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 one?”
I laughed. “Our new ‘AFA impact-maximization program,”
“Is there an English translation?” replied Craft.
“How the hell do I know? I just made it up,” I responded with another laugh. “I need time to develop the details. But the sales pitch writes itself. We tell producers we tested the stuff with Pete’s clients, and we’ve seen a significant increase in return on investment.”
“Where do you come up with this bullshit?” smiled Carr.
“To be perfectly honest, I don’t know. It just happens.”
“I think a lot of what you’re suggesting is terrific,” said Craft. But it sounds like all the changes could overwhelm our guys; might cause a sales downturn and reduce out profit splits.”
“Dawson, excellent point,” I replied. “That’s why my analysis also includes a few organizational changes to make the activities more turnkey.’”
Carr and Costas seethed quietly while Dawson and Pete challenged my assumptions and suggested changes. Two hours later, Pete was satisfied, Craft was frustrated, and Carr and Costas were dozing off in the corner of the conference room.
Pete came to a simple conclusion. “Sounds good to me. Let’s do it.”
“I disagree,” glared Costas.
“That’s your prerogative,” said Pete. “But as long as I’m the final vote, we do things my way.” Pete paused. “Martin, stick around; we need to talk comp.”
But Craft wanted to stay. “Pete, since I’m responsible for employee comp discussions, shouldn’t I stick around?”
“Dawson,” replied Pete, “Martin’s not an employee; he’s one of us,” said Pete pointedly. “I’ll handle the matter. Got it?”
3.
Life is full of ugly surprises.
I was stunned when I got the call early Saturday afternoon.
Our dynamic forty-five-year-old leader had died an hour earlier in a tragic race car accident at the Old Lyme Speedway in Northern Connecticut. A blue Maserati doing 190 miles per hour tried to pass Pete on the inside lane as they headed into the final turn. The driver lost control, bounced off the retaining wall, and crashed headlong into Pete’s Lamborghini, doing some 180 miles an hour at the time of the crash. Pete was dead on impact according to his racing buddy and business associate Dave Lineman, who watched the tragedy unfold a hundred feet in front of him.
“One minute we were smelling the finish line, and the next minute Pete’s skull was split open, bits and pieces splattered all over the car. I’ll never forget it as long as I live.”
~
Pete’s funeral was vintage Pete. I could tell his first-wife, Dorothy, and their kids, Pete Jr. and Julia, had choreographed the whole thing. Pete’s beloved yellow Lamborghini, covered in red, white, and blue carnations, sat front and center on the altar.
Pete Jr., sang his father’s favorite song, “Smile.” Julia reminisced about her “Pops.” Dorothy talked lovingly about their roller-coaster life and his unequivocal love for his children. Notable for her absence at the altar was Jolene. She sat in the second row in a form-fitting black and white sequin dress, looking like a cheap trick from the Vegas strip.
~
There was also a parade of personal eulogies. Person after person, many who had flown in from all over the country, thanked Pete for changing their lives.
Unfortunately, Pete’s fast-track philosophy had also attracted its share of charlatans. I can still remember Pete’s phony friend Charles Bronson II monopolizing the podium for almost thirty minutes. He urged all to “follow the light,” as the Bible said, if we wanted to visit Pete in the “Promised Land.” Six weeks later, old Charles had his bulb dimmed. He was arrested for selling nonexistent payphone booths to senior citizens in a multimillion-dollar investment scam.
~
In the two weeks following Pete’s death, there were surprise disappearances, nasty personal family disputes, and an avalanche of unconfirmed rumors.
Before the actual funeral, Jolene — on the advice of her father, Lou Marshman, and his attorney — declared Pete had died intestate, which technically, under Connecticut law, left sole control of AFA, independently appraised at $150 million, to Jolene.
She also visited Rhode Island Trust, where she and Pete had $1.9 million in joint accounts, and had the funds transferred into a father-daughter joint bank account at Boston Trust Company in Wellesley,
