“If you knew how much work went into it, you would not call it genius.” —Michelangelo
“São Paulo is so special, isn’t it?” said the billionaire as the unmarked and economy-class car navigated by a driver in short sleeves stopped and started through the thick traffic of this city of many millions. As in Mauritius, he sat in the front passenger seat.
The three companions had just landed at the jetport and were heading to a boutique hotel in the center of this financial capital of Latin America.
“It’s a big city,” noted the artist, offering another blinding glimpse of the obvious.
“We so appreciate you flying us down here to Brazil for our wedding,” the entrepreneur enthused.
“Thanks, brother,” the artist added.
“He really wanted the ceremony to take place at your compound by the ocean,” said the entrepreneur, pointing to her fiancé with a warm look.
“I did,” stated the artist agreeably. “That place was paradise.”
“And, to be honest, I did too. But I wanted to honor my father, given that he was Brazilian,” the entrepreneur explained.
“And a happy wife means a happy life,” confirmed the artist with a grin.
He then quoted the words from A.A. Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh: “If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.”
The entrepreneur moved closer to the artist in the back of the car as it sailed past magnificent neo-gothic cathedrals, along great avenues with towering high- rises, down a thoroughfare that showcased the impressive Theatro Municipal de São Paulo and across a roadway where the majestic Ibirapuera Park sat.
What the artist shared made the billionaire think of his wife. He still thought
of her every day. And it wasn’t the luxurious trips to exotic places that he most recalled. Nor the beautiful meals at the world’s best restaurants. His mind drifted to the simplest and most apparently ordinary of moments in her company.
Sharing a cheap but excellent pizza with olive oil drizzled over it. Reading books in silence in front of a dazzling fire. Nature walks and movie nights and trips to the grocery store. Dancing in their bedroom to music that reminded them of how much they adored each other. And things like how patiently she taught him Italian, the way she’d snort when she’d laugh really hard—and how utterly devoted she was to their only child. Life’s finest treasures live in its simplest moments, contemplated the billionaire. In those daily occurrences that most of us take for granted. Until we lose them.
Lifting his hand to proudly display his engagement ring, the artist continued to express the depth of his love while the car rolled along.
“I love her hard, man,” he spoke to Mr. Riley. “She’s my sunrise. My art used to be all that mattered. Didn’t have much of a need for anyone around me, you know. Guess I never knew what real love was. Can’t imagine living without her now.”
The entrepreneur considered how blessed she was. In the period since she attended The Spellbinder’s event, her Mindset, Heartset, Healthset and Soulset were being reordered and upgraded. Radically. And irrevocably.
She was releasing the limiting beliefs that had been forged from her tumultuous childhood and letting go of the toxic emotions that grew out of her past traumas, as well as from the current predicament with her investors. The billionaire was quite right, she was realizing to an even deeper degree: we each do the best we can based on the level of awareness, maturity and personal security we are at. People who hurt others really are hurting within themselves.
They are behaving in the wisest way they know how to behave. If they were capable of conducting themselves with greater leadership, generosity and humanity, they would have done so. This profound insight had sown even stronger seeds of forgiveness within the entrepreneur. When she first heard The Spellbinder at his seminar, she was cynical and resistant to a lot of his teachings.
She’d since pivoted considerably and was now embracing everything she’d been fortunate enough to learn, wholeheartedly. It was an inspirational evolution to see.
It had been three weeks since the visit to Rome. In that time, the entrepreneur had been doing wind sprints for twenty minutes at 5 AM each morning along with some serious weight training. After that at, 5:20 AM, she’d use the tranquility of the second pocket to contemplate quietly, write lists of the things she was grateful for in her new journal and then meditate. Finally, at 5:40 AM, she’d listen
to an audiobook about a business maverick or read something on the subjects of productivity, teamwork and leadership. She’d also, and this was a hard one, broken the addiction to technology that had been her lifeline—as well as her escape from producing her greatest work. And her diversion from being fully present to life. During these fantastic days away from her office, she’d been creating the brightest output of her career, leveraging the phenomenon of transient hypofrontality the billionaire had taught her to orchestrate results at a level of genius she’d never experienced before. And reclaiming the sense of inner well-being she’d lost.
Everything she was applying was delivering enormous rewards. Everything in her life seemed to be clicking again. She was fitter than she’d been in years, happier and more serene than she’d ever known, and more productive—during the periods she was away from the artist, conducting business—than she’d imagined she could be.
All thanks to The 5 AM Club, which she understood, more and more, allowed her to protect her natural talents in a commercial world of such noise, stress and invitation to relentless interruption. The Victory Hour was providing her with an insulated period, at the front end of her day, to build her four interior empires. So she could construct outer ones.
With her newfound hopefulness, confidence and forgiveness, she’d even made excellent progress in negotiating a solution with her investors. She was excited that, shortly, the whole horrible ordeal would be behind her.
And soon, she’d be married. She’d always wanted someone special to share in her delights and successes. And she’d always wished to balance her hunger for fortune-making with her dream of having a family. The kind of family she’d missed being part of as a girl.
Just as the entrepreneur was about to respond to the artist’s musings on the extent of his love, a gunshot rang out.
The glass of the vehicle’s windshield shattered, instantly looking like a spider’s web. Two broad-shouldered men in ski masks, with machine guns over their shoulders, violently motioned for the driver to unlock the doors. When he attempted to accelerate out of harm’s way, another bullet pierced the glass, grazing the chauffeur’s ear and prompting an outburst of blood.
“Open the door,” instructed Mr. Riley, stunningly calmly. “I’ve got this,” he said as he secretly pressed a red button strategically located under the glove compartment.
The doors unlocked. You could hear a click.
Speaking in staccato bursts, one of the gunmen screamed, “Everyone out of the car. Now! Or you die!”
As the occupants of the car followed the orders, the other gunman grabbed the entrepreneur by the neck. “We told you to leave the firm. We told you we’d kill you. We told you this was gonna happen,” he said.
Suddenly, a long SUV, the sort you see combat leaders in war zones traveling in, raced up to the scene.
Four more people, two men and two women, in flak jackets with pistols raced up on sleek motorcycles.
The billionaire’s protection team had arrived.
Fighting broke out in the street, knives were pulled and more shots were fired. The billionaire was whisked away with an efficiency that was striking. He still appeared unruffled and, as if he were a general leading a military mission, said simply, “Save my passengers. They are my family members.”
A helicopter was now floating overhead. Yes, a helicopter. It had “5AC” in large orange letters on the side of it, over white paint.
The magnate’s security squad quickly disarmed the larger of the two gunmen, the one who had threatened the entrepreneur, and removed her to the safety of the waiting SUV. But the artist, well, sadly he was gone.
“I need to find him!” the entrepreneur screamed at the personnel in the armored vehicle. “I need to find my husband,” she added, clearly in a state of acute shock over the entire scenario.
“Stay here,” ordered one of the security agents, firmly, holding her by the arm.
But the entrepreneur, in her newly created state of mental toughness, physical fitness, emotional resilience and spiritual fearlessness—thanks to her new morning routine—broke free from the burly guard, kicked open the door that had been left slightly ajar and started to run. Like an elite athlete, she sprinted deftly across a highway with traffic speeding down four lanes. Horns blared, and some passionate Brazilians shouted words in Portuguese, concerned for her welfare. But she kept running, as fast as a gazelle.
She ducked into a café. No sign of her man. Then into a restaurant. Next she raced along a street renowned for its steak houses. The artist was nowhere in sight.
Then the entrepreneur spotted his notebook, the one in which he had made all his notes from the lessons of The Spellbinder and the billionaire. The same notebook she saw him clutching tightly when they first met, seemingly randomly, in the conference hall—when she was at the darkest place of her life.
And he, as an angel of sorts, made her feel safer, calmer and happier by his loving presence.
What happened next was tragic. As the entrepreneur slowed down to a walk
and turned onto a thin slice of an avenue, she saw blood. Not a pool of blood but drops and specks of fresh blood.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Please, no,” she cried out.
Frantically, she continued following the trail, pushing past a series of parked cars, a mother with a baby in a stroller and a line of elegant houses.
“Please don’t let him die,” the businesswoman prayed. “Please, God.”
“I’m here. Over here,” a squeaky voice rang out.
The entrepreneur darted in the direction of the artist’s calls. Growing closer, she spied the gunman holding a revolver directly to the head of her fiancé. The thug had removed his ski mask. One could see that he was young. And looked extremely scared.
“Look,” declared the entrepreneur, behaving courageously and slowly walking over to the two men. “Look,” she repeated. “I know you don’t want to hurt him. I know you don’t want to spend the rest of your life in a prison cell.
Just give me the gun and you can go. I won’t say a word to anyone about you.
Just give me the gun.”
The gunman was frozen. Speechless. And shaking. Slowly he turned the gun away from the head of the artist. And aimed it squarely at the chest of the entrepreneur.
“Just relax,” she implored in a fierce yet empathetic voice. She continued walking toward her fiancé and the kidnapper.
“I’ll kill you,” shouted the bandit. “Stay there.”
The entrepreneur took step by careful step while staring directly into the eyes of the gunman. She now had a soft smile on her face. Such was the grade of her newly earned bravery. So was the degree of her considerably enhanced confidence.
After a long pause, the criminal stood up. He stared at the entrepreneur with what looked like a combination of mountainous respect and visceral disbelief.
Then, he hurried away.
“Baby, are you okay?” The entrepreneur embraced the artist tenderly.
Gathering his composure, though perspiring unstoppably, he replied, “Born okay, baby. Born okay. Um. You just saved my life, you know?”
“I know,” she said. “I didn’t do it because we’re about to be married, you know. I didn’t save you because I love you.”
“What?” questioned the artist. “Then why did you do what you just did? I mean, that was incredible what you just pulled off! Totally gangster.”
“I did it because of the club.”
“What are you talking about?” asked the artist, bewildered.
“I did what I did because of the powers I’ve developed as a member of The 5
AM Club. That’s how I was able to do what I just did. It all really works. All of it.
Everything we’ve been taught in Mauritius. In India. In Rome. And the main reason I saved your life isn’t because you’ll soon be my husband and we’ll have great kids and then grandkids and a bunch of dogs and cats and hopefully even canaries at our home,” she gushed. “No. I saved you only because you’re also in the club. And Mr. Riley said we have to stick together. And to have each other’s backs.”
“Are you serious?” asked the artist, loudly. He wasn’t pleased with what he’d heard.
“Of course not! I’m just playing, babe,” laughed the entrepreneur. “I adore you. I’d give my life for you any day of the week. Now let’s go find Mr. Riley.
Let’s make sure he’s okay.”
The next day, after they had recovered from their dramatic experience, they met in the billionaire’s penthouse at the chic hotel. Mr. Riley looked lean, focused and very happy.
“Quite the spree yesterday, cats,” he stated in a way that suggested that what they’d endured was nothing more than a brisk walk through a flower-filled park.
“That was brutal,” the artist replied. “You talk about trauma—that was traumatic.”
“You, my friend, were quite the hero yesterday,” declared the billionaire proudly while focusing on the entrepreneur. “You, young lady, are a miracle on two legs.”
“Thanks,” she said, shifting her feet a bit and making sure the artist was okay.
“I watched you roll. I saw your cool. I noticed your concentration under extreme pressure. And your superhuman levels of performance.”
“This goddess of a woman here saved my life,” the artist acknowledged enthusiastically.
“You two love cats are just beginning to get a taste of the benefits of joining The 5 AM Club. Just imagine you two after applying The 66 Day Minimum. Then after six months of running the world-class morning routine you’ve now discovered. Consider the way you’ll capitalize on your potential, optimize your performance—and be useful to our world in a year. Always remember that the greatest of leaders were all servant leaders. The less you make it all about you, and the more your obsession focuses on the upliftment of others, the more you’ll increase your identity as a genuine empire-builder. And grow into a history- maker.”
“Got you,” confirmed the entrepreneur as she sipped from a water bottle, making sure she was well hydrated to stay at her energetic best.
“I want to reward you for the heroism you showed yesterday,” the billionaire offered. “I have some news that I think will make you love your life even more.”
“Tell me, please,” the entrepreneur said. “Though I really don’t need anything, you know. I did what I did out of love. Simple as that.”
“Well . . . are you ready?” the tycoon asked.
“Yes. Ready.”
“Well, this morning I had my people buy up all of the equity those nasty investors owned. Let’s just say I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. And my legal team had them sign an agreement promising they will never go near your company again and are not permitted to come anywhere near you . . . or the man who will be your husband in a few short hours.
“Gnarly, right?” the billionaire spoke as he tap danced his way across the floor of the penthouse. Yes, he actually tap danced across the entire room. Next, he began flailing his arms manically and grooving intensely to his imagined music. Finally—get this—he started twerking. Yes, the illustrious industrialist who was worth over one billion dollars was twerking in that hotel suite.
“He’s the weirdest human being I’ve ever met—by a factor of a million,”
thought the entrepreneur. “But truly wonderful. And pretty close to magical.”
The entrepreneur and the artist looked at each other and began to giggle.
They then joined in—as best as they could, because Mr. Riley could sometimes be a bit of a showman, as humble as he was. After the dancing session they hugged this man who had become their magnificent mentor, exuberant encourager and sincere friend.
The entrepreneur thanked the eccentric baron, profusely, for his generosity in making her difficult situation go away. This spectacular escapade was taking on a near-mystical quality. Everything was improving. All was unfolding even better than she could have dreamed. And now she was free of the very trial that had brought her to the sharpest edge of her life.
In that moment, she realized that on the other side of every tragedy lives a triumph. And beyond adversity exists a bridge into enduring victory, if one has the eyes to see it.
“Anyhoo,” said the billionaire, “today’s session will be a quick one. “My chief of staff is attending to every detail of your wedding as we speak. You’ll have the Casablanca lilies you requested, the music you both suggested and every detail will be calibrated to world-class. It’s just the way my team and I roll. Oh, all your guests have been flown in on a series of my jets. Everybody’s here. And everyone’s full of delight. Especially me.”
The titan let out another intense cough. And then two more. His arm started to tremble again as he sat on a modern-looking wooden chair covered by a swatch of white leather, the kind furniture craftspeople in Sweden and Denmark make. For the first time, a look in his eyes revealed hues of fear.
“I’ll beat this monster,” he whispered to himself. “You’re messing with the wrong dude.”
He pulled out his wallet, extracted the worn picture of his wife, gone so long ago, clasped it to his heart and centered himself on the essential points of the morning’s discourse.
“Now that you know most of what you need to know about The 5 AM
Method, I want to offer ten tactics that will quicken your momentum in both your professional and your private lives. These are ten gestures for daily heroism. The 20/20/20 Formula will help you use your mornings brilliantly.
These ten other routines will complement the regime, so the rest of your day unfolds gloriously. Lock these in and you’ll become undefeatable. And experience a meaningful upward spiral of success where every important element of your life rises as your hours pass.”
As usual, a hand then went up into the air. Out of the library of the penthouse suite sprang an assistant, struggling to carry what appeared to be a large framed art piece. The billionaire jumped up and rushed over to help his aide.
On the front of the white t-shirt the young, fit and unfairly handsome assistant wore were these printed words: “Everyone dreams of being a legend until it comes time to do the work that legends do.”
“This is one of my wedding gifts to you two.” The billionaire pointed to a breathtaking painting of Thomas Edison, the great inventor. Over Edison’s face, in an edgy modern art script, were the inventor’s words: “The best thinking has been done in solitude. The worst has been done in turmoil.”
“I commissioned one of my favorite artists, who lives in Berlin, to do this for you. He did a lot of the artwork in my Zurich flat. He hardly paints anymore.
Did this as a special favor. You cats could retire if you sold it—trust me on that one. Please flip it over,” requested the billionaire politely, sitting down on the sleek chair again and surveying the expansive penthouse that overlooked the skyscrapers of São Paulo. Many of the high-rises had helipads on top of them so the icons of industry who operated within them could skirt around without having to waste precious hours of productivity—and life—sitting in São Paulo traffic. Because as you now know, the hours most people waste epic performers exploit.
On the back of the immaculately framed artwork was a chart with this title on it: The 10 Tactics of Lifelong Genius.