and where I’ve come from. His name was Stephen
Gaines, and he saved my life. Want to know how Stephen saved me?” Leonard said.
The room nodded.
“He gave me my life back. More importantly, he let me become a man again. See, once I lost my job, lost my wife, lost it all, I wasn’t a man anymore. I was a dickless nothing wandering the streets waiting for someone to put me out of my misery. And Stephen took me from that, and he gave me my life back.”
“What did he do?” Chubby asked. Leonard smiled and walked over to Chubby, knelt down and stared at him in his bright red face.
“He let me earn again.”
Chubby nodded, and suddenly Morgan realized he was doing the same thing.
“I know each and every one of you,” Leonard said. He looked at Chubby. “Franklin LoBianco. Laid off from
Morgan Stanley three months ago. You’re listed as owning a four-bedroom apartment on Madison and Thirty- fourth.
Nice neighborhood, Franklin, but I bet you’re wishing you didn’t splurge on that four-bedroom now.”
Franklin lowered his head.
Leonard walked around the room and stopped by a young Indian man with a slight goatee and an earring.
“Nikesh Patel,” Leonard said. “You were the chief financial analyst at a hedge fund that was worth one point two billion dollars. But then that fund blew up, and you were without a job. I bet it makes paying for your parents’ home in New Delhi rather difficult.”
Nikesh opened his mouth questioningly, but shut it as
Leonard walked around the room some more. Morgan went rigid as Leonard stopped right by him and looked down at him.
“Morgan Isaacs,” Leonard said. “A few years ago, you bought your apartment for one point eight million dollars.
I’m sure at the time it seemed like a good buy. A good investment. But records show that that same apartment was listed two months ago at one point five. Then one month ago at one point two. Now, it’s currently off the market. Figure between costs and renovations, you’re out a million dollars minimum. And this real estate market isn’t going up anytime soon.”
Morgan felt the eyes of the room locked on to him, but when he met their gaze he saw there was no condescension, no patronage, no disdain. Instead there was pity. And
Morgan smiled when he saw his fellow brothers, knowing they were right there with him.
“In the past twenty-four months,” Leonard said, standing straight up and walking back to the front of the room,
“I have made two point three million dollars. Twice as much as I ever made on Wall Street. And that’s in the worst economy in decades.”
Morgan could tell his eyes were just one of a dozen pairs that went wide when hearing that sum.
Leonard continued. “And that’s after taxes.”
A few hushed whispers now rose through the room, including one person who said, quite audibly, “Bullshit.”
Leonard locked eyes with the speaker, a bald, black guy in his early thirties. “Two point three after taxes, that’s, what, four million before Uncle Sam takes his cut? You’re telling us you went from being broke-ass on the street to making seven figures after taxes in two years? In this economy?”
Leonard nodded. “Welcome to the new America,” he said.
“How?” Chubby said, suddenly springing to life.
“How,” Leonard said, rubbing his chin as though debating the question. “That’s the key. How. And I’m guessing not just how, but how can you do it, too. That’s kind of a multipart answer. And let me tell you this. If you aren’t comfortable with the first part, you won’t be right for the rest of it. Ready? Here goes. You will make money.
You will also file a W-2. You will do everything a good taxpaying citizen of this great country does, including paying state and federal income tax…only what you will be doing to earn that money will not be legal.”
“The money is illegal?” Nikesh said.
“Money itself is never illegal,” Leonard said. “It’s how you obtain it that determines the legality.”
“So what will we be doing, exactly, that determines the legality?” the black guy said.
“It’s actually very similar to what you’ve all done throughout your entire adult lives,” Leonard said. “What is finance? What is the stock market? It’s a drug. It’s gambling. It’s doing something that feels so right, that can change your mood, change your mind, change your outlook on things. Just like a drug, the stock market can either expand your mind, or make you lose it. It all depends on who’s doing it and how responsible they are.
You’re all pretty responsible guys, it’s not your fault you found yourself on the sole of God’s shoe. So you’ll be doing exactly what you’ve done, and what you’re good at. Selling people things that make them feel good.”
“Drugs,” Morgan said.
Leonard cocked his head. “That’s right.”
Nikesh said, “I don’t understand. If you sell drugs, how can you file taxes on it?”
“That’s for us to know and you not to worry about.
Once you come on board you’ll file your taxes just like anyone, and through our company, 718 Enterprises, you’ll be just like that waitress on the corner. Nobody looks at her tax return, and nobody will give yours a second glance either.”
“What do we need to do?” Nikesh said.
“Simple. Every morning, you will arrive at a predetermined location at eight o’clock. You will be given different items in different quantities. You will dress the same way you did today-like a businessman. You will carry on you a cell phone that will be given to you on your first day of work. Throughout your shift, you will receive calls on your cell phone, alerting you to the location of your next customer. We will also tell you what the customer requires, and how much. You will go to the customer’s location, exchange money for goods just like anyone, and leave. At the end of each day, you go home. Eighthour days. None of the ten, twelve, fourteen-hour crap you’re used to. The next morning you’ll come back, drop off all the money you received the previous day, fill up your bags and start again. The faster you are, the more runs you’ll be given throughout the day, the more money you will make. Those of you who prove that they can handle a lot of runs will be promoted to later shifts. More action, more money. At the beginning you will work with a partner. This is for trust. You are your partner’s eyes, and vice versa. But you are also our watchman.”
“Watchman?” Chubby asked.
“This business is built on trust,” Leonard said. “Because of the sensitive nature of our business, we cannot take risks. We thoroughly check out every single person before we bring them here. We know everything about you. Your background, your families, brothers, sisters.
Your son, Greg.”
The black guy swallowed.
“If you do your job, you will make money. If you decide you do not want to continue, that is your prerogative, provided you give us the customary two weeks’ notice. But if you decide that you suddenly want to, say, alert anyone outside of our employ as to your job activities, you will be reprimanded. Severely. There are no second chances, no third strikes. You are not in kindergarten. If you make your bed, you lay in it, and your first offense is a punishable one.”
“Punishable by what?” Morgan asked.
Leonard stopped. Looked at Morgan. “Let’s hope I never have to answer that question for you.” Morgan said nothing. “If you agree to be a part of our company, you will start this Monday. You each came here with a sponsor, and that sponsor will call you Friday night with the location where you refill and drop off your merchandise and money. Work that starts Saturday morning. Yes,
Saturday. Your sponsor put their reputation on the line bringing you here. Don’t embarrass them. In a short time, we will be starting an initiative that has the potential to bring in even more revenue than I’ve already discussed.
