CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Hallelujah!
I locked myself in the storage closet and rewrote the book proposal as fast as I could. I didn’t talk to my friends. I didn’t see my family. I slept just three or four hours a night. When I would close my eyes, one image kept coming back to me as if it had been chiseled into the insides of my eyelids—my grandma, tears streaming down her face.
Qi Lu had told me he’d slept only a couple hours a night while creating Yahoo Shopping and I’d wondered how it was possible. Now I knew.
My agent had told me rewriting the proposal would take thirty days. I finished in eight. When your back is against the wall, you learn what you’re capable of. I emailed her the 140-page document, prayed she could work her magic, and then, just eleven days after I’d turned in the leave-of-absence form—I got the publishing deal.
I immediately shared the news with my parents. Even my dad, who celebrated every possible occasion, couldn’t crack more than a smile. I could tell he was still shaken by my leaving school. I needed to talk to someone who I knew would be as excited as I was. I called Elliott.
“You didn’t,” he said. “No way. You’re lying.”
“It really happened.”
“Holy…shit. You did it! It worked! BRO, YOU ARE A SUPERSTAR!”
I’d never heard Elliott talk to me like this before.
“This is nuts!” he went on. “So what are you going to do next?”
“Now it’s time to get my interview with Bill Gates.”
“That’s insane! How much time do you think you’ll get with him? Are you going to do it at his office? Or can you do it at his home? Is it just going to be you two, one-on-one? Or will you be in a room with a dozen PR guys?”
“Dude, I still haven’t told his Chief of Staff the news.”
“Stop,” Elliott said. “That email has to be…perfect.”
We spent the next hour on the phone drafting it. I didn’t write a direct ask because I assumed it was abundantly clear why I was reaching out. Before hitting send, I thought about how just two years earlier I was on my dorm room bed, fantasizing what it would be like to learn from Bill Gates. It was finally coming together.
A day later, the Chief of Staff’s reply popped up on my screen. I felt as though a gospel choir had stepped into the storage closet singing Hallelujah! I wanted to call Elliott so we could read the response together. But I couldn’t wait. I clicked it open:
Well, that’s fantastic news. Congratulations!
I hit the down arrow, searching for the rest of his message.
But that was it.
Clearly my email strategy didn’t work, but I wasn’t deterred.
I emailed the Chief of Staff again.
A week passed. No response.
I told myself he must not have seen my message, so I sent a third email.
Another week passed. There was still no answer.
I began to come to terms with what his silence meant. The answer was no. And not only was it no, but now the Chief of Staff wasn’t talking to me.
The choir stopped singing, gathered their things, and slipped out the door.
I’d guaranteed my publisher I’d get Bill Gates; now I had no Bill Gates. What would my agent say? And how would I explain this to my parents, after I’d sworn Gates would be a done deal if I took a leave of absence? I’d disappointed my family, let down my agent, and lied to my publisher: the asshole-trifecta.
I frantically thought through my options in the storage closet. All right…If I can’t get Bill Gates…I’ll get Bill Clinton. Elliott has an in with him. And if I can’t get Clinton, I’ll get Warren Buffett. Dan can help with that. Plus, Buffett is best friends with Gates, so if I interview Buffett, he can get me to Gates. I don’t even need the Chief of Staff!
While I had sent interview requests to most of these people before, I didn’t know what I was doing back then. Now I felt a bit more experienced. And the more I dreamed up next steps, the better I felt. My friend from Summit works for Oprah—so I have an in there. Another friend from Summit worked for Zuckerberg—maybe she can get me to him. And Elliott is friends with Lady Gaga’s manager—so I’m definitely golden there.
I downloaded photos of Lady Gaga, Warren Buffett, Bill Clinton, Oprah Winfrey, and Mark Zuckerberg, pasted them on a single page, and printed a dozen copies. I taped the pictures by my desk, on the walls, above my bed, and on my car’s dashboard.
Only in hindsight can I see the change that was overtaking me. I’d left school and felt completely on my own. And I had sold everyone around me on a dream that was now falling apart. I was so terrified of being seen as a liar, so ashamed of being seen as a failure, that I became desperate to do whatever it took to save face. Ironically, that desperation fueled me to lie and fail even more.
“The momentum couldn’t be stronger!” I told Elliott over the phone. “I’m sure Bill Gates’ Chief of Staff will get back to me any day now. Anyway, now that things are going so well, it’s the perfect time to get the rest of the interviews. Could you introduce me to Lady Gaga’s manager? And didn’t you say you knew Buffett’s grandson? And Clinton’s assistant?”
I felt horrible about misleading Elliott, but an hour later I felt a lot better when I saw an introduction to Lady Gaga’s manager in my inbox. I asked for the interview, the manager replied back, and the answer was no.
Elliott contacted Bill Clinton’s office.
Another no.
Elliott introduced me to Warren Buffett’s grandson.
Dead end.
A friend from Summit took me to a party where I met Buffett’s son.
No help.
Another friend from Summit introduced me to one of Buffett’s business partners.
Again the answer was no.
A third friend from Summit introduced me to Oprah’s PR team. When I explained the mission to them, they loved it and told me to write a letter addressed to Oprah. They passed it along to the first level in her PR chain and it was approved. The second and third level approved it too. Finally, it made it to Oprah’s desk and…her answer was no.
My fear of failure had its hands around my neck, cutting off circulation to my brain. The only thing keeping me from suffocating was knowing I still had an ace up my sleeve.
It was time to call Dan.
Dan seemed like the obvious route for me to get to Warren Buffett. After the breakfast at Summit where Dan shared the Avoidance List, we became friends and talked on the phone every week. But anytime Buffett’s name came up in conversation, Dan seemed to get uneasy. I figured he was extremely protective of his former boss. I had decided going through Elliott to get to Buffett would be easier, but now Dan was my only hope.
Instead of being transparent about what I wanted, I called Dan and said, “I miss you, man! When are we hanging out?” He suggested I come to San Francisco for the weekend and stay with him on his boat. I jumped on the offer.
A few nights later, I landed in San Francisco and my cab pulled up to a fog-shrouded marina where Dan docked the boat he lived on. Before I even put my bags down, Dan wrapped me in a giant bear hug. He threw my duffel bag inside and whisked me off to a lavish dinner on the San Francisco Bay, followed by live music at his favorite café. The next morning, we played Frisbee at a sloping, grassy park. Over the two days, Dan took me around the city, treating me like family.
Throughout our time together, I never brought up Buffett. I hoped the more Dan and I bonded, the likelier it would be that he’d agree to make the introduction. I felt like a salesman plotting an ask with a new client. Except this was my friend, so I felt terrible.
And now I was running out of time. As I woke up on my final day in San Francisco, I checked my watch—two hours until I had to leave for the airport. I headed out to the deck where Dan and his girlfriend were lounging, looking out at the Golden Gate Bridge, coffee mugs in their hands.
After talking to them for a while, I glanced at my watch once more—thirty minutes until I had to leave. I still hadn’t asked Dan for the introduction.
“Dan, can you look this over?”
I took out my laptop and passed it to him. Dan’s eyes narrowed as he realized that on the screen was a letter I’d drafted to Warren Buffett. Dan read it, then looked back up a minute later.
“Alex,” he said, “this is…fantastic. Mr. Buffett will love it.”
I remained quiet, hoping Dan would fill the silence by offering to call Buffett and push this through.
“And you know what?” Dan said.
I edged forward.
“You should print two copies!” he said. “Mail one to his office and one to his home!”
Dan’s girlfriend put down her mug and reached for the laptop. “Let me read it,” she said. After she finished, she looked at Dan.
“Honey, this is wonderful. Why don’t you just email this to Warren directly?”
“That would be life-changing,” I said.
Dan’s eyes darted from the laptop to his girlfriend to me.
He stayed silent, and then a moment later said, “You got it, Alex. Email me the letter and I’ll pass it along.”
Dan’s girlfriend kissed him on the cheek.
“And if that doesn’t work,” he added, “I’ll fly to Omaha with you and talk to Mr. Buffett myself! We’re going to make this happen, Alex. You’ll have this interview in no time.”