Among the affluent heirs in the room, each person's relationship with wealth manifests differently. Some cross their arms over their faces, others curl up in contemplation, and a few crouch as if bracing for impact. These 20 or so participants, each holding a sprig of rosemary meant to ground them in the present, aren't here for a traditional finance seminar. Instead, they are grappling with a challenge that few in their position confront: how to give their wealth away.
Unlike most high-net-worth individuals who seek financial advisors to grow their assets, the young inheritors at the Making Money Make Change (MMMC) conference in Nashville aim for the opposite. As beneficiaries of the largest intergenerational wealth transfer in U.S. history—an estimated $16 trillion over the next decade—many of them feel burdened by their inheritances. Instead of preserving their family wealth, they want to redistribute it.
This shift reflects broader generational attitudes. Many Gen Z and millennial heirs believe their wealth should serve a higher purpose. “I was 21 when I learned I was going to inherit money,” says Ash, now 30. “It was unsettling because I had been involved in climate justice and fossil-fuel divestment. Suddenly, I realized my family had profited from the very industries I was working against.”
The MMMC conference, hosted by Resource Generation (RG), helps young heirs navigate this internal conflict. Held on the campus of a former Christian missionary college, it serves as a space for high-net-worth individuals to explore ways to align their financial resources with social justice causes like affordable housing, environmental sustainability, and racial equity. RG, a nonprofit with more than 1,000 members, has become a central force in this growing movement. Many attendees joined after the 2016 election, motivated by concerns about wealth inequality and the political influence of affluent individuals.
For these young inheritors, wealth redistribution isn’t about virtue signaling—it’s about responsibility. They view their financial privilege as a tool to advance systemic change rather than personal gain. However, the process is fraught with emotional and logistical complexities. Raised in a society of stark economic divides, they often struggle with feelings of guilt, confusion, and alienation.
“I grew up feeling financially similar to my friends,” says Sarah, 24, whose family splits time between homes in California and England. “Then I learned about my inherited wealth, and it completely changed my perspective.”
Many attendees experience profound identity shifts as they come to terms with their financial reality. They wonder: What does it mean to be a responsible wealthy person? The media often portrays the ultra-rich as disconnected and exploitative, a perception that some of these heirs internalized. “I grew up watching ‘Richie Rich’ and Disney Channel movies where the rich were always the villains,” says Meg, the daughter of a billionaire. “I started questioning if we were the bad guys.”
Despite their immense resources, these heirs don’t fit the stereotype of the ultra-wealthy. Dressed in “Tax the Rich” and “Liberation” T-shirts, they are collectively worth at least $246 million, with another $1.5 billion expected from family inheritances, according to a pre-conference financial survey.
This survey, considered the most emotionally intense part of the event, isn’t intended to induce guilt but to underscore the magnitude of wealth concentration. Many young heirs go to great lengths to avoid confronting their financial realities, often ignoring bank statements or avoiding discussions about money. RG refers to this as the “freeze” response—paralysis in the face of inherited wealth. Through workshops like “Embodied Divestment,” attendees are encouraged to confront and process these emotions rather than suppress them.
The conference itinerary is packed with panels on financial redistribution, housing justice, and reparations. Evenings feature readings of Maya Angelou’s work and demonstrations on administering Narcan, reflecting a broader commitment to community care. The atmosphere resembles that of a progressive liberal arts college, rich in intellectual curiosity and social engagement. Unlike in their everyday lives, where many feel isolated by their wealth, attendees here find community in shared experiences and financial transparency.
“I used to try to blend in,” Meg recalls. “I worked in the outdoor industry, wanting to prove I was down to earth. Then someone offered me extra work, assuming I was struggling financially. That moment was deeply uncomfortable—I realized I had been hiding.”
The real transformation happens at the "action booths," where attendees meet with financial advisors and impact investing specialists. These sessions help them navigate the complexities of wealth redistribution—structuring charitable giving, setting up donor-advised funds, and identifying mission-aligned investments.
Sarah, in one such session, commits to redistributing an additional $1 million from her trust fund before the next presidential inauguration. Her long-term goal is to reduce her personal assets to $70,000 by 2025, aiming to sever ties with wealth she associates with capitalism and colonialism.
Her decision is met with mixed reactions from family. “My mom supports it, but my dad sees it as rejecting a gift,” she says. “I decided to go ahead and deal with the fallout later.”
Some heirs only learned about their wealth later in life, often after years of advocating for economic justice. Kavi, 28, grew up in India and moved to the U.S. for college. “I was training as a grassroots organizer, working directly with people affected by systemic oppression—then, suddenly, I inherited a massive amount of money,” they say. The realization was unsettling.
The conference also challenges attendees’ definitions of wealth. A person in the top 10% of young Americans today has an annual income of just $105,000—far less than what many attendees inherited. Jordyn Middlebrooks, 31, grew up in a working-class family. Her mother worked multiple jobs to support her father through law school, and after his success as an attorney, their financial standing changed dramatically. “Yet my parents still talk about themselves as if they’re struggling,” she says. “I look at their lifestyle and think, ‘You are not poor.’” Her experiences caring for a loved one have driven her to explore new ways to use wealth for social impact.
For many attendees, the biggest challenge isn’t deciding to give—it’s navigating the financial and legal barriers to doing so. Many trust structures are designed to preserve wealth across generations, often requiring trustee approval to access funds. “They ask, ‘What about your children’s children?’” Meg says. “And we respond, ‘What about everyone else’s children?’”
Another obstacle: the financial industry itself. Traditional advisors are trained to grow wealth, not help clients divest. “Most of my clients are frustrated with their financial teams,” says Iris Brilliant, a money coach specializing in wealth redistribution. A former organizer at RG, Brilliant transitioned into advising after recognizing the demand for financial guidance tailored to values-based giving. “I have a waitlist for individual coaching, and I imagine many of my peers do as well,” she says.
Divesting from wealth also carries personal risks. Ash, who inherited $800,000 at 21 and redistributed nearly all of it, faced an unexpected challenge: a cancer diagnosis. “It forced me to confront my reliance on financial security,” they say. Fortunately, their insurance covered most expenses, and their community rallied around them, providing food, transportation, and support. “It reinforced my belief in mutual aid,” Ash says. “We can take care of each other without relying solely on wealth.”
By the end of the conference, 35 heirs pledge to redistribute a combined $9.2 million. They commit to staying connected, grateful for a space where their unique struggles are understood. “Receiving my inheritance was isolating,” one attendee shares. “It made me question who I am, how I fit in, and what authenticity means.”
For those who successfully give away their fortunes, new challenges arise. “My siblings use their inherited wealth for housing and education,” Ash says. “When I talk about what I do, there’s a quiet tension.” Some family members predict they’ll come back asking for help. “They joked that I’d need financial support one day,” Ash recalls. “And honestly? Maybe I will.”
But then came another unexpected twist—an additional $80,000 inheritance from their grandmother. This time, the money felt different. “I don’t feel guilty anymore,” Ash says. “I just see it as another opportunity to give.”
Ultimately, redistribution isn’t just about money—it’s about skills, resources, and relationships. “No one is ever really ‘done,’” Ash says. “We all have something to pass on.”
