How I Lost $175K Doing the Right Thing…and why I’d probably do it again.
The billionaire’s attorney called me back with the wonderment of a kid who’d just watched his first Pixar flick. “Well, I guess we should sit down and get this security contract knocked out. Every person I’ve called so far has recommended you by name!”
I was ecstatic, but in that cautious way you’d feel when you find a hundred-dollar bill on the sidewalk; thrilled but already scanning for the person who’s about to tell you it’s fake. This was sixteen years ago, and my first big contract since launching my personal security and protection firm two years prior. At the time, it was just me, my wife, a handful of employees, and a dream. I’d survived the monetary drought that comes with entrepreneurship, that special period where you work harder than you ever have in your entire life in exchange for the privilege of discovering that ramen noodles have seventeen different flavors.
Working with my billionaire client those first months was both exciting and fascinating, and getting to know him was a privilege. He was wise, hilarious, and engaging despite his failing health, which seemed almost rude. Here was a man who could afford the best doctors in the world, and his body was still giving him the finger.
We’d go on walks where I’d listen to him think out loud, treating me like his personal sounding board. I had about as much insight to share with this internationally known business guru as his golden retriever, but I was a hell of a listener. One day, while on a walk, a kid approached us selling homemade pies to fund his mission trip. The kid operated under the “I’ll accept any donation” business model that puts the onus on the buyer to do the math and asked if we wanted to buy a piece.
“OK,” my client said simply.
I rubbed my hands together with glee. What fantastic luck this kid has, I thought, catching me and a billionaire on a walk. This was going to be like watching someone win the coconut cream lottery!
Then came the lesson as I looked over at my client: “Well, how much do you want to give him?” I asked.
He looked at me and paused, like I’d just asked him to help me with second-grade math homework. “What’s it worth?” he said.
I was floored by his obvious genius, slapping me in the face. Of course, he doesn’t squander money. He finds value.
It was an all-around win. We gave the kid ten bucks, and he was quite grateful. My client got to cheat on his diet, and I was obviously still learning the way of the financially wise, which apparently involved asking uneducated questions about pie pricing.
I soon discovered that doing these jobs myself before hiring help was like being a method actor, except instead of preparing for a role, I was preparing to write an employee process and expectation list for protection details at my company. Working personal protection meant getting to know clients on the kind of intimate level usually reserved for spouses and therapists. Spending every day together, even while working in the background, meant becoming privy to business deals, personal relationships, voting habits, and the particular brand of embarrassing secrets that wealthy people collect louder than the rest of us.
I personally invested time hiring and teaching new employees protection tactics and protocols. Still, just as important, I emphasized that professionalism is paramount, and silence is golden. Of course, answering direct questions was fine, as long as they didn’t dare venture into death wconvos involving money, politics, religion, or college football. Those topics are conversational landmines that can turn a pleasant chat into a termination meeting faster than you can say “Roll Tide.”
Now I’d set the table, and it was time for my team of new employees to take over. They were talented people, but to an extent, I could only cross my fingers and hope they wouldn’t bring my new hiring skills into question. I adore and support all of my team, but when they are brand new, I still hold my breath.
Once we were rolling strong, my client and team of three decamped to one of his out-of-state residences for about a month. Two weeks in, I got a call from the client himself, which was unusual, since I typically heard from my team first.
“Hey, sir, how are things going out there?” I asked, as if I hadn’t been receiving daily updates.
“Hey, mother fucker! I can’t believe you are overcharging me! I thought I could trust you!”
I sat in stunned silence, wondering if this was some kind of billionaire prank show I hadn’t been told about. I’d never overcharged him. Hell, I’d probably undercharged him out of professional caution. More importantly, we had a solid working relationship built on months of spending every day together and mutual respect.
Then it hit me: his mind! His mental health was deteriorating. Maybe he thought he was talking to someone else? Maybe his accountant? His ex-wife? Someone who actually deserved to be called a mother fucker.
“Hey, it’s me, Tegan, you’re talking to. Is there some kind of mix-up out there?” I asked in a tentative tone, as if asking the Blackjack dealer to hit on a 16. He responded with another expletive and angrily slammed the phone down.
I called his office, where they’d just received word that he wanted us fired. It turns out those close bonds I’d been so proud of forming could be weaponized. My guys had convinced an ailing, wealthy man that I was overcharging him and that they were underpaid. They’d set up their own company and stolen the contract from under me with the efficiency of people who’d clearly been planning this longer than I’d been paying attention. Had my client had his wits, there would have been no way they could have pulled this off. He was a business legend with more than enough experience handling people who tried to take advantage of or manipulate him.
Now, doing the right thing is something I’ve always prided myself on, even when it means turning the other cheek so hard you get dizzy. Yet when it came to my new thieving employees, I simply prepared three shallow graves. But the client was different. He was someone clearly not in his right mind; someone I’d genuinely grown to care about on a personal level. My goal was to set things right, even knowing I’d never get the gig back.
After lengthy discussions with his staff, who had the uncomfortable job of mediating between their boss and someone he’d recently tossed, they quickly surmised I’d done nothing wrong, and our rates were more than fair. That didn’t sway the client, though, so my wife and I made a decision that would cement our legacy – or so we thought.
Out of sheer determination to do right by this client, we decided to return the money he claimed we’d overcharged, despite him not needing it, us really needing it, and us being entirely in the right. It was like apologizing for being punched in the face. The one condition we negotiated with the attorney was that we wanted an opportunity to sit down with the client afterward for a reasonable conversation to clear our name and hopefully salvage the relationship. We wanted him to know we weren’t the thieves; that honor belonged to my former employees.
The result was the following:
- We returned well over $175,000 of money we’d legitimately earned.
- We were never granted that meeting.
It was a financial body blow that left us questioning everything from our business model to life choices to whether integrity was just an expensive hobby for people who could afford it. But the client’s family completely understood our position and appreciated our gesture of reconciliation. They remain friends today, long after the client passed away, which is somehow both comforting and deeply ironic.
I’m not perfect, and I’m certainly not trying to trademark integrity under my name, but thankfully, my company has since grown into a multi-million-dollar success. But there’s a two-part lesson here that’s stuck in my head like the chorus to “Baby Shark.”
- Even when you’re positive you’re not the reason for some horrible circumstance, you must force yourself to look inward and take responsibility for what you could have done better. It’s as uncomfortable as taking the stand and testifying in your underwear, but it’s necessary. We refined our hiring practices, perfected our no-competes, and became more transparent with our employees so we could all relate to one another as a team. We had to learn to trust people all over again, though.
- We can’t control everything, but we absolutely should control what’s within our power. When a situation stares you in the face requiring a sacrifice that could jeopardize everything you’ve worked for, sometimes you have to do it anyway – because it’s the right thing to do. Whether or not karma will ever balance the books, you should insist on being able to sleep at night knowing you had the integrity to put it all on the line to do what’s right. Even if “what’s right” costs you $175,000 and leaves you wondering if you’re the smartest person in the room or just a friggin’ idiot.
Probably both… But at least ya did the right thing.
Tegan Broadwater is an entrepreneur, author, musician, former undercover officer, podcast host, and positive change-maker. His popular book, “Life in the Fishbowl,” details his two-year, deep undercover operation that took down 51 violent Crip gang members. All profits benefit children of incarcerated parents.
Learn more about his latest projects at TeganBroadwater.com