The guy laughed right in my face. “You have no business card. You’re not dressed in a suit. Your official office phone is a cell phone number, and you have no marketing materials for me to take home and look at.” The man talking to me had a bright red sweater and silver gray hair. We were eating in a steakhouse right off of 54th and 5th.
Half the people in the steakhouse were like me: someone was raising money. The other half were rich people, enjoying the privileges they had earned. The poorer people were going to pick up all the tabs.
I sat there feeling bad about myself. Feeling like I was faking my way through life, again, and just once more wanting people to give me a chance.
“And yet,” the man said, “you want me to invest money with you.”
Four years later the man killed himself because he lost a lot of money with Bernie Madoff.
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