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Abel, stepping into Warren Buffett’s famously sensible shoes, signaled a remarkably… passive strategy. He’s not planning a fire sale of Berkshire’s holdings. No frantic scrambling to rebalance the portfolio. Instead, a sort of… patient waiting. Specifically, with Apple, American Express, Coca-Cola, and Moody’s. The man seems to be operating under the assumption that these companies will simply… compound. Over decades. It’s a refreshing concept, really. Like letting a good sourdough starter do its thing. I tried that once. It smelled faintly of gym socks.

Realty Income, a name that speaks of stability, offers a current yield of approximately 4.9%. This return, while not extravagant, is supported by a three-decade history of increasing dividends – a testament to the enduring demand for physical space, even in an age of digital abstraction. The company’s portfolio, encompassing over 15,500 single-tenant properties, is a mosaic of American commerce. Roughly eighty percent of its rents derive from retail establishments, a sector often maligned in the pronouncements of those who believe all commerce will soon be conducted through the ether. Yet, the human need for tangible goods, for the simple act of exchange, remains potent. Realty Income, in essence, is a collector of rents, a modern-day feudal lord, but one whose holdings are spread across the nation, rather than confined to a single estate. Its adjusted funds from operations payout ratio, hovering around 75% in the projected year of 2025, suggests a comfortable margin of safety, a capacity to withstand unforeseen challenges. Growth, however, is likely to be incremental, a slow and steady accretion of value, rather than a sudden burst of expansion. For the investor seeking tranquility, a predictable income stream, this REIT offers a haven from the volatility of more speculative ventures.

The explanation? Oh, there are a few. “Expensive,” they say. As if anything good isn’t expensive. It’s like avocado toast – you know it’s a ridiculous price, but you buy it anyway because, well, you’re an adult with disposable income and a crippling need for Instagrammable breakfast. The other theory? Investors rotated into beaten-down software stocks. Apparently, the allure of a “turnaround story” is stronger than, you know, actual growth. It’s the financial equivalent of dating someone because of “potential.”

Three years prior, a modest investment in Micron Technology, a mere thousand dollars, had blossomed into a fortune – seven thousand dollars, they said, a sum that could buy a small plot of land in the mountains, or perhaps a lifetime supply of black coffee and regret. But it was in the last twelve months that the true miracle occurred, a transformation fueled by the insatiable appetite of artificial intelligence. Micron, it seemed, had become the silent architect of this new era, the provider of the very foundations upon which these digital dreams were built. The memory chips, once overlooked components, now pulsed with a power that bordered on the mystical, each one a tiny vessel carrying the weight of countless calculations and forgotten desires.

The Rand Corporation, those meticulous accountants of the inevitable, predict a demand of 68 gigawatts next year, swelling to a monstrous 327 by 2030. A figure that chills me not with its scale, but with its certainty. We are building a digital Leviathan, and few seem to consider the cost of feeding it. The market, of course, is enthralled by the spectacle, chasing the phantom of exponential growth. But I ask you: what good is a brilliant mind, if it collapses from exhaustion? Or, in this case, a power outage?

The mania, you see, was unsustainable. Investors, ever the restless flock, began to eye the overcrowded AI pasture with a degree of suspicion. A stampede for the exit, though not quite yet, has resulted in a collective 4.9% dip for the Seven this year, as measured by the Roundhill Magnificent Seven ETF (MAGS 1.48%). They peaked, as all bubbles do, back in late October 2025, and have been drifting downwards ever since – a gentle descent, perhaps, but a descent nonetheless. One begins to suspect the dividends were a mirage.

To suggest a doubling of the stock in three years isn’t prophecy, dear reader, but a rather straightforward application of logic – and a healthy disregard for prevailing panic. The gentleman who waits, as they say, doesn’t necessarily inherit the earth, but he often acquires a rather attractive portfolio.

One notes, with a certain detached curiosity, that this constitutes 1.23% of River Road’s reportable assets. A percentage. A sliver of ownership, meticulously quantified, and yet utterly devoid of meaning beyond its numerical existence. The portfolio, as publicly declared, reveals a hierarchy of holdings: NYSE:BJ at $306.44 million, NYSE:WTM at $251.19 million, and so on, descending into a carefully constructed pyramid of financial commitments. Each figure, a testament to the ceaseless accumulation of… something. The ordering itself feels significant, though the rationale remains elusive. Perhaps it is simply alphabetical. Or perhaps a complex algorithm dictates the arrangement, a secret known only to the custodians of these funds.

For years, they’ve catered to the serious traders, the people who treat the market like a chess game, not a lottery ticket. I suspect they look at accounts like mine with a mixture of pity and mild annoyance. But the brokerage world is changing, and even IBKR can’t ignore it. It’s like my Aunt Mildred suddenly deciding to learn TikTok – inevitable, and slightly unsettling.

It’s a curious thing, mind you. Amazon, that purveyor of everything under the sun (and a good many things that ought to remain under the sun), and Costco, that warehouse full of bulk bargains, are headin’ into 2026 lookin’ mighty different. Amazon’s been spendin’ money like a drunken sailor, while Costco’s been sittin’ pretty on a pile of membership fees. And yet, it’s Amazon that’s growin’ faster, a fact that’d give old man Scrooge a fit of the vapors.