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Before we’ll take a person’s money to attend a Come Into Power seminar, they have to complete a mini business plan. This serves two important purposes. One, it makes the events look exclusive since individuals “apply” and are “invited” to two glorious days basking in my brilliance. The truth is, if your credit card is good, you meet the attendance qualifications. But they don’t know that, which makes acceptance a confidence boost before they even arrive. And confident entrepreneurs are more likely to drop $20K on our Power Broker Program.
The other is that my team pores over every application and pulls nineteen people for me to bring onto the stage. They prepare one-pagers about each person, detailing facts about their business and recommendations to grow or recover or whatever they’re looking for. It makes me appear to be supernaturally fast on my feet, but every one of those nineteen have already won at least an hour of my company’s coaching time.
These seminar participants are the entrepreneurs my team deem the most likely to succeed becausetheirsuccess drivesmysuccess. Word-of-mouth marketing accounts for eighty percent of the asses in chairs. It is a brilliant business model, thought of by my most humble brother, Aiden.
All I do is memorize a few key points about each business, make sure Savannah seats our secret VIPs in designated spots that seem random but are the same in every goddamn city, then turn on my big fucking personality when they walk onstage.
Except for person number twenty. That woman is truly the wild card. And I always choose a woman since they are grossly underrepresented at my events, and I see it as an opportunity to level the entrepreneurial playing field, even if it’s by just one starfish. Selfishly, one starfish that will feed the Power empire.
In choosing my wild card, I look for three things as I sweep across the room. She has to meet my eyes and hold my gaze. She needs to have enough self-confidence that it will project to the thousand people in the auditorium. Typically, half the women standing are eliminated when they blink or look at their feet as soon as our eyes meet.
Then I focus on the way she’s dressed. I want to see personality in her attire, a splash of color, something that communicates she’s comfortable being herself. The majority in most cities, but not all, interpret business casual to mean blend in, be invisible. I am not interested in them. Authenticity projects confidence.
And with the few who remain as possibilities, I always point to the most physically attractive woman because people are assholes and are more inclined to aspire to be like someone they’d expect to see as an anchor on the evening news. A pretty woman is good for business.
Ever since the Vancouver seminar, whenever I’ve looked into the auditorium to find my last coaching mentee, I’ve hoped to see her again … Virginia Beach. In all the years I’ve been doing this and all the people I’ve called onstage, only one has ever stuck with me: that fiery redhead.
Her firm handshake told me, given a chance to spend more time together, I’d like this woman. The way she said her name without apology—a name I knew from my own experience people laughed at. Her dress was clearly custom made; it was too perfect, from the pattern that matched her personality so well, to the fit that emphasized all the right curves.
In that three seconds when our hands clasped and our eyes focused on each other, I flashed on a feeling of utter relaxation. I envisioned lying in the sun, being myself with a woman who is being herself. Just … being.
And then I got angry because that is not a viable future for Will Power. I hated that she reminded me of a life that is inaccessible to me.
So I punished her. Publicly. Unapologetically. For having what I can never have.
And since that day, I’ve regretted it. Not only because it was off-brand for the company, because if I were Horse or Brian or Aiden, I’d have asked her out to dinner. I would’ve brought her home, given Joe a night off, and kept her up until I’d explored every inch of her.
But I wasn’t born with the luxury of the life my brothers inherited. I am Will Goddamned Power and that means I have no possible future with Virginia Beach—or any woman—since I am not going to put another wife through the hell of losing her husband in his prime or of kids having to attend their dad’s funeral before they’re old enough to vote.
6. Virginia
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FENCE
“This card is from …” Mr. Liu punches a number into his laptop and looks at me with confusion. “New York City three years ago. What took you so long to reach out?”
“I, um, I mean, mybusiness, wasn’t ready for this level of focus until now.” Truth.
I can see him running questions through his mind. But he doesn’t press further, thank goodness. I’d already decided I wouldn’t outright lie, but if a question allowed me to be honest but not necessarily clear, that would be OK.
“Your business plan is well done. It helped me understand a lot about you.”
“About my business, you mean?”
“Yes, your business, of course. But where I’d like to start our coaching is not on your actual business, but on you.” Mr. Liu tents his index fingers and taps them on his lips.
“On me?” I discreetly pull a square of toilet paper from my pocket and place it on my lap where he can’t see to absorb the moisture from my palms.
“I find it fascinating that you’ve been given an opportunity to set a business income goal that, at a minimum, could be $1 million.”
My eyes betray my surprise. I didn’t see that small print in the info I found online.
Mr. Liu catches my expression. “Mr. Power would not have given you that card otherwise. The gold card is not just symbolic, Ms. Beach. He has confidence in your business reaching that target—not in one year, of course, but in five to seven. So, knowing you would have a coach who would be compelled to work with you until you met that gold standard target, you set an income projection of just $50,000 in Year One.
“So yes, I’d like to start with some personal coaching, since this financial goal is a waste of my expertise and the time I could be spending working with an entrepreneur who is actually going to make shit happen, as Mr. Power would say.”
Since he didn’t ask a question, I continue to listen and watch. He doesn’t appear annoyed that he’d been given my file, despite saying my business is a waste of his time. He’s smiling and nodding. I can tell he’s looking for nonverbal cues from me.
I tilt my head just a little as he speaks, silently communicating that I am comfortable with this information, even though if he asked to shake my hand at this moment, it would tell a different story.
