“My dad owns every law firm in this province,” the lawyer’s daughter laughed after ramming her brand-new Tesla into my old Subaru

labeled “Paris,” “GirlsTrip,” “SkiWeek.” Every picture telegraphed the same message: Look at my life. Look at my access. Look at what I deserve.

Her bio read: “Living my best life Daddy’s girl .”

I almost laughed. She was a caricature that had convinced herself she wasn’t one.

But the thing about people like that is they rarely keep their privilege on continue reading …