For the Right Reasons: America's Favorite Bachelor on Faith, Love, Marriage, and Why Nice Guys Finish First

by Sean Lowe

  “Come check out the break room,” Josh said. “And I’ll show you the conference room along the way.”

  We walked through the spacious, empty office space. There was one huge room with floor-to-ceiling windows on one wall. We were on the fifth floor, and our view was amazing. It overlooked the Ritz-Carlton pool across the street.

  “The cubicles are arriving this week,” Don said. “I splurged and got the kind with glass panels at the top. Like windows.”

  “I want an office.” I laughed. “Corner, preferably.”

  “Yes, I’ll show you your space,” Don said. “But we’ve got twenty-five employees ready to move in as soon as we set up.”

  I took a deep breath and smelled the aroma of success. It smelled like new carpet and the bleach used on the beautiful, sparkling bathrooms.

  An office is great, if you aren’t the guy punching the clock.

  I’d finally figured out the right direction for my life. Entrepreneurship, like football, required guts. I was certain I was going to be a millionaire before I was thirty, and I couldn’t have done it with two better friends.

  “Sagi,” I said into the phone, tightly holding the piece of paper I had with his phone number scrawled on it. “I’ve heard you’re the guy who can transform any body.”

  Sagi Kalev was a legend among the fitness crowd. He became a bodybuilder when he was sixteen, and then had a four-year tour of duty in the Israeli Army, where he learned the discipline and training techniques he later used to start his bodybuilding business. I’d heard he’d been shot and stabbed while in the military—it added to his mystique.

  It had taken me months to get up the nerve to call him. However, after Brooke and I broke up, I wanted to change things around. Getting serious about fitness seemed like a good next move.

  “Are you interested in training?” he asked in his Tel Aviv accent. “If you become my client, you can transform your body from the inside out. You can be the person you’ve always wanted to be.”

  “How is your program different than all the others?” I asked him. I knew a great deal about fitness, after all. Was this guy really worth his $150 fee?

  “I’ll take all the guessing out,” Sagi said. “I’ll make you gain muscle and lose body fat at the same time. It’ll be hard, but you can do it if you follow my instructions.”

  As he began rattling off his services and the costs, I interrupted.

  “Actually, I can’t afford one-fifty,” I said. It was true. I was stretched thin. I’d made plenty of money in oil and gas, but it quickly evaporated when I didn’t take a paycheck for several months getting the start-up off the ground. Was an exercise regimen worth the sacrifice?

  “If you truly want the transformation you say,” Sagi said, “you’ll find a way to pay for it.”

  The man was like an Israeli Yoda. Even though I had only a few hundred bucks in my bank account, he was right. I worked, saved money, and—finally—was able to afford it. When I met him in person, I noticed he was about five foot ten but absolutely solid. I don’t normally notice whether guys are attractive, but Sagi had been “Mr. Israel”—twice—with eyes that seemed to see right through me. Immediately, I could tell he was the real deal. He wasn’t just some big guy telling me how to bench-press more weight. This was a very well-respected man with an amazing, holistic understanding of the body and how it works. The first thing he asked me to do was to have blood work done, then a saliva test, and even a hair analysis. He wasn’t interested in just building bulk. He looked at every aspect of my health as a detective looks for clues.

  As he pored over my medical results, he grew quiet.

  “Did I pass?” I laughed. Even though I was strong and had a lot of muscle, I didn’t have great symmetry yet, and I wanted to be absolutely ripped.

  “If you follow my book—take your supplements, say lots of prayers, and eat right—you’ll be a new man in no time at all,” Sagi assured me. “You ready to do whatever it takes?”

  Josh and I were talking one morning over a cup of coffee in our office with the sounds of a company waking up in the background of our conversation—phones were ringing, people were exchanging morning pleasantries, a fax machine was emitting its high-pitched ring. The sound of money.

  Don burst into the room with a splotchy, red face. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said, plopping a copy of the newspaper on my desk.

  The headline caused my throat to tighten: “Debt Relief Companies Prohibited from Collecting Advance Fees under FTC Rule.”

  Don shook his head vigorously. “Read it and weep.”

  “The Federal Trade Commission has created a new regulation that protects consumers trying to settle their debts,” I read. “They will now be protected by a rule that stops debt settlement companies from charging fees before settling or reducing a customer’s credit card debt.”3

  I stopped and swallowed hard. “Does this mean what I think it means?”

  Josh was already tapping away on his phone, trying to find more information about the new FTC rule. “The government wouldn’t just come in and tell us our way of doing business is illegal. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

  We all got quiet. Debt-relief companies had sprung up overnight, and there was definite abuse. We’d heard heartbreaking stories about how some unscrupulous firms told people to quit paying their creditors and send their monthly payments to them. Of course, the firms simply stole their money—including “referral fees” and “cancellation fees.” We’d heard about these guys, but we were definitely not these guys.

  “So,” I said, taking a deep breath, “this means we can’t charge our clients until after we settle their debts?”

  Josh, who had found several articles on the subject, read from his phone. “If you charge consumers before actually helping them, the FTC and state enforcers will knock at your door to enforce the rule.”

  I popped my knuckles as I looked out the window. There were cars stopped at a red light below while people walked through the intersection. It sometimes took a year to eighteen months to start showing results for our clients.

  “How can we survive this?” I asked. “We can’t just float all this money—people depend on us.”

  There was only one answer and we all knew it. We needed more money. It was hard for me to accept since I was the one on the phone asking people to hand over their hard-earned savings, but I knew my co-founders were right. We needed money to make money. Because the new government regulation prohibited us from taking money, we had to come up with it some other way. That’s how I found myself on the phone with Jim Perryman once again.

  “How are the kids?” I asked him.

  “Sean,” he said, skipping the small talk, “I told you already. I don’t have it.”

  There’s one thing I’ve learned from all my time with investors. When they say they don’t have any more money, they always do.

  “You know I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t need it.”

  “I heard about the new FTC regs,” he said. “Do you have a plan to combat it?”

  “Yeah, we’ve got it covered. We’ve switched to loan modifications instead of settlement. That means we’ll work with attorneys to modify people’s interest fees. Which is exactly why I’m calling. With the changes, we’ll need more operating money.”

  Faced with the possibility of losing his initial investment, Jim’s voice—finally—started to soften.

  “How much more do you need?”

  Within the week, I had the thirty thousand dollars we needed to pay our twenty-five employees and our exorbitant rent.

  At least for the time being.

  My phone rang and my heart stopped.

  “Jim Perryman,” read my caller ID.

  “This is Sean,” I answered with a forced casual tone.

  “Hey, thanks for picking up,” he said. “I tried to call Josh and Don, but it went straight to voice mail. I guess they’re already gone for the weekend. Hey, I guess it’s five o’clock somew
here.”

  I knew why they didn’t answer. For the same reason I didn’t want to answer. Our business, which had been going so well, had gone belly up. We tried to realign our business models to comply with the new regulation, but we didn’t have the margin to float all the loans while we worked to help settle everyone’s debts. After weeks of trying to make ends meet, the math finally won. We’d run out of money, and our staffers—no matter how awesome our downtown office space was—wouldn’t work for free.

  “So my daughter’s wedding is coming up,” Jim continued, “and you would not believe how much stuff like flowers and the cake costs. I’m almost ready to buy them tickets to Vegas to find the nearest ordained Elvis impersonator.”

  He laughed at his joke before continuing. “Anyway, I was hoping to get some return on my investment so we can start making deposits on the dress, church, band, and whatever else. I was thinking that thirty thousand dollars I gave you had probably turned into, what, say fif—”

  “I lost your money.”

  I’d been dreading this moment—this sentence—ever since Josh and Don broke the news to me. We had gone under so fast that we had to break our lease with the owner of our downtown office space. To avoid detection, we’d packed up our office in the middle of the night. Because we had to get out of there fast, we packed up four thousand square feet of brand-new cubicles, phones, and office supplies and gave them away. When the office management company realized we were gone, they told me they were going to sue me. Thankfully, the lease was in the LLC’s name, not in my name, so I wasn’t personally liable.

  Jim didn’t respond. The phone was so completely silent that I pulled it away from my face to make sure we were still connected. I didn’t know what else to say other than the truth. Perhaps I could’ve led up to it, but no additional language would soften the blow.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “But the money’s gone.”

  “All of it?”

  “I hope to get some back,” I said. “But, yeah. All of it.”

  “Do you even know what the word investment means?”

  “I’m so sorry. That new regu—”

  “You mean the regulation you told me we needed to combat, with my thirty grand?” he asked. “The one that meant you needed—absolutely needed—my cash?”

  He didn’t wait for me to respond. He was right. Josh and Don said they’d be able to pull it off with an infusion of cash. That’s what I—in turn—had told Jim.

  “The word investment means that I give you money, and then I make money on it,” he continued icily. “At no point are you supposed to say to me, ‘The money’s gone.’ ”

  “Maybe I could’ve said it better, but I didn’t want to prolong this.”

  “I’m not talking about a point of style,” he said. “I told you I didn’t have the money when you came to me in the first place.”

  “I shouldn’t have pressed you, but I’ve found that most people have more than they let on.”

  “What are you, some sort of shrink? A wannabe psychic? I wasn’t playing any games with you,” he said. “How much money I had in the bank is not a mystery. There are numbers in a ledger. Black and white. I didn’t have it.” He paused, probably in an effort to collect himself. “Sean, I actually took out a loan to give you the money you said you desperately needed to make this company a success.”

  “You did?” I asked, choking over this new revelation.

  Then, as much to himself as to me, he asked, “How am I going to pay for my daughter’s wedding?”

  I had no answers.

  “Are you married?” he asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Then you can’t possibly understand how hard it’ll be to tell my wife this.”

  When I got off the phone, I called Josh. I couldn’t wait to talk to him and figure out which investors he and Don could let down easily. I wasn’t sure if I had the heart to go through another call like Jim’s.

  It went through to voice mail, so I dialed Don.

  After a few rings, I knew he wasn’t going to pick up either. This had never happened in all the time I’d known these guys. If they couldn’t pick up, they’d immediately either text or call me back. I stared at my phone and debated whether to call them again.

  Just as I was about to dial Josh, my phone buzzed in my hand.

  On the little screen, I read the name of another investor, who had undoubtedly just learned of our company’s demise.

  The last thing I wanted to do was answer that call.

  It buzzed once. I took a deep breath. Twice. I began to feel warmth come across my cheeks. Three times.

  “Hello?” I forced myself to answer, clearing my throat to hide my anxiety.

  “Sean,” the investor said. “Why aren’t your partners answering my calls?”

  Don and Josh, it seemed, were completely off the grid and appeared to be taking zero responsibility for any of the repercussions. Even while I was on the phone with this second investor, other furious investors beeped in.

  I tried to ignore the constant buzzing in my ear and focus on this disappointed man. This man with whom I’d previously shared meals, good times, and dreams of wealth.

  “Unless you give me my money back by the end of the week,” he yelled, “I’m going to sue you personally!”

  My hand began to shake as I tried to calm him down. There was no way I could even buy him another meal. I definitely could not afford to give him forty-three thousand dollars.

  “Where do you think I’ll get the money?” I asked.

  “I don’t care where you get it,” he said. “But you’ll never make another dollar that isn’t earmarked for me for the rest of your life if you don’t come up with something.”

  What’s going to happen to me, God? I thought as he yelled.

  For the next few weeks, I was horrified of my own phone. Every time it rang I felt like I might throw up. My partners—my friends—left me to pick up the pieces. My phone absolutely blew up, but I didn’t want to talk to these investors anymore.

  I was alone, more alone than I’d ever felt in my life.

  One night, I lay in my bed and pulled the covers up to my neck. The ceiling had a shadow on it that had moved slightly over the past three hours I’d been staring at it. I felt my heart beating wildly in my chest. I sat up, punched my pillow, rolled over to my side, and tried desperately to find a comfortable position.

  “If God is for us, who can ever be against us?” I kept reciting Romans 8:31 in my head. It was a Bible verse we used in church, and it was the only thing that comforted me. I’d never experienced anxiety. I’ve always been a laid-back guy, so I wasn’t sure what to do with this feeling—this terrible, ever-growing feeling. My face felt hot. My skin hurt. My head ached.

  I’d always thought of myself as a risk taker, an entrepreneur. But when Jim asked me that question about his daughter’s wedding, I realized a cold, hard truth.

  I couldn’t take any more chances.

  Lying there in the darkness, I made a decision I said I’d never make.

  I had to go into the family business.

  three

  WHAT A WAY TO MAKE A LIVING

  One day, Brooke showed up at my apartment with Lola on a leash and tears in her eyes. She knew the dogs needed to be together and was willing to give up Lola to make that happen. I know it was hard for Brooke to make this sacrifice, so I was deeply touched by her generosity.

  The dogs were thrilled to be reunited.

  Every morning I’d wake up at seven o’clock and take them out. Then I’d feed them and marvel at their canine manners. Lola ate her bowl first while Ellie patiently waited for her to finish before having her bowl of food.

  “God, you know my heart,” I prayed as I reluctantly left Ellie to finish her bowl so I could get dressed for my day at work with my brother-in-law at his State Farm agency. I slid on my khaki slacks—the uniform of the insurance salesman—and prayed, “You know I don’t want to live a normal life. If this is your
will, if you really want me to sell insurance, I’ll do it.”

  Andrew, one of the top fifty most successful State Farm insurance salesmen out of ten thousand nationwide, gave me a job, my own desk, and a phone. Sadly, I had to use that phone to cold-call potential customers. I hated the feeling of holding my breath as I waited for someone to hang up on me before I even had the chance to get out my pitch.

  Still, it was much better than breaking news to investors that you’ve lost their money.

  This was my new life. I would go through the agency training program. Then, a couple of years later, I would have gained enough experience—and clients—to start my own agency. My grandfather, my dad, and Andrew had gone down that path. Now it was my turn.

  “But, God, you know I hate this so much,” I kept praying as I drove down Custer Road to the State Farm office located in a strip mall. “Is this the way you want my life to be?”

  Ever since I decided to be an insurance agent, God and I had been having a pretty constant conversation. Not an argument, really. Not even a negotiation. I was convinced there had to be something else I could do that wasn’t as office-y as being an insurance agent.

  As a kid, I believed in Jesus and heard all the stories in Sunday school—Noah and his ark, Samson and Delilah, Daniel and the lions. As I grew older, I was always the nice kid everyone’s parents liked. My parents brought me up to respect adults, and Mom would get all over me if I didn’t say “yes, sir,” or “yes, ma’am.” My friends’ parents knew I wouldn’t get their kids into serious trouble. When I began dating, the girls’ dads were always very warm and welcoming. I think they knew I was going to respect and take care of their daughters. Even though I hung with the popular kids, I didn’t drink or do some of the other typical high school behavior they did. In college, I still didn’t drink underage or have premarital sex, but I’m not sure I knew why I wasn’t drinking illegally or hooking up. My Christianity wasn’t fully formed. After all, it wasn’t strong enough to keep me from skipping classes or cheating on exams, and I never really shared my faith with my friends or teammates.