Prologue

1. From Nothing to CEO

I’ve spent my whole life running from this place, and now here I am, back again.

Except this time, it’s totally different. Instead of sitting with them, I was on stage, speaking to them.

I stood in front of the microphone. Before I said a word, I casually flicked my arms up from my side and rolled up the sleeves of my shirt. I took my time with my left sleeve, making sure my watch caught the sunlight.

Not only did I want my audience to wait for me, but I also wanted them to see what I had on. My custom-tailored three-piece suit, my perfectly creased pants, my leather shoes, and most importantly, my very large and very expensive gold watch.

Even though this was a captive audience, I was going to have to work very hard for their attention. I’ve spoken in front of much larger crowds and delivered speeches that mattered more (at least in business), but this was the most nervous I’d ever been.

Everything—their futures and my relationship to my past—hinged on my getting through to them.

I started by answering the unstated question:

“I’m not a drug dealer.

I’m not a rapper.

I’m not an athlete.

But I am very successful.”

That’s not how you’re supposed to open a speech if you’re a successful businessman, especially if you’re a successful minority businessman in America.

But I’m no ordinary businessman, and this was no ordinary speech.

“I’ve made millions of dollars. I’m currently the president of a multimillion-dollar company that has offices in four cities and over one hundred employees.

That’s right. I’m wealthy, powerful, and important.

But I didn’t start here.

I came from where you came from. I started where you are. In a place just like this.”

They looked at me with a mixture of curiosity, awe, and a little skepticism. I relaxed a little. They were hooked.

The reason this childish power display worked is because the audience were literally children.

They ranged in ages from fifteen to seventeen. By acting like this—garishly asserting status markers they understood and respected, like money and expensive watches—they knew I wasn’t some out-of-touch adult there to wag my finger and lecture them.

I was speaking their language.

“I know what your life has been like because I lived it. I’ll give you an example:

How many of you ever been so hungry you picked the food out of the trash cans at school to take home with you because you knew there’d be nothing in the fridge when you got home? Raise your hands.

How many of you have seen your dad, or another man, beat your mom? Or your dad beat other women besides your mom? Raise your hands again.”

I scanned the crowd. Everyone had their arms up.

These were not just any children. This was the graduating class of twenty-five males in a juvenile detention center.

Most of these boys had committed several serious crimes, and many would never leave the prison system, not in any real way.

I paused to really take in this scene.

How did I, a poor kid from the hood of Dayton, Ohio, get to a position in life where I was giving such a personal speech to this crowd?

I thought about the long, strange road that brought me here, to this stage. I came from the same streets they did and grew up in the same hard lifestyle—abuse, neglect, racism, and poverty. I even knew a life of petty crime, which put me in juvie several times.

“That’s right. All of you have been through that, just like me. We’ve lived through hunger, through violence, and through abuse. I can’t tell you how many times I saw my dad commit violence, especially against women.

I saw my dad sell drugs, probably like many of you. I saw him pimp women. I saw crime all around me growing up. That used to be my life, just like it’s yours now.

Lemme tell you some stories of my life, before I became successful.”

As I told the details of my childhood to those boys and their families, the memories came back to me. Vivid.

The time my dad stopped in the middle of the highway and beat a girlfriend in the road.

The time I slept at a bus stop because I had nowhere else to go.

The time my dad took me from my mom without telling her and then abandoned me to people who beat and neglected me.

These were memories I’d put away in a deep place and tried to forget about. But for the sake of those boys, I was willing to dig them out.

“I know people tell you to straighten up, to not live a life of crime. And I bet you think that’s bullshit, don’t you? You probably thought to yourself, What other option do I have? What else am I even good for?

I thought that, too. When I was in juvie, I thought I had no other options either. One time, I was in juvie for two months because no one in my family knew where I was.

There was a time in my life, when I was around your ages, when I thought no one cared about me. I figured since I was obviously worthless, why not steal stuff and be a criminal? I mean, I was going to die by the age of twenty-five anyway, so what did it matter?

Does any of this sound familiar?”

Even though this was a serious juvenile detention center, it was not adult prison. It was still early enough in their lives for things to change. There was time for them.

That’s why I was there. To give them the help I never got. To show them there was another way.

But it wasn’t just about them. Giving this speech was as much about helping myself get past all of that awful history as it was helping these boys who were still going through it. If I wanted to heal my past, I couldn’t do it alone.

“You don’t have to be a drug dealer, or a rapper, or an athlete to make money and get out of the hood. And you definitely don’t have to be a criminal and end up in prison or dead.

There is another path for you—the path I took.

And you know where my path to making millions of dollars and achieving business success started? It started by cleaning toilets at a restaurant.

No one scrubs porcelain better than me! You think I’m fucking with you, but to this day, I’m still proud of that! My toilets in that Po’ Folks Restaurant sparkled!

And let me tell you, you think hustling only works on the streets? Bullshit. I’m here, on this stage, because I never stopped hustling. I just adapted my hustle to make it legal.

In fact, here’s what they don’t tell you—the corporate world loves hustling. They just have another name for it. They call it ‘sales.’

I’ll give you an example. How many of you have sold drugs? If you can sling dope, you can sell the hell outta legal drugs. They’re called pharmaceuticals, and the people who sell those get PAID.

If you can survive in here, you can thrive in that world. If you can survive in juvie, then working your way through the business world is easy.

I know this is true because I did it. And if I can do it, so can you.

I won’t bullshit you. It’s a helluva lot harder to succeed coming from where we come from than coming from the suburbs. They have a lot of advantages that we don’t have.

But it IS possible for you to have the life I have. You can even go further than me. And I’m going to tell you how to get there.”

The boys’ eyes were wide, mouths dropped open in an O as they listened...