Find. Build. Sell.. Stephen J. Hunt

       The Rutherford Hotel. The bar that set the wheels in motion.

      I'd been managing pubs for 20 years as a CEO and general manager, but I'd never sought investors to assist with the funding of them. This would be an entirely different endeavour. But my time was here. This was a wonderful opportunity and I knew I could make it a success.

      The next day, I contacted the hotel broker who was selling the pub.

      ‘How much are you asking for The Rutherford on the New England Highway?' I asked.

      ‘$4.2 million,' he said.

      ‘Sounds reasonable,' I said, privately thinking I had no hope in hell of finding that much money, but I wanted to give it a red-hot crack so I went to my accountant, told her about the deal and to my surprise and delight, she said, ‘Count me in. I'll invest $400 000 right now'. Well, that was a good start, I thought.

      With the help of a few other friends, I found another $200 000, so with my $400 000 from the property sale and my accountant's $400 000 contribution, I now had $1 million dollars to kick start my venture.

      I went to the bank and told them what I needed to buy this bar. The first one said ‘no', and so did the second and third. The fourth one, however, said ‘yes' to my request, so now I had a total of $3.73 million. Brilliant. It was a struggle to get that bank to have faith in me, but having run many pubs in the past, they could see I knew what I was doing.

      Now I just needed to raise $1 million to complete the purchase. ‘Piece of cake', I thought.

      Just $1 million to go

      I made a list of the top 10 people I thought would be interested (the classic three Fs: family, friends and foes). I went from one house to the next, pitching the idea to them in their kitchens and loungerooms, and guess what? All 10 of them said, ‘Yes!' They said, ‘Steve, we would love to be part of this and can't wait to get started. Just let us know when you need the $100 000, and we are in!'

‘How easy was this?' I said to myself. ‘I should have done this years ago!'

      I now had the final million I needed to complete the deal. I went back to the hotel broker, signed the contract and bought the bar! Happy days. I was beyond excited. I celebrated all week with my family and mates, thrilled to be embarking on this exciting venture.

      I followed up with the 10 investors to tie up the loose ends and confirm the paperwork. I sent them the information memorandum (more about information memorandums in chapter 8), which outlined the deal, the bank account details and the application forms for signing, and they all said, ‘Yeah, sure thing Steve, no problem. We're right there with you. The money's coming'.

      Except the money didn't come.

      I checked my account every day to see if their funds had been deposited. Nothing there. I waited another week. Still no sign. I rang them all again. For some strange reason, none of them answered their phone. I sent them an email. Still no response. I went to their home and knocked on their door. No answer. That's strange, I thought. They were so keen a week ago.

      I wasn't worried. I had a few more Fs to chase up and felt confident I could come up with the funds, but those phone calls, emails and door knocks also went unanswered.

      The settlement date loomed. I was still $1 million in the hole and there was no sign of any new investors coming to this party any time soon. What had seemed like an exciting adventure and simple endeavour four weeks ago had become a bit of a nightmare.

      What happened to my investors?

      I was worried now; worried enough to start talking to lawyers to see if I could extricate myself from this mess I had created. I asked them two key questions: can I get out of this contract without penalty, and if not, how bad will it be?

      Their answers were pretty clear cut. No, and very bad. Not the answers I was hoping for.

I decided to take the personal route and rely on my charm and sincerity to see if that would work. I rang the hotel broker who sold me the bar and I said, ‘Mate, you know that money that I was going to raise to buy the bar with? Well, turns out I've fallen short as a key investor has pulled out. I don't suppose we could get an extension on the settlement?

      ‘Ah, I don't think so,' was his response. Not the response I was looking for. He said, ‘I recommend you have a chat with the actual owner of the bar. He may be more accommodating than me'.

      I jumped in the car, drove like a mad man, barged into his office and said, ‘I really want this bar, but I just need a bit more time. Can you give me an extension?'

      He said, ‘I'll think about it and get back to you'.

      I waited by the phone like a love-sick teenager, desperate for his call.

      He didn't call.

      Another day went by. No answer. Then another day. Still no call. I was now completely stressed out, on tenterhooks, waiting for an answer. My options were looking very grim. If I can't come up with the rest of the money, I forfeit the deposit, a very hefty $420 000, and will be sued for the rest of it too — an extremely hefty $4 million.

      Finally, with two days to go before settlement, the bar owner rang me and said, ‘With regards to your request to extend the time frame, I have one word for you. No'.

      The next day, I got a call from his lawyers. They said, ‘If you don't come up with the money, we will sue you for non-completion', which is a fancy way of saying, ‘If you don't come up with the cash, we'll sue your arse off'.

      I felt sick. My chest tightened, my stomach clenched, my heart raced. This was definitely not the response I was hoping for. My negative self-talk went into overdrive. How did I get myself into this mess? What was I thinking? If only … were the words that danced around my head.

      If only I'd got those investment guarantees in writing.

If only I had more time before settlement.

      I cursed those who had let me down, but mostly, I cursed myself for counting my chickens before they had hatched; for making assumptions, and being impetuous. These qualities had mostly served me well in the past, but not this time. Now they could cost me everything I had worked for, and more. But it was my own fault, and I had no-one to blame but myself. I was in the shit and I had to find a way out. If I couldn't, I'd lose all my assets: my house, my super, my savings. I had five children to support so it was no joke. I was about to lose everything.

      Time is running out

      I now had less than 24 hours to come up with a million dollars and I had zero prospects of achieving that. So I turned to the only figure I could think of: St Francis, the patron saint for lost causes; the saint all lapsed Catholics turn to when they've lost all hope. I said, ‘St Francis, get me out of this pickle and I promise I will go to mass every Sunday. I'll bring the kids too; heck, I'll even take them to Confession!'

      St

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