Oct 19, 2026 · 23 min · 14 segments
**"Why the hell should I trust you?"** At twenty-two, I didn't have an answer. And the heart of the question didn't become clear for two decades. Covey's bank account? Brown's marble jar? Harvard's…
Introduction A convincing lie The coin of the realm Cuddle chemicals And why the hell should I trust you? Those were cutting words for a 22-year-old to hear.
After all, I'd just survived two whole weeks of on-the-job training at Wells Fargo Financial.
I used all of it, every trick in the book, to coax this sergeant off post and into my strip mall office in Lakewood Town Center.
With it came the sizzling smells of Tijuana taco, where I would be going for lunch, if only I could close a deal.
Outside the front door was your typical commercial sprawl, but my eyes were drawn to a building across the blacktop on a well-manicured standalone lot.
Financial, where I was working, was the seedy underbelly of the financial industry.
Have you ever walked into a discount furniture store, maybe the Mattress Depot or More Furniture for Less, and seen zero interest and zero payments for 12 months? That was us.
But when the time came, if you missed a payment, we'd smack you down with 19.99% APR backdated to the loan's origination.
As long as that chintzy Barka lounger arrived in one piece, we were no longer needed.
But we called anyway, and after a few minutes of awkward small talk, we'd spring some unsolicited advice on you.
Yes, just a few months removed from my dearly departed college kegerator, I was kicking down financial advice to actual grown-ups, all under the banner of Henry Wells and William G. Fargo.
I can see here that you've got yourself 10 grand of revolving debt, I'd say, as I refreshed their credit report without authorization.
Introduction A convincing lie The coin of the realm Cuddle chemicals And why the hell should I trust you? Those were cutting words for a 22-year-old to hear.
After all, I'd just survived two whole weeks of on-the-job training at Wells Fargo Financial.
I used all of it, every trick in the book, to coax this sergeant off post and into my strip mall office in Lakewood Town Center.
With it came the sizzling smells of Tijuana taco, where I would be going for lunch, if only I could close a deal.
Outside the front door was your typical commercial sprawl, but my eyes were drawn to a building across the blacktop on a well-manicured standalone lot.
Financial, where I was working, was the seedy underbelly of the financial industry.
Have you ever walked into a discount furniture store, maybe the Mattress Depot or More Furniture for Less, and seen zero interest and zero payments for 12 months? That was us.
But when the time came, if you missed a payment, we'd smack you down with 19.99% APR backdated to the loan's origination.
As long as that chintzy Barka lounger arrived in one piece, we were no longer needed.
But we called anyway, and after a few minutes of awkward small talk, we'd spring some unsolicited advice on you.
Yes, just a few months removed from my dearly departed college kegerator, I was kicking down financial advice to actual grown-ups, all under the banner of Henry Wells and William G. Fargo.
I can see here that you've got yourself 10 grand of revolving debt, I'd say, as I refreshed their credit report without authorization.
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