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CHAPTER 1

Money can buy happiness. Money is happiness. Money gives happiness a run for its money.

Don't let the poor tell you differently. Enough money can buy long-lasting comfort, security, and liberty. People just don't realize how much happiness costs. So, when their tiny budgets can't afford it, they tell themselves and others that the only ways to true happiness are through religion and having babies that mercilessly scream through the night and soil themselves hourly. "Oh but the good times outweigh the bad," they say with bags under their bloodshot eyes, disheveled in every way, hair turning gray.

What they mean to say is, a little bit of money can't buy happiness: a $50,000 car payment and a $500,000 mortgage is not happiness, it's slavery. But a $15,000,000 mansion and a stable full of exotic cars, without a drop of debt, that is happiness. Who better to speak on the link between money and happiness than me — who once lived with nothing, and now pays servants to wipe the ocean's salt off my beachfront house? I've been poor and I've been rich, and I can honestly say I am happier rich.

Which is why I'm anxious about today's meeting with Jamie T. Lowell, founder and managing partner of Green Mountain Investment Group. Lately, I've had a pinch of bad luck. Some of my businesses have entered into dire financial straits, and I may have overreached on a few recent car purchases. My accountant, Mindy, has done nothing to help my deteriorating financial condition (other than the trite advice to stop spending money), and my hope has been waning. But then I met Penn. Her name is actually Penelope, but, as I have repeatedly told her, four syllables in a first name is offensive, and I refuse to entertain such nonsense.

We met a couple weeks ago at a house party. Just bumped into each other. She asked, so I told her about my financial problems. As chance would have it, she had the solution. She told me about this new investment venture called Green Mountain that had given her remarkable returns. As a prudent investor, I wanted to spend time googling Green Mountain and several financial terms (searches like "what in God's name is a put option?") before making any serious decisions. Green Mountain's Wikipedia page showed that Green Mountain was a Fortune 500 company with hundreds of millions of dollars in annual net income. Most of the listed executives did not have their own Wikipedia entries, but the entry for founder and managing partner, Jamie T. Lowell, was thorough and impressive.

I also ran the opportunity past Mindy. She advised against it, but then that's what I had come to expect from her. Mindy is the type of conformist who goes to UCLA because society tells her she needs a college degree to make money, then spends the rest of her mediocre life advising us changemakers how not to spend ours. I was wise enough to avoid college entirely. Mindy's advice was to not invest with Green Mountain because she hadn't heard of it. As if she is a financial oracle who knows of all legitimate investment management corporations. She's not even an investment expert, she's an accountant. I don't know why I brought it up in the first place.

The bottom line is that I am hemorrhaging cash, and Penn presented an opportunity to reverse that.

One cannot simply call Green Mountain and set up an appointment. It's all very prestigious. Invite only. And Penn was my way in. A few days ago we went to lunch at Neptune's Net and I got what I needed: a one-on-one appointment with Jamie T. Lowell.

Penn was eager to tell me about Green Mountain's platinum-plated package of low-risk double-digit returns and money-back guarantees — which, I admit, seemed too good to be true. A money-back guarantee for any unrealized gain in the first six months? What in the hell kind of investment firm would guarantee your money back? Penn said that it was the company's way of expressing their confidence. Green Mountain was unsinkable, and had such substantial capital reserves that they would always be able to buoy up a client through any unlikely loss. And I knew she wasn't lying because I read the same thing on Green Mountain's Wikipedia page (almost word-for-word the way Penn described it). Green Mountain really was making more money than the Federal Reserve.

But how much of Green Mountain's earnings do investors see? I asked Penn for some hard numbers.

She told me that she started two years ago with a $500,000 investment in a Green Mountain "long-short" hedge fund. Within a year, her initial investment had grown to $825,000, so she added another $500,000. To date, after just over two years, she has made well over half a million dollars. Penn even pulled up Green Mountain's Investment Tracker App on her phone and showed me proof of these incredible gains. Lots of green lines, triangles, and numbers showed me that she wasn't lying.

At the end of our lunch, Penn offered to call Green Mountain and line me up with Jamie T. Lowell.

Which brings me to today. This morning I put on my most expensive clothes and my best pair of Louis Vuitton shoes. It's important to make a positive first impression with any distinguished individual. Jamie T. Lowell is just such a person. I might make a lot of money with Green Mountain, and I don't want to leave anything to chance.

At 11:07 a.m. I pull into a parking garage underneath a Los Angeles high rise and park close to a wall so that I won't get doored by some prick in a BMW. The elevator takes me to the forty-fifth floor. The elevator doors open, and the smell of sawdust and the buzzing and clanking of drilling and hammering assault me. I walk through some glass doors and a receptionist greets me and apologizes for the construction. He tells me to have a seat while he lets Jamie know I'm here. While I wait, I have a look around. The walls are bare and the office is empty. By the time Jamie arrives, I have only seen the receptionist, Jamie, and two construction workers.

"Caish Calloway! Sorry about the dust, we are in the middle of a renovation," Jamie offers an extended hand. "Glad you could make it."

"Oh the pleasure is mine, I'm excited to get started."

Jamie T. Lowell is a beautiful human being. There's no other way of saying it. The symmetry of Jamie's face is stunning. Each feature is flawless; proportionally sized and sharply shaped. Flawless skin. Jamie's hair, which is drawn back in a loose, low ponytail, is near-black, and has just enough gray to prove that the rest of the vibrant color is natural. Jamie's eyes are seawater green with a shimmering gleam. Although Jamie's frame is somewhat petite, it's obvious that Jamie hasn't missed a gym day in a while. Jamie's clothes look tailored and extremely expensive. Yet, no jewelry. Not so much as a wedding ring (which I only looked for out of habit).

Jamie leads me back to a corner office with "Jamie T. Lowell, CFA, MMF" etched into a brass plaque mounted on the glass door. The office is huge and minimally furnished. The ceiling has to be fifteen feet high. All of the walls are glass. Jamie's desk is white marble and completely bare except for an iMac, a few papers, and a silver pen.

"Please, have a seat," Jamie says, motioning to the black leather chairs in front of the desk. "How's the traffic out there this morning?"

"Not too bad, there was an accident at the 110 interchange, but other than that it wasn't bad." As I sit, the receptionist peaks in and asks, "Can I get you anything? Would you like something to drink?"

"No thanks," I gesture.

"Did you take the ten in?" Jamie asks.

"Yeah, usually it's bearable."

"I agree. So, remind me, Caish, how did you first hear about Green Mountain?" Jamie says while situating papers and typing something on the computer.

"Um, it was through a friend of mine, Penelope Perez. We were talking about money and Green Mountain came up." For the first time in a long time I'm a little nervous. I'm not quite sure why, but my voice feels shaky and my legs are jittery.

"Oh, that's right. She called a couple days ago, mentioned that you were interested in one of our long-short hedge funds, is that right?"

"Yeah."

"Great. Before we discuss the details of those funds, let's talk about your financial goals." Jamie is still typing. "Where do you hope to be in five years?"

"Richer." My forced laugh comes out too loud and I feel blood rushing to my face to announce my embarrassment. Jamie gives what seems to be a sincere chuckle at my feeble joke and eases my embarrassment.

"Any specific goals?" Jamie asks.

"Well, in all honesty," I say, "I just want to shore up my financial independence, buy a yacht, maybe a few more cars, and a home in Monaco. Then I'll be set."

"You've come to the right place. How about your current financial position, how would you describe that?"

"Rich." Except this time I try to be more couth in my joke and opt for a grin.

"That's good to hear. On this front, though, we need to be more particular. What is your annual income?"

"Tough to say, really. I have an accountant that keeps an eye on my money, and she files my taxes and everything, and I don't really keep an eye on what it turns out to be."

"Perhaps you could give me a ballpark?"

"Well, maybe a couple hundred thousand dollars a year? I am an entrepreneur, so I don't have a set salary. In the past few years some of the businesses I've started haven't really panned out, so my annual take is lower than it has been in the past."

"I see." Jamie seems disappointed. "And what about your net worth?"

"Mmm. I'd say probably around thirty-five million dollars." Jamie's disappointment vanished. Encouraged, I add, "I have a house in Malibu worth just shy of twenty million — which is paid off — and a car collection worth several million. I also own lots of furniture, art work, and clothing that is worth a few million."

"Okay, and what kind of liquid assets do you have?"

"Um, I have ... well, what do you mean by liquid assets?"

Jamie rephrases the question, "Well as in cash on hand, any stocks or bonds, etcetera."

"Oh right, right. So, I've never been one to put money into the stock market, and with the recent business difficulties I mentioned, I only have around a hundred thousand in the bank." At this admission my confidence falters. Shame washes over me. Surely Jamie will kindly ask me to take my empty bank account and get the hell out. What did I expect? Of course an investment advisor was going to ask about my money. I just hoped Jamie wouldn't be so specific. "My hope was that it would be enough to get my feet back under me. Especially if I reinvest most my earnings."

After Jamie finished noting my response, Jamie's charismatic smile soothes my worries.

"Look," Jamie says, "we here at Green Mountain don't judge. Regardless of your current financial situation, we're here to help. Even if your bank account isn't where you want it to be right now, you have more than enough assets to get started."

"I was hoping to get started without having to sell anything, would $50,000 be enough to open an account?" I ask.

"Caish. We want you to make serious money. Real money. And we can't make you serious money with a $50,000 investment. Our minimum buy-in is $500,000."

My heart sinks into my stomach, which begins digesting it. Hopes dashed.

Jamie goes on, "But look, I understand your situation. Let me talk to the other partners and see if we can make an exception for you. I might be able to get you in for a little less than that."

"I dunno. Maybe this isn't the right time for me to be investing more. I was sort of hoping I wouldn't have to sell anything."

"You don't have to sell anything Caish, but something tells me you will. You don't strike me as the type of person who enjoys living on a budget. You also don't look to be the type of person who enjoys worrying about whether the next startup will finally be the one that makes you some serious money. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm willing to bet you have not always been a millionaire." Jamie is now standing and looking down on Los Angeles through the fifteen-foot-tall transparent wall.

"You're right," I say, "I was born into a working class family in Missoula, Montana."

"I knew it. You have a determination about you that people born into wealth rarely have. You know what it's like to live without, and you're not willing to go back to that lifestyle. We're quite alike, Caish. I'm the youngest of six children, born in Salt Lake City into abject poverty. Purely proletarian. I studied hard, worked in a bowling alley until I was twenty-two, and starved through college so that I could make some money as a financial consultant." At this point, Jamie is pacing and becoming more animated.

"But the problem was," Jamie continues, "I didn't have enough capital to gain the respect of serious investors. Unless I wanted to be a slave at E-Trade for the rest of my life, I had to do something. So I began to work hard at the California state lottery."

No way. I never meet other winners.

I cut in, "Don't tell me you actually won?"

"I did." Jamie paused. "I won upwards of forty million dollars. But I earned it. Winning the lottery is no cakewalk. Constantly spending all my money on tickets, always getting my hopes up, never winning. Week after week. Month after month. All my friends and family telling me I was throwing my life away, criticizing me for my foolish hopes of winning. But I kept my resolve and played the lottery as if my life depended on it. Because I knew, with enough effort and perseverance, I could win that thing. And without that money, I would never be respected as I should be. And I won. I proved everybody wrong, and I won the California state lottery."

"Jamie," I began, "I haven't told many people this, but I am also a winner of the California state lottery."

Jamie lit up, "I knew it! There's just something about you, Caish, I knew I could see it. How much did you win?"

"One hundred and twenty-four million dollars, but you know how brutal taxes are."

"Wow, I bet you earned it though."

"Oh you bet; winning it wasn't easy. I've always been drawn to California, it's hard to explain, but it was like a magnet constantly tugging at me until I finally moved down. But I came here with a purpose, the weather was just a perk. I came here to win the lottery. Everybody told me I'd never win, I suffered through years of gas station clerks telling me that the ticket is a loser. You know how it is. What you said is exactly what it was like for me. But, I knew I could win it. Ya know, the universe is always balanced. Karma. And I knew that with all the bad luck in my life, one day it would balance out and I would win," I say. Jamie is nodding along.

"I knew it, Caish. I knew it. You are a fighter. You're a wolf, not a sheep. You work hard because you know that without hard work there is no success. I know you well because I know myself well. I know that people like us don't give up when life gets tough. We recognize when the stakes are high and we rise to the challenge. And Caish, that's how I know that you are going to sacrifice to get capital for your Green Mountain investment. You know what needs to be done. You know that with a strong investment, you will get strong returns. You have to pay to play, Caish, you know that. Look, I can tell you're pretty sharp, let me show you exactly how this works." Jamie reaches into a desk drawer, pulls out a green dry erase marker, and begins filling the glass wall with numbers, lines, and squiggles. "Hypothetically, and for easy math, let's say you start out with a ten million-dollar investment ..." is Jamie's opening line into this investment session.

Over the next half hour, Jamie outlines exactly how the hedge funds at Green Mountain work, and why it's such a sure bet that each investment will be successful. The numbers and lines on the glass multiplied and soon we were onto the next wall. I can't really follow the math, but I can see the writing on the wall: Green Mountain is basically manufacturing money, and each extra dollar I invest up front will give me exponential returns.

"So. Here's what I recommend," Jamie continues, "mortgage your house and get started with a million. That way you don't have to sell anything, and you still have some spending cash in the bank. Then, when you see how big your returns are, sell a few cars — make it sting — because by putting everything you have into this, you will come out on top. In a big way. Remember that feeling when you first won the lottery? Like there's no possible way you will ever need to worry about money again? You can get that feeling back. Yachts, helicopters, rare art, a place in Monaco. Green Mountain can give you that in just a few years if you're willing to work for it."

"Okay, I'm in. Let me talk to the bank concerning mortgaging my place. But, Jamie, I'm going to do more than a million. Let's start with ten million."

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Excerpted from "Malibu Motel"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Chaunceton Bird.
Excerpted by permission of John Hunt Publishing Ltd..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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