in her mid-forties, believed most business people were empty suits, and thought every man wanted to get into her pants. Her strategy: tease them till their tongues hung out and their private parts were about to explode, then push them to sell more and more AFA products. Her “insurance policy” was strategically revealing blouses designed to expose her well-endowed figure tastefully. Despite the book cover, Barbara was extremely stingy with her actual sexual favors. They were reserved strictly for absolutely, positively necessary situations. She was self-confident enough to project a what-you-see-is-what-you-get attitude.
Despite strong ties to Pete’s second wife, Jolene, Brag eventually self-destructed. She decided she was so influential with AFA field advisors that she would start her own firm to compete with Pete, and the advisors would follow in droves. The evening after she resigned, she slipped back into the building and was caught stealing the company’s advisor database. Charges were never brought, but there was no severance package and no competitive company.
The second female consultant was forty-six-year-old Alexandria Plummet. Her persona was the direct opposite of Brag. She was a well-groomed, conservative Midwesterner with two grown daughters. She looked at least ten years younger than she actually was, and preferred to date men of that age. She always said she never mixed business with pleasure. Business was business; pleasure was personal.
Once an advisor was assigned to her group, she built strong relationships based primarily on frequent contact and sheer personal charm, secondarily on the actual business advice she provided. At the time of my arrival, she was one of the highest-paid managers, earning about $350,000 a year.
The story was that Craft and Plummet did business at one of his stops along the way, and he recruited her to work at AFA. Supposedly they slept together on a semi-regular basis. However, evidence of such activity was highly circumstantial at best—most employees said they had a funny way of looking at each other whenever they were in meetings.
Despite her bright smiles, perky demeanor, and solid listening skills, Alexandria never bought into Pete’s added-value mission. She believed that salespeople merely wanted product options so that they could make a quick trade and a big commission. She was stubborn as a rock. Interestingly, she quickly noticed that I could be equally stubborn when I wanted to make a point, so we operated at arms-length – at least initially.
~
My bottom line: AFA was populated by a bunch of business lightweights who were in the right place at the right time. I decided I’d take a pass; the company felt like a glorified Ponzi scheme filled with potholes.
A few days later, Marge called again. She wouldn’t get off the phone until I confirmed a follow-up meeting with Pete. (Later, I discovered the source of Marge’s intense loyalty. Pete learned from his wife that Marge’s husband had beaten the shit out of her in a drunken rage and took their two kids with him. Pete hired lawyers, got the kids back, and had an injunction placed against the husband. Then he hired Marge as his administrative assistant and paid her $80,000 per year, which was more money than she had ever made.)
“So?” said Pete.
“Not sure,” I replied.
“Name the amount. I’ll pay you whatever makes you happy — within reason.”
“Why are you so hot to hire me?”
Pete became candid. “I’m just a kid from the streets who wants to turn AFA into a Harvard Business School success story. I want Wall Street to love us so we can go public or sell to the highest bidder for an obscene amount of money. You’ve been there and done that. I want you to be my exit strategy coach.”
I smelled blood! “Tell you what. I’ll come on board as a full-time consultant for sixty days at absolutely no cost to you?”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Pete. “What’s the catch?”
“If you like what I do, and I like what I'm doing, my compensation package kicks in. But — cards on the table — there must be a significant equity kicker in the deal. I’m not here for cash flow. That’s just to keep you honest. I want at least five percent of the company on a fully-diluted basis.”
Pete smiled. “And you have the audacity to tell me it’s not about the money. How about $30,000 a month salary plus all expenses, five percent of the annual profits distributions, and a five percent equity stake after twelve months?”
The next day, Pete told his partners he had made the hire of the decade and sent a note to the office announcing my arrival. He never mentioned my equity ownership agreement to anybody.
Pete placed me in the office next to his. This pissed off Dawson, Eddie, and Jeremy, who had smaller offices on a lower floor.
2.
My sixty-day trial went by in the blink of an eye.
On day sixty-one, Pete, his three partners, and I had an off-campus session at the Greenwich Inn on Long Island Sound. As the sailboats passed by, I explained my impressions and findings and laid out a no-holds-barred, three-year plan: step-by-step, year by year, department by department.
“To begin with, the data suggests you’re spending far too much per head to recruit licensed financial advisors.” Pete and Craft immediately became defensive, since this was one of their primary purviews.
“Buddy,” smiled Craft cynically. “You don’t fully understand our business model. But then, how could you? You’ve only been around sixty days.”
“Give the man a chance,” interrupted Pete.
“The fact is, despite your success, you’ve given the recruiting department no flak cover. You guys need a big-time public relations program so that every time a producer picks up a trade magazine, he sees something positive about AFA.”
“That costs money and takes time,” sneered Costas, “and there are no guarantees.”
“Jeremy,” I said, “You’re right on all three counts. But if it works, advisors will want to visit Bridgeport. Your costs per recruit will drop dramatically, profits will soar, and you’ll boost employee morale and productivity.”
“How do we hedge our bets that it will work?” asked an intrigued Pete.
“We hire the best PR firm I know — Kekst, Slade, and Bitters in Manhattan—and create a corporate communications program that becomes the talk of the industry by exposing the humanity of your top producers.”
“Are you telling us you want to send up our producers in public? They’ll piss all over us!” responded Carr, tortured.
“Eddie, with all due respect, I’ve talked to a number of your top guns. I think they’d welcome the openness and lack of pretension. These guys have what I call ‘the blue-collar millionaire mindset.’ These are uneducated, unsophisticated entrepreneurs that are making more money than they ever imagined. Trust me; they’ll love it.”
Carr, Costas, and Craft were not happy campers — I had just described them. Pete tried to reduce the tension. “What else have you got, Martin?”
“I’ve analyzed your lead generation marketing materials. Your production costs are at a significant premium compared to current market rates.”
“But our producers aren’t complaining about the pricing,” responded Craft, trying to make me look foolish.
“All I can tell you is that I estimate with a few modest changes in business practices, you can add $625,000, maybe more, to your bottom line. Since you all share in the profits, think of it as getting a free Lamborghini!”
Pete grinned and nodded his head. I continued.
“We also need to update the content and design of your consumer lead generation programs. Response rates have been slipping over the last eighteen months, so it’s just a matter of time before your producers start complaining.”
Carr, concerned about producer credibility, said, “How the hell do we fix that