Page 159 of Most Eligible Billionaire CEO

“No let me sleep on it?”

“Some people went home to think about it, but twenty people signed on the dotted line.”

Bryce flinches, shock scattering over his face.

He blinks.

Blinks again.

“The first twenty people were promised extra bells and whistles including a mastermind week in Vegas.”

His consternation is replaced by a palpable fury. “Brad Hyler and his kind is the reason why my company and my staff fight for our clients. No one deserves to be swindled, ripped off, or bamboozled. No one.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Did the building require renovation?”

“A lot. Brad estimated it at a million dollars.”

“I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but did you have that kind of money lying around?”

“I didn’t. Brad said he had contractors who could do reliable work at an affordable rate. Furthermore, part of the hands-on training was for the students to get their hands dirty.”

“Cheap labor?”

“Exactly.”

“It didn’t all go to plan?” Bryce asks.

“For the first two and a half months, it did. The schedule was brutal. On top of my job as a real estate agent, I had to drive back-and-forth from Manhattan to Yonkers. I felt the pinch of having to buy a used car, but it’s not as if I could take the subway or bus there.”

“What about the material?”

“I was responsible for the material. Brad was going to pay the contractors’ fees.”

A tick pulses at Bryce’s jaw.

“How did it all come crumbling down?”

“Brad had a ninety-day moneyback guarantee. He required students stick it out for three months before bailing out. His motto was the P90X motto—it takes ninety days to see body transformation. Relating to long term renovations, it takes ninety days for something extraordinary to emerge.”

Bryce scoffs. “Let me guess. When students demanded their money back, he asked them to wait it out for another ninety days?”

“He promised the five students who wanted out to get them a check within seven days.”

Bryce cocks a brow. “He paid them?”

“Three weeks before Christmas, he skipped town with the four million two hundred and fifty thousand dollars he collected for the coaching.”

“He’s a fucking snake oil salesman dressed up as an educator.”

“That he is,” I say. “After the students requested their money, he wasn’t making regular trips to Yonkers anymore, stating, he was working with his accountant to cut checks. I believed him.” I exhale. “By day nine—so, two days after the seven-day grace period Brad requested—those five students turned their fury on me. No matter how many times I called Brad, he wouldn’t respond. No texts. No voicemails. After a sleepless weekend, I showed up at his office building first thing Monday morning. That’s when the nightmare commenced.”

“What happened?”

“Brad was renting an office in one of those shared workspaces. When I told the receptionist I was here to see him, she informed me he had given his thirty-day notice the prior month and cleared his office on Thursday.” His nostrils flare. “I had never felt fear like I had in that moment. But then, it got worse. I not only had to face those poor students, but contractors started to call me because their checks were bouncing. I had to explain to all of these people who were accusing me of being a liar and a cheat that the money never landed in my bank account.”

“They believed you?”

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