"No one is coming to save us," says Brad Gimbert, founder of Indigenous Wealth, a firm helping First Nations people become property investors.

From the Wailwan people and raised in Blacktown by his adopted Barkindji father—part of the Stolen Generations—and white mother, Brad's eye was always on success. As a child, he'd listen in on adult conversations about money, offer drinks for $1, lend his sister $10 and demand $12 back. He was always hustling, always learning.

Success, to him, meant more than just security; it meant wealth, something his family never had.

"I used to say to my parents, what colour Ferrari do you want me to buy you when I'm rich?" he says.

But the odds were stacked against him from the beginning. His biological mother was a heroin addict; his father, in prison. Brad was adopted by a family in western Sydney and, as the youngest of three by a decade, grew up grateful for the second chance they gave him.

Life changed at 11 when his father was declared bankrupt. They lost everything, and Brad and his mother lived in a refuge in Rooty Hill for nine months before bouncing between public housing in Doonside, Lalor Park and Glenmore Park.

He was smart and liked school enough to finish Year 12, but opted out of an ATAR.

"What was the point? I couldn't afford uni, and I knew I could go later as a mature age student," he says.

At 14 years and nine months, he got his first job at McDonald's to help with rent and groceries. But like many of the teens around him, he also started selling drugs.

"I still felt I had a moral compass—I wasn't stealing or jumping people."

Boxing became his outlet. His first full-time job was in a shopping centre stall selling memberships, which forced him out of his shell. Then at 18, he was charged with cannabis possession—told it would be a caution, but it became a criminal record that cost him a traineeship in project management.

"I kept thinking, what do rich people do to get rich?" That question led him to a company that trained people to become property investors. Mr Gimbert paid to learn, and when a call centre role opened up, he jumped at it.

"I'd annoy everyone asking questions. I even offered to buy people lunch just so I could learn," he recalls.

He became the company's youngest consultant, earned his mortgage broker certificate, and was thriving. But everything changed when he caught a man in underwear trying to break into his brother's house through his niece's bedroom window.

"I beat him up pretty badly—he ended up in a coma. I was charged with home invasion and grievous bodily harm."

He spent a year in prison. Every day, he wrote down his goals and when he wanted to achieve them.

"No one's going to do this for you," he reminded himself.

Three days after release, Mr Gimbert was back working with former colleagues, gaining more experience in property investment. In 2020, he launched Indigenous Wealth, which now employs nine staff and engages around 15 contractors.

He's proud of the impact he's had on his community.

"When I started, there were fewer than 100 Indigenous property investors in Australia. Through Indigenous Wealth, we've doubled that figure," he says.

"What I'm trying to do is overrepresent us in the top percentiles—instead of being overrepresented in the worst ones."

He believes a turning point has arrived.

"We're dawning a new time, at the apex from surviving into thriving. What's possible now is worlds beyond what has been possible in the past."

And the Ferrari?

"Well, I'm just about able to buy it now, but looking at the finances, it doesn't make sense."