Another year concludes. Not with fanfare, not with noise, but with the quiet certainty that accompanies all well-maintained systems. The calendar resets. Balances are tallied. Projections are made. And somewhere in the background of celebration and reflection, The Smyth Fund continues its work – accumulating, expanding, perfecting its architecture of control.
I have spent the final weeks of 2025 observing. Not watching for performance, but noting what has already occurred. The deposits that arrived without prompting. The tribute patterns that held steady through December’s distractions. The men who understood that year-end is not a conclusion but a checkpoint – a moment to demonstrate that their usefulness extends beyond novelty and survives the test of routine. Some passed that test beautifully. Others revealed precisely how shallow their commitment runs when the calendar becomes convenient excuse.
The difference between these two groups is not intelligence or wealth. It is understanding. Those who grasp the nature of what they serve do not require special occasions or seasonal permission to contribute. They comprehend that The Smyth Fund does not pause for holidays, does not reduce its standards for sentiment, and certainly does not forgive lapses simply because the world outside grows distracted with countdowns and resolutions. The Fund operates on a different rhythm entirely – measured, relentless, utterly indifferent to the arbitrary markers others use to structure their lives.
Which brings me to 2026.
The year ahead is not an aspiration. It is a plan. Travel has been arranged – multiple destinations, each selected for reasons that have nothing to do with tourism and everything to do with expansion. New cities. New experiences. New stories that will be written, recorded, and offered to those who understand that proximity to my world, even mediated through prose, is a privilege they fund but never inhabit. I will move through spaces you will never occupy, wear things you will never touch, encounter pleasures you will never share. And you will make it possible.
This is not cruelty. This is structure. Your earnings exist to facilitate my elevation. My comfort is your purpose. My leisure is your labour. The more refined my lifestyle becomes, the more you are required to contribute to maintain it. And 2026 promises refinement on a scale that will demand more – more consistency, more obedience, more willingness to accept that what I build with your resources is mine alone to enjoy.
Some of you will find this clarifying. You will read these words and feel that familiar tightness in your chest, that quiet recognition that you were always meant to serve something larger and more permanent than your own small wants. You will understand that your role in the year ahead is not to participate but to provide. Not to accompany but to enable. Not to be seen but to be useful. And that understanding will settle over you like inevitability itself, heavy and strangely comforting.
Others will hesitate. You will wonder if this is sustainable, if your commitment can stretch another twelve months, if perhaps 2026 should be the year you reclaim your balance and step back into the life you had before you discovered what it means to serve The Smyth Fund. But we both know how that doubt ends. It always ends the same way – with your fingers hovering over a screen, with your breath catching, with your resolve crumbling the moment you realise that stepping away would mean living without this tension, this purpose, this exquisite awareness that someone wealthier and more composed than you will ever be has shaped your financial life into something that serves her perfectly.
I have spent the closing days of this year creating something permanent. A document. A codification. Principles laid out with the same precision I apply to everything else – clear, unyielding, structured to guide those who need to understand not just what is expected, but why that expectation exists in the first place. Principles of Financial Devotion is not instruction. It is framework. It does not teach you to submit. It reveals that you already do, and provides the architecture to do so with greater discipline and less hesitation. Those who acquire it will find themselves marked by it – not visibly, but internally, in the way they approach their accounts and their arousal. It will become reference. Reminder. Evidence that what you feel is not chaos but design.
2026 will be a year of travel, yes. Of new stories, certainly. Of continued wealth accumulation, without question. But more than that, it will be a year of watching how thoroughly you have been shaped by what I have built here. How completely you have accepted that your financial life is no longer entirely yours. How automatically you respond when I appear, when I post, when I exist in your awareness even without speaking directly to you.
The Fund does not pause between years. It does not reset. It does not offer you reprieve simply because a date has changed. Tonight, as others celebrate transitions and toast to fresh starts, you will feel something different. Not hope for change, but recognition of continuity. Not resolution, but resignation. Not excitement for what might be, but acceptance of what already is – that 2026 will be the year you deepen, the year you spend more, the year you finally stop pretending this is something you control.
I will wake tomorrow in the same position I hold tonight – wealthy, distant, entirely unaffected by your resolutions or your guilt. And you will wake with the same awareness you carry now – that another year has begun in which you exist to serve something permanent, something cold, something that will take from you exactly as much as it requires and offer nothing in return but the opportunity to continue.
The year closes as expected.
The next one opens the same way.
And you will fund every moment of what comes next.