The 5 am club

This won’t be a problem
.” Mr. Riley articulated this last sentence in
a fashion that emphasized each word, for powerful effect.
“Thank you very much,” the entrepreneur responded, looking enormously
relieved.
The artist held her hand tenderly.
“Okay if I continue?” the billionaire requested as the sun rose higher into
the glamorous tropical sky.
His guests nodded.

---

An attendant, impeccably attired, emerged from a hut that sat higher up on
the beach. It was painted green with white trim. Soon, the aide was serving
the richest, most delicious coffee the entrepreneur and the artist had enjoyed
in their lives.
“Fantastic cognitive enhancer when consumed in moderation each
morning,” expounded the billionaire as he sipped away. “And it’s packed with
antioxidants, so coffee also slows aging.
“Anyhoo—where were we? I was telling you about the awesome benefit
that flowed to me after I joined The 5 
AM
Club and ran the morning
methodology The Spellbinder revealed to me. It’s called 
The 20/20/20
Formula
and, trust me, once you learn this concept alone and then apply it
with persistency, your productivity, prosperity, performance and impact will
increase exponentially. I can’t think of another ritual that has contributed to
my success and well-being as much. I’m exceedingly low-key about what
I’ve been able to accomplish in my business career. I’ve always viewed
bragging as a major defect of character. The more powerful a person truly is,
the less they need to promote it. And the stronger a leader is, the less they
need to announce it.”
“The Spellbinder spoke a bit about what you’ve been able to achieve,”
offered the entrepreneur, now looking even more relaxed.
“And the wild way you dressed at the conference definitely confirmed it!”
interjected the artist, flashing a sensational smile that showcased a few broken
teeth.
“Rising at 5 
AM
every morning was the main personal practice that made
most of that happen. Allowed me to become a visionary thinker. Gave me a
reflective space to develop a formidable inner life. The discipline helped me
to become ultra-fit, with all the beautiful income advancements as well as
lifestyle enhancements that come with superior health. Early rising also made
me a pretty amazing leader. And it helped me grow myself into a much better
person. Even when the prostate cancer tried to devastate me, it was my
morning routine that insulated me. It really was. I’ll go into 
The 20/20/20
Formula
in an upcoming lesson so you’ll know exactly what to do to get
amazing results from the first moment you wake up. You cats won’t believe
the power and value of the information that’s coming. I’m so excited for you
two. Welcome to Paradise. And welcome to the first day of a substantially
better life.”
* * *
The entrepreneur slept more soundly that night in Mauritius than she had in
years. Despite the threat she had received, the combination of the billionaire’s

---

brief instruction, the magnificence of the natural setting, the purity of the
clean ocean air and her growing fondness for the artist caused her to let go of
many of her concerns. And rediscover a state of calm she’d long since
forgotten.
Then, at precisely 3:33 
AM
, she heard a thunderous bang on her door.
She knew it was this time because she glanced at the alarm clock on the
wooden night table in the stylish guesthouse her host had arranged for her to
stay in. The entrepreneur assumed it was the artist, perhaps dealing with jet
lag or sleepless after the excellent yet large dinner they had enjoyed together.
Without asking who it was, she opened the door.
No one was there.
“Hello?” she announced to a star-filled sky.
Waves softly collided with the seashore near her cottage, and the scents of
roses, incense and sandalwood could be detected in the breeze.
“Anyone here?”
Silence.
The entrepreneur carefully shut the door. This time, she bolted the lock.
As she shuffled back to her bed that was covered with Egyptian cottons and
English linens, three mighty knocks pounded on the door.
“Yes?” cried the entrepreneur, now alarmed. “Yes?”
“We have the morning coffee you ordered, Madam,” a husky voice
replied.
The entrepreneur’s face was crowded by crevices again. Her heart began
to thump vigorously. She grew deeply distressed, and her stomach filled with
knots as humungous as the Alps. “They’re bringing me coffee at this nutso
hour? Unbelievable.”
She returned to the front of the guest house, undid the lock and opened the
front door, haltingly.
A stocky man with a disagreeable bald head and one eye that seemed out
of joint stood there, smirking. He wore a red windbreaker and denim shorts
that dropped just below his knees. Around his neck was a thin piece of blue
string. Dangling from it was a plastic-laminated photo of a person’s face.
The entrepreneur squinted to see the face more clearly in the darkness.
And as she did, she saw the image of an older man. One she knew very well.
One she loved very much. One she missed considerably.

---

The picture in the plastic she was studying was of her dead father.
“Who are you?” screamed the terrified entrepreneur. “How did you get
this photo?”
“I’ve been sent by your business partners. We know everything there is to
know about you. Everything. We’ve tracked all your personal data. We’ve
hacked all your files. We’ve investigated your entire history.” The bald man in
the windbreaker reached under the front of his belt—and pulled out a knife,
bringing it to within a few inches of the entrepreneur’s thin and particularly
veiny throat.
“No one can protect you now. We have an entire team focused on you. I’m
not going to hurt you . . . yet. This time’s just about me making a point.
Giving you an in-person message . . . Leave your company. Give up your
equity. And say bye-bye. Or you get this blade in your neck. When you least
expect it . . . when you think you’re safe. Maybe with that chubby painter
friend of yours . . .”
The man pulled the knife away and replaced it under his belt. “Have a
good night, Madam. It’s been a pleasure meeting you. I know we’ll see each
other soon.” Then he reached forward and pulled the door shut with a slam.
The entrepreneur, badly shaken, fell to her knees.
“Please, God. Help me. I can’t take this anymore! I don’t want to die.”
Three more strikes came to the door. These ones were gentler.
“Hey, it’s me. Please open the door.”
The knocking startled the entrepreneur. And woke her up. The tapping
continued. She opened her eyes, peered around the lightless room—and
realized she’d been caught in a bad dream.
The businesswoman rose from her bed, shuffled across the wide-planked
oak floor and opened the front door, knowing it was the artist after hearing his
familiar voice.
“I just had the most insane dream,” said the entrepreneur. “A brutal man
showed up here, had a piece of plastic hanging from his neck with a photo of
my dad in it and threatened to stab me with a knife if I didn’t give my firm
over to the investors.”
“You okay now?” the artist asked softly.
“I’ll be fine.”
“I had an unusual dream, too,” the artist explained. “I couldn’t sleep after
it. It’s got me thinking about so many things. The quality of my art. The depth

---

of my belief system. The foolishness of my excuses. My cynical attitude. My
aggressiveness. My self-sabotage and my endless procrastination. I’m
analyzing my daily routines. And how I’ll spend the rest of my life. Hey, you
sure you’re okay?” the artist questioned, realizing he was talking a little too
much about himself and not empathizing with his alarmed companion.
“I’m fine. Better now that you’re here.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“I missed you,” the artist said. “Do you mind if I tell you more about my
dream?”
“Go ahead,” encouraged the entrepreneur.
“Well, I was a little kid, at school. And every day, I’d pretend I was two
things: a giant and a pirate. All day long, I believed I had the strength of a
giant and the rule-breaking swagger of a pirate. I told my teachers I was these
two characters. And at home, I told my parents the same thing. My teachers
laughed at me—and put me down, telling me to be more realistic, to behave
more like the other kids and to stop all my ridiculous dreaming.”
“What did your parents say? Were they kinder to you?” asked the
entrepreneur, now sitting on the sofa with her legs crossed in a yoga posture.
“Same as my teachers. They told me I wasn’t a giant. And that I definitely
was no pirate. They reminded me that I was a little boy. And told me that if I
didn’t limit my imagination, stifle my creativity and put an end to my
fantasies, they’d punish me.”
“So, what happened?”
“I did what I was told to do. I caved in. I bought into the attitudes of the
adults. I made myself tinier instead of grander, so I’d be a good boy. I
suffocated my hopes, gifts and powers in an effort to conform—like most
people do every single day of their lives. I’m starting to realize how much
we’ve been hypnotized away from our brilliance and brainwashed out of our
genius. The Spellbinder and the billionaire are right.”
“Tell me more about your dream,” the entrepreneur urged.
“I began to mold myself to the system. I started to become a follower. I no
longer believed I was as powerful as a giant and as swashbuckling as a pirate.
I sheepwalked with the flock, becoming like everybody else. Eventually I
grew into a man who spent money I didn’t have, buying things I didn’t need
to impress people I didn’t like. What a poor way to live.”

---

“I do some of that behavior too,” admitted the entrepreneur. “I’m learning
so much about myself, thanks to this very weird and hugely useful voyage.
I’m starting to realize how superficial I’ve been, how selfish I am and how
many good things I actually have going for me in my life. Many people in the
world couldn’t even imagine experiencing all the blessings I have.”
“Got you,” said the artist. “So, in my dream, I became a bookkeeper. I
married and had a family. I lived in a subdivision. And drove a good car. I had
a fairly nice life. A few true friends. Work that paid my mortgage, and a salary
that handled my bills. But each day looked the same. Gray versus vivid.
Boring instead of enchanting. As I got older, the children left home to live
lives of their own. My body aged, and my energy fell. And, unfortunately, my
wife in my dream passed away. As I grew even older, my eyesight began to
fail, my hearing began to fade and my memory became extremely weak.”
“This is making me feel sad,” voiced the entrepreneur, sounding
vulnerable.
“And when I got really old, I actually forgot where I lived, couldn’t
remember my name and lost all sense of who I was in the community. But—
get this—I began to remember who I 
truly
was again.”
“A giant. And a pirate. Right?”
“Exactly!” replied the artist. “The dream made me understand that I can’t
postpone doing amazing work anymore. That I can’t put off improving my
health, my happiness, my confidence and even my love life.”
“Really?” wondered the entrepreneur wistfully.
“Really,” responded the artist.
He then reached forward. And kissed her on the forehead.

---

Chapter 9
A Framework for the Expression of Greatness
“The men who are great live with that which is substantial, they do not stay with that which is
superficial; they abide with realities, they remain not with what is showy. The one they discard, the
other they hold.”