised rents in line with market rates. Annual revenue $2.3 million. Net operating income $1.65 million. The building had appreciated to $12 million. My net worth $9.8 million.
My family still thought I was just a software engineer.
In 2021, Jessica quit Google.
“I’m starting a company,” she announced at Sunday dinner.
“That’s exciting,” Mom said. “What kind of company?”
“Direct to consumer wellness products, supplements, skincare. We’re calling it Vitality Collective.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Dad said. “Very entrepreneurial.”
Jessica looked at me.
“You’ve worked at startups. Any advice?”
“Focus on unit economics. Make sure your customer acquisition cost is sustainable.”
“Obviously, this isn’t my first rodeo, Sarah. I ran product at Google.”
“Product management is different from running a company.”
“I’m aware. That’s why I have David as my co-founder. He’ll handle tech. I’ll handle product and business.”
