The New Currency of Wealth: Educating Heirs Before They Inherit

For Australia’s high-net-wealth families, the question is no longer how to grow wealth—it’s how to ensure the next generation knows what to do with it.

“Most affluent parents aren’t staying up at night worried about the next investment opportunity,” says wealth adviser Antony Selby. “They’re worried their money will mess up their kids.”

In an era marked by skyrocketing intergenerational transfers of wealth, Selby has observed a dramatic shift in his clients’ priorities. Increasingly, they’re not just seeking financial strategies—they’re seeking guidance on how to prepare their children for the emotional, practical, and psychological burden of inheritance.

“It’s one of the most common requests I get: ‘Can you help educate our children about money?’” Selby says. “There’s a growing realisation among wealthy families that simply leaving money isn’t enough. If the recipients aren’t prepared, that wealth can quickly become a liability instead of a legacy.”

Selby, who has advised Australia’s affluent for decades, says the old model of wealth management—built around transactions and product sales—is obsolete. In its place, a new approach has emerged: one that blends traditional financial advice with legacy planning, values-based education, and even elements of family therapy.

“We’ve moved from preparing money for heirs, to preparing heirs for money,” he explains. “That’s a fundamental change.”

The timing couldn’t be more critical. With Baby Boomers now well into retirement and multi-generational estates becoming more common, the next wave of wealth recipients—many of them in their 20s and 30s—face an unprecedented challenge. Unlike their parents, who often built wealth through work, these heirs risk inheriting it without the context, responsibility, or resilience to manage it.

And that, Selby says, is the real risk.

“Wealth can distort perspective. It can create dependence. It can rob young people of direction, and of the emotional tools they need to live independently,” he says. “That’s why so many of my clients now see their role not just as benefactors, but as mentors.”

What does that mentorship look like? For Selby, it often involves structured conversations about money values and family purpose. It means involving children early in philanthropic decisions, educating them about investment basics, and creating environments where financial literacy is as important as academic success. In some cases, it includes working with external coaches, psychologists, and advisers to help adult children develop their own identity outside the family’s financial narrative.

“There’s no simple formula,” he admits. “But three things make a difference: being intentional about values, developing real-life skills, and giving heirs the right mix of independence and support.”

While popular culture paints the ultra-wealthy as laser-focused on returns and deal flow, Selby says the reality is more nuanced. “Behind closed doors, it’s not about chasing more wealth. It’s about risk management, family cohesion, and the question we hear again and again: ‘How do we make sure this wealth is a force for good?’”

He points to the old proverb, “shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in three generations,” a warning that’s echoed across cultures. “It’s a reminder that financial inheritance must be matched with emotional and intellectual inheritance too.”

As the face of wealth management continues to change, Selby believes the industry must evolve alongside it—offering not just financial tools, but guidance through some of the most deeply personal challenges families will ever face.

“Money isn’t neutral,” he says. “It shapes families, for better or worse. The difference lies in how well we prepare the next generation to carry it.”

There has rarely, if ever, been so much tech talent available in the job market. Yet many tech companies say good help is hard to find.

What gives?

U.S. colleges more than doubled the number of computer-science degrees awarded from 2013 to 2022, according to federal data. Then came round after round of layoffs at Google, Meta, Amazon, and others.

The Bureau of Labor Statistics predicts businesses will employ 6% fewer computer programmers in 2034 than they did last year.

All of this should, in theory, mean there is an ample supply of eager, capable engineers ready for hire.

But in their feverish pursuit of artificial-intelligence supremacy, employers say there aren’t enough people with the most in-demand skills. The few perceived as AI savants can command multimillion-dollar pay packages. On a second tier of AI savvy, workers can rake in close to $1 million a year .

Landing a job is tough for most everyone else.

Frustrated job seekers contend businesses could expand the AI talent pipeline with a little imagination. The argument is companies should accept that relatively few people have AI-specific experience because the technology is so new. They ought to focus on identifying candidates with transferable skills and let those people learn on the job.

Often, though, companies seem to hold out for dream candidates with deep backgrounds in machine learning. Many AI-related roles go unfilled for weeks or months—or get taken off job boards only to be reposted soon after.

Playing a different game

It is difficult to define what makes an AI all-star, but I’m sorry to report that it’s probably not whatever you’re doing.

Maybe you’re learning how to work more efficiently with the aid of ChatGPT and its robotic brethren. Perhaps you’re taking one of those innumerable AI certificate courses.

You might as well be playing pickup basketball at your local YMCA in hopes of being signed by the Los Angeles Lakers. The AI minds that companies truly covet are almost as rare as professional athletes.

“We’re talking about hundreds of people in the world, at the most,” says Cristóbal Valenzuela, chief executive of Runway, which makes AI image and video tools.

He describes it like this: Picture an AI model as a machine with 1,000 dials. The goal is to train the machine to detect patterns and predict outcomes. To do this, you have to feed it reams of data and know which dials to adjust—and by how much.

The universe of people with the right touch is confined to those with uncanny intuition, genius-level smarts or the foresight (possibly luck) to go into AI many years ago, before it was all the rage.

As a venture-backed startup with about 120 employees, Runway doesn’t necessarily vie with Silicon Valley giants for the AI job market’s version of LeBron James. But when I spoke with Valenzuela recently, his company was advertising base salaries of up to $440,000 for an engineering manager and $490,000 for a director of machine learning.

A job listing like one of these might attract 2,000 applicants in a week, Valenzuela says, and there is a decent chance he won’t pick any of them. A lot of people who claim to be AI literate merely produce “workslop”—generic, low-quality material. He spends a lot of time reading academic journals and browsing GitHub portfolios, and recruiting people whose work impresses him.

In addition to an uncommon skill set, companies trying to win in the hypercompetitive AI arena are scouting for commitment bordering on fanaticism .

Daniel Park is seeking three new members for his nine-person startup. He says he will wait a year or longer if that’s what it takes to fill roles with advertised base salaries of up to $500,000.

He’s looking for “prodigies” willing to work seven days a week. Much of the team lives together in a six-bedroom house in San Francisco.

If this sounds like a lonely existence, Park’s team members may be able to solve their own problem. His company, Pickle, aims to develop personalised AI companions akin to Tony Stark’s Jarvis in “Iron Man.”

Overlooked

James Strawn wasn’t an AI early adopter, and the father of two teenagers doesn’t want to sacrifice his personal life for a job. He is beginning to wonder whether there is still a place for people like him in the tech sector.

He was laid off over the summer after 25 years at Adobe , where he was a senior software quality-assurance engineer. Strawn, 55, started as a contractor and recalls his hiring as a leap of faith by the company.

He had been an artist and graphic designer. The managers who interviewed him figured he could use that background to help make Illustrator and other Adobe software more user-friendly.

Looking for work now, he doesn’t see the same willingness by companies to take a chance on someone whose résumé isn’t a perfect match to the job description. He’s had one interview since his layoff.

“I always thought my years of experience at a high-profile company would at least be enough to get me interviews where I could explain how I could contribute,” says Strawn, who is taking foundational AI courses. “It’s just not like that.”

The trouble for people starting out in AI—whether recent grads or job switchers like Strawn—is that companies see them as a dime a dozen.

“There’s this AI arms race, and the fact of the matter is entry-level people aren’t going to help you win it,” says Matt Massucci, CEO of the tech recruiting firm Hirewell. “There’s this concept of the 10x engineer—the one engineer who can do the work of 10. That’s what companies are really leaning into and paying for.”

He adds that companies can automate some low-level engineering tasks, which frees up more money to throw at high-end talent.

It’s a dynamic that creates a few handsomely paid haves and a lot more have-nots.

The New Currency of Wealth: Educating Heirs Before They Inherit

Australia’s wealthy families are shifting focus from building wealth to preparing the next generation to handle it.

A divide has opened in the tech job market between those with artificial-intelligence skills and everyone else.

Playing a different game

Overlooked