Leadership Wisdom From The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari Part 1

Leaders.h.i.+p Wisdom from The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari.

The 8 Rituals of Visionary Leaders.

Robin S. Sharma, LL.B., LL.M.

To my daughter, Bianca. May you always be the model of joy.

To the many readers of The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari who took the time out of their busy lives to tell me how this simple book touched them. You have moved me.

And to all those leaders who deeply honor the sacred trust between them and the people they have the privilege to lead. Keep blessing lives and liberating talent.

This is the true joy in life, being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one, being a true force of Nature instead of a feverish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.... I want to be thoroughly used up when I die. For the harder I work, the more I live. I rejoice in life for its own sake. Life is no brief candle to me. It's a sort of splendid torch which I've got to hold up for the moment and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.

George Bernard Shaw.

CHAPTER ONE.

A Wild Ride to Success.

It was the saddest day of my life. As I arrived at work after a rare long weekend spent hiking and laughing in the mountains with my kids, I saw two enormous security guards hunched over the mahogany desk in my coveted corner office. Running closer, I could see that they were rifling through my files and peeking into the precious doc.u.ments on my laptop computer, oblivious to the fact that I had spotted them. Finally, one of them noticed me standing there, my face flushed with anger, my hands shaking at the sight of this unforgivable invasion. With an expression that revealed not a hint of emotion, he looked at me and spoke fifteen words that left me feeling as if I'd just been kicked in the chest, "Mr. Franklin, you have been fired. We must escort you out of the building immediately."

With that simple dispatch, I went from being the senior vice-president of the fastest-growing software company on the continent to a man without a future. And believe me, I took my dismissal very hard. Failure was a foreign concept to me, an experience I had no idea how to manage. In college, I'd been a golden boy, the kid with the perfect grades, the beautiful girls and the boundless future. I made the varsity track team, was elected cla.s.s president and even found the time to host a hugely popular jazz show on our campus radio station. It seemed to all concerned I was gifted and destined for great success. One day I'd overheard one of my old professors saying to a colleague, "If I had the chance to live my life over again, I'd like to come back as Peter Franklin."

Mind you, my talents were not as natural as everyone believed. The true source of my achievements could be traced back to a punis.h.i.+ng work ethic and an almost obsessive desire to win. My father had come to this country as a penniless immigrant many years ago with a deeply held vision of a more tranquil, prosperous and happy life for his young family. He changed our family name, settled us into a three-room apartment in the honest part of town and started working tirelessly as a factory worker for minimum wage, a job he would keep for the next forty years of his life. And though he had no formal education, I'd never met a wiser man - until recently, when I met a most extraordinary human being, a person who you truly must get to know. I promise to tell you more about him shortly. You will never be the same.

My father's dream for me was a simple one: get a first-cla.s.s education at a first-cla.s.s school. A career of peak achievement and just compensation would then be a.s.sured, or so he thought. His firm belief was that a well-developed base of personal knowledge laid the foundation for a successful life. "No matter whatever happens to you, Peter, no one will ever be able to take away your education. Knowledge will always be your best friend, no matter where you go or what you do," he would often say to me while finis.h.i.+ng his supper after another grueling fourteen-hour day at the factory he devoted most of his life to. My father was quite a man.

He was also a great storyteller, one of the best. In his home country, the elders used parables to convey the wisdom of the ages to their children, so he carried this rich tradition with him to his adopted country. Prom the day that my mother died suddenly while making his lunch in our well-worn kitchen until the time that my brother and I entered our teenage years, my father would send us off to a dreamy sleep with a delightful story that always had a life lesson. One that particularly stands out in my mind is about an old farmer on his deathbed, who asked his three sons to gather around him. "Sons," he said, "Death is close by and I shall soon take my last breath. But before I do, I must share a secret with you. In that field behind our farmhouse, there lies a glorious treasure. Dig deep and you shall find it. You will never have to worry about money again."

Once the old man had died, the sons ran out to the field and started digging with wild abandon. They dug for many hours and continued for many days. No part of the field was left untilled as they put every ounce of their youthful energy into this task. But, alas, no treasure could be found. Eventually, they gave up, cursing their father for his apparent deception and wondering why he would choose to make such fools of them. However, the following fall, that same field yielded a harvest the likes of which the entire community had never seen before. The three sons quickly became rich. And they never worried about money again.

So, from my father, I learned the power of dedication, diligence and hard work. In my college days, I toiled day and night, eager to stay on the Dean's List and to fulfill the dreams my dad had set for me. I won scholars.h.i.+p after scholars.h.i.+p and diligently sent my aging father a small check at the end of every month, a portion of the salary I received from the part-time job that I held.

This was a simple token of thanks for all he had done. When it came time to enter the work force, I had already been offered a lucrative management position in the high-tech field, the field of my choice. The company was called Digitech Software Strategies and it was the place where everyone wanted to work.

Astonis.h.i.+ngly successful, the pundits predicted its meteoric growth would only continue and I felt truly honored that the firm had actively recruited me to become a member of its high-flying team. Quickly accepting the post, I began working eighty-hour weeks to prove that I was worth every penny of the lofty salary I received. Little did I know that, seven years later, the very same company would humiliate me as I had never been humiliated before.

The first few years at Digitech were good ones. They really were. I made some fine friends, learned a great deal and quickly rose through the executive ranks. I became the acknowledged superstar, a young man who had a razor-sharp mind, who knew how to work hard and who showed true commitment to the company. Though I'd never really been taught how to manage and lead people, they just kept on promoting me to ever-higher positions of responsibility.

But, without a doubt, the best thing that happened to me at Digitech Software Strategies was meeting Samantha, the woman who would eventually become my wife. A bright young manager herself, she was strikingly pretty, with a formidable intellect to match. After meeting at the Christmas party, we quickly hit it off and were soon spending what little free time we had together. From day one, Samantha was my greatest fan, a true believer in my potential and talent. "Peter, you'll be the CEO," she would regularly tell me, giving me a soft smile. "I know you've got what it takes." Unfortunately, not everyone felt the same way. Or perhaps they did.

The CEO of Digitech Software ruled the company like a dictator. A self-made man with a vicious streak, he had an ego that matched his grossly inflated paycheck. When I first started working with him, he was polite though reserved. But when word started to spread about my abilities and my ambitions, he grew cold, often communicating with me through terse memos when the situation called for something less formal. Samantha called him an "insecure little clod of a man," but the fact remained that he had power. Real power. Maybe he felt that as I rose to higher management positions, I would make him look bad. Or maybe he saw too much of himself in me - and didn't like what he saw.

I have to admit, however, that I carried my own weaknesses. Foremost was a hair-trigger temper. If something went wrong at the wrong time, a rage brewed within me that I simply could not control. I have no idea where it came from, but it was there. And it was not a business a.s.set. I'll also admit that though I think I'm a fundamentally decent person, I could be a little rough around the edges when it came to the art of managing people. Like I said, I had never received any leaders.h.i.+p training and operated on what little instinct I had been granted. I often felt that not everyone on my team shared my work ethic and commitment to excellence, which led me to frustration. Yes, I would yell at people. Yes, I took on far more responsibility than I was capable of handling. Yes, I should have spent more time building relations.h.i.+ps and cultivating loyalty. But there were always too many fires to put out and I never seemed to have enough time to attend to the things that needed improving. I guess I was like the mariner who spent all his time bailing water out of his boat rather than taking the time to fix the hole in it. Shortsighted at best.

And so the day came when I was fired. The months that followed were truly the darkest of my life. Thank G.o.d I had Samantha and the kids around me. They did their best to lift my spirits and encourage me to pick up the pieces of my once fast-tracked career. But those months of idleness showed me that our self-esteem is linked to our jobs. At a c.o.c.ktail party, the first question we are inevitably asked is, "So what do you do for a living?" As we began our weekly round of golf, my partners would always ask, "Any news on work, Peter?" The doorman at our luxury high rise, always a master of small talk, would regularly inquire whether things were going well at the office. With no job to go to, I no longer had any answers.

I went from getting up in the morning and rus.h.i.+ng off to the subway station, my mind full of ideas, to awakening around noon in a darkened room, littered with empty Heineken bottles, Marlboro packages and sticky Hagen-Dazs containers. I stopped reading the Wall Street Journal and retreated into cheesy spy novels, old western paperbacks and trashy tabloids that revealed Oprah was an alien and that Elvis was still alive, managing a McDonald's on the West Coast. I could not face reality. I just didn't want to think too hard or do too much. A numbing pain pervaded my body and resting under the covers of our four-poster bed seemed like the best place to be.

Then one day, I received a phone call. It was an old college friend who had carved out an excellent reputation as one of the best minds in the software industry. He told me that he had just quit his job as chief programmer for a large company and was getting ready to start his own firm. I still recall him telling me he had what he called "a brilliant concept" for a new line of software and needed a partner he could trust. I was his first choice. "It's a chance to build something great, Peter," he said with his usual sense of enthusiasm. "C'mon. It'll be fun."

Part of me lacked the confidence to say yes. Starting a new business is never easy, especially in the high-tech field. What if we failed? As it was, our financial situation was a mess. As senior vice-president at Digitech Software, I was paid well and lived the kind of life that my father could only have dreamed of. I drove a brand-new BMW while Samantha had her own Mercedes. The kids went to private school and spent summers at a prestigious sailing camp. My golf club's members.h.i.+p fees alone totalled the annual income of many of my friends. Now, with no job, the unpaid bills were piling up and many promises were being broken. It was not the ideal time to dream of my own business.

On the other hand, my wise father always told me that "nothing can defeat you unless you defeat yourself." I needed this opportunity to lift me from the darkness that had enveloped my life. I needed a reason to wake up in the morning. I needed to reconnect to that sense of pa.s.sion and purpose I had felt in college when I believed that I was unstoppable and the world was truly a place of unlimited possibilities. I had enough intuition to know that life sends us gifts from time to time. Success comes to those who recognize and accept them. So I said yes.

We grandly named the company GlobalView Software Solutions and set up shop in a tiny office in a run-down industrial complex. I was CEO and my partner was the self-appointed chairman. We had no employees, no furniture and no money. But we did have a great idea. And so we started pitching our software concept to the marketplace. Fortunately, the marketplace enthusiastically responded. Soon Samantha came to work with us and we hired other employees. Our innovative software products began to sell at a phenomenal pace and our profits quickly soared. That first year of operation, Business Success magazine listed us as one of the country's fastest-growing companies. My father was so proud. Though he was eighty-six at the time, I still remember him carrying a huge basket of fruit into the office to celebrate our achievement. Tears streamed down his face when he looked at me and said, "Son, your mother would have been very happy today."

That was more than eleven years ago and we have continued our blistering pace of growth. GlobalView Software Solutions is now a two-billion-dollar company with 2,500 employees at eight locations around the world. Just last year we moved into our new international headquarters, a world-cla.s.s complex complete with a state-of-the-art manufacturing facility, three Olympic-sized swimming pools and an amphitheater for meetings and other corporate events. My partner is no longer involved in the day-to-day operations of the company and spends most of his time on his private island in the Caribbean or mountain-climbing in Nepal. Samantha left the leaders.h.i.+p of the company a few years ago to pursue her pa.s.sion for writing and to become more involved in community service. As for me, I'm still the CEO, but now I have crus.h.i.+ng responsibilities that consume the majority of my time. Twenty-five hundred people look to me for their livelihoods and many thousands more depend on our organization to provide products and services that help them in their daily lives.

Sadly, my father died two years after the company was formed, and though he always sensed I would be enormously successful, I don't think that even he could have imagined that we would be where we are today. I do miss him but, with all that's on my plate, I have little time to reflect on the past. I still work hard, about eighty hours on a good week. I haven't taken a real vacation in years and I'm as hard-driving, ambitious and compet.i.tive as I was the day I started work as a twenty-three-year-old kid at Digitech Software Strategies. Until I had the good fortune to meet a very special teacher a relatively short while ago, I still tried to do too much and micromanage every aspect of the business. I knew this was a weakness, but I seemed to have succeeded in spite of it.

Until that most memorable meeting, which I am about tell you about in greater detail, I still had my bad temper, a characteristic that had only worsened as the pressures on me had grown along with my business. And, despite the pa.s.sage of time, I still had a hard time managing and motivating people. Oh sure, my employees listened to me. But it was not because they wanted to - it's because they had to. They had no loyalty to me and no real commitment to the company. Fear rather than respect seemed to be the reason they would carry out the commands I issued from my palatial executive suite. It seemed all my power stemmed solely from my position. And I knew that was a bad position to be in.

Let me share a little more with you about the challenges I faced as the leader of a fast-growing company in these turbulent and change-crazed times. Despite the expansion of our business, morale had plummeted. I had heard through the grapevine that some people were saying we had grown too quickly and that profits had become more important than people. Others complained that they were being forced to work too hard with not enough resources to support them. Still others complained that the tremendous change they faced on a daily basis, ranging from innovations in technology to new structures within the bureaucracy, left their heads spinning and their bodies tingling with stress. There was little trust, low productivity and even less creativity. And from what I could gather, nearly everyone in the organization believed that the blame for the problems rested squarely with one person: me. The consensus was that I just did not know how to lead.

Though GlobalView Software continued to grow, the indicators started to show that we might be headed for our first loss in many years. Although our programs still continued to sell, we were losing market share. Our people were simply not as innovative and inspired as in the early days. As a result, our products were not as well-designed and unique. To put it simply: people just didn't seem to care anymore. And I knew that if allowed to continue, that mindset would eventually spell the end of our company.

Signs of apathy were everywhere. Offices were disorganized and people were consistently late. Christmas parties were poorly attended and teamwork was almost nonexistent. Conflict was routine and initiative poor. Even our new manufacturing facility began to show signs of disrepair and neglect, its once gleaming floors now littered with trash and grime.

Remarkably, all that has changed. GlobalView Software Solutions is a truly excellent company again. And I know we are growing to be even better. Our organization has been transformed through the application of a very special leaders.h.i.+p formula given to me by a very special man. This simple yet extraordinarily powerful system has brought back the excitement that once pervaded the entire company, inspired our people to new heights of commitment, sent productivity soaring and caused our profits to skyrocket beyond even my wildest dreams. Our employees have become deeply loyal and dedicated to our shared vision for the future. They work as a dynamic and highly competent team. Even better, they love coming to work and I love working with them. We all know we have discovered something magical and we know we are now headed for something very big. Just last week, Business Success magazine featured me on the cover. The heading read simply, "The GlobalView Miracle: How One Company Grew Great."

So what is this miraculous and time-honored leaders.h.i.+p formula that has made me the toast of the business community? Who was this wise visitor who revolutionized our organization and showed me how to become the kind of visionary leader these topsy-turvy times call for? I know with all my heart that the answers to these questions will change the way you lead as well as the way you live. The time has come for you to discover them.

CHAPTER TWO.

A Monk in My Rose Garden

It was a bizarre scene. Now that I reflect on it, I still cannot believe it happened. I had just come out of my regular Monday morning meeting with my managers after hearing that GlobalView's fortunes were going from bad to worse. In the meeting, one manager had informed me that some of our top programmers were thinking of going to work for a smaller company where their efforts would be more appreciated. He also said that the relations.h.i.+ps between management and nonmanagement were growing more strained by the day. "They don't trust us anymore," he said angrily.

Another manager added, "Not only that, there's no teamwork in this place. Before we got so big, everyone would help one another. People truly cared about a job well done. In the old days, if we were under a deadline to s.h.i.+p out a big order, I still remember all of us would work together, sometimes late into the night. I even remember times when the programmers and managers rolled up their sleeves to help people in s.h.i.+pping seal boxes and get them ready for loading onto the delivery trucks. Now it's every person for himself. It's a bunker mentality. I really can't stand it anymore."

Though I remained uncharacteristically calm during the meeting, I broke into a sweat as I walked down the long hallway that linked the boardroom to my office. The tension of the past few months was killing me, and I knew I had to do something to stop the company's downward spiral. I just didn't know who to talk to or what to do. Sure, I could hire a team of consultants to offer some quick-fix solutions to the problems that plagued us. But I felt I had to dig deeper to strike at the roots of what had caused us to go from being a visionary company full of pa.s.sionate and compa.s.sionate people to a bulky bureaucracy where people could not wait for closing time.

By the time I reached my office, perspiration dripped off my forehead and my s.h.i.+rt was soaked. My executive a.s.sistant, seeing my state, rushed toward me and grabbed my arm. As she escorted me to the plush leather couch that sat next to one of the many floor-to-ceiling bookcases in my imperial office, she asked if she should call my doctor or perhaps even an ambulance. Not even giving her the courtesy of a reply, I lay down on the couch and closed my eyes. I had read somewhere that visualizing a soothing scene in the mind's eye was a great way to calm down after a stressful encounter. And so I did my best.

Just as I began to relax, I was startled by a loud noise. It sounded as if someone had thrown a rock against one of the windows in my office. I leapt to my feet and ran to the large main window in search of the culprit. But I could see no one. Maybe the stress I had been suffering from was playing games with my imagination. As I slowly returned to the couch, it happened again, but this time even louder. 'Who could it be?' I wondered, thinking I should have my a.s.sistant call security immediately. 'Probably another disgruntled computer programmer pus.h.i.+ng his luck with the boss,' I thought, growing even more annoyed at the disturbance. I darted to the window yet another time and, this time, saw a figure standing in the center of the sweeping rose garden that my second-floor office overlooked. As I squinted my eyes and looked more carefully, I was shocked by what I saw.

It was a striking young man who appeared to be wearing a hooded red robe, the kind I'd seen the Tibetan monks wear on a trip that I had made to that exotic land more than a decade earlier. As the rays of the sun illuminated the handsome, unlined face of the stranger, his robe flapped in the light wind, giving him a mysterious, almost ethereal appearance. He had a big smile on his face. And on his feet he wore sandals.

After realizing this was not some hallucination of an overworked CEO whose company was slowly sliding into oblivion, I pounded on the window in anger. The young man did not move. He remained in a fixed position and kept smiling. Then he offered me an enthusiastic wave. I could not stand this kind of disrespect. This clown was trespa.s.sing on my property, spoiling my rose garden and clearly attempting to make a fool out of me. I immediately commanded my executive a.s.sistant, Arielle, to call security. "Have them bring our strange visitor up to my office right now, before he gets away," I ordered. "He needs to be taught a lesson - the likes of which he will never forget."

Within minutes, four security guards were at my door, one of them carefully holding the young stranger, who appeared to be cooperating with them, by the arm. Surprisingly, the young man was still smiling and he radiated a sense of strength and serenity as he stood in the doorway to my office. He did not appear to be a bit concerned about being caught by security and marched into my office. And though he said nothing, I was also struck by the Strange feeling that I was in the presence of a man of great knowledge. I experienced the same feeling I used to have when I was with my dad. I really cannot explain it any more than that. Call it intuition, but my gut told me the young man was far wiser than his youthful face showed. Actually, I think it was his eyes that gave it away.

In my years in business, I have discovered that a person's eyes can reveal the truth. They can disclose warmth, insecurity, insincerity or integrity, if one simply takes the time to study them. The young man's eyes told me he had wisdom. They also indicated he had a pa.s.sion for life and perhaps a slight mischievous streak. They seemed to sparkle when the sunlight pouring into my office caught them. Seen up close, the young man's ruby red robe was quite splendid in its texture and design. And despite being inside, he had chosen to leave the hood on, lending further mystery to his remarkable appearance.

"Who are you and why were you throwing rocks at my window?" I demanded, my face growing hot and my palms growing even more sweaty.

The young man remained silent, his full lips holding their smile. Then he started to move his hands, bringing them together in a prayer stance, offering me the traditional greeting of the people of India.

'This guy is unbelievable!' I thought. 'First he treads through my rose garden, the garden I love looking at from my office when things get crazy. Then he starts pitching rocks at my window, scaring the heck out of me. And now, when he is surrounded by four burly, no-nonsense security guards who could floor him in an instant, he plays games with me.'

"Look, kid, I don't know who you are or where you've come from, and to be honest, I don't really care," I exclaimed. "You can keep wearing that silly robe and giving me that silly smile. Be as c.o.c.ky as you like because I plan to call the police. But before I do, why don't you break that vow of silence you monks are so famous for and tell me why you are here?"

"I'm here to help you reinvent your leaders.h.i.+p, Peter," the young man replied in a surprisingly commanding tone. "I'm here to help you get your organization back on track. And then on to world-cla.s.s status."

How did he know my name? Maybe this guy was dangerous. I'm glad I've got security right in front of me,' I thought to myself And what was all this nonsense about helping me "reinvent my leaders.h.i.+p and get my company back on track?" If this clown was some kind of consultant trying to get my attention for a fat contract, he was going about it the wrong way. Why didn't he just send me a proposal like the rest of those overpriced, underworked "change agents" who have an amazing gift for creating makework projects that ensure they never miss the target dates for their early retirements.

"You have no idea who I am, do you, Peter?" he asked in a friendly tone.

"No, I'm sorry I don't. And if you don't tell me now, I'm going to kick your sorry behind down the hallway and out into the parking lot," I yelled menacingly.

"I see you still have that temper, Peter. We'll need to work on that. I'll bet it doesn't help you win the loyalty of your team. And I know it does nothing but hurt your golf game, which never was that good," said the young man, breaking into a laugh.

"Do you have any idea who you are talking to, you arrogant little troublemaker?" I screamed, disregarding the fact that the mysterious stranger was well over six feet tall and in superb physical condition. "How dare you chastise me for my temper? And how do you know so much about my golf game? If you've been following me around, I'm definitely getting the police to charge you. That's a very serious offense you know," I noted, whipping myself into a frenzy that caused me to sweat profusely once again.

Then the young man did something that astonished me. He lifted his hand and reached deep into his robe, pulling out what appeared to be a gold-plated golf ball. He then tossed it high into the air for me to catch. "I thought you might want it back," he remarked, still smiling.

I was stunned by the object now resting in the palm of my hand. For the golf ball carried an inscription: To Julian on your fiftieth birthday, a golden golf ball for the man who has it all. It was signed: Your friend always, Peter. How did the young man get this ball? I had given it to my former golfing partner, Julian Mantle, a few years ago. Julian had been a legend in the business world and one of the few friends I had been able to keep over the years. A man with an absolutely brilliant mind, he was widely acknowledged as one of the finest lawyers in the country. Unlike me, he had come from money, his grandfather being a prominent senator and his father, a highly respected judge of the Federal Court. Groomed for success at an early age, Julian graduated number one in his cla.s.s at Harvard Law School and then landed a coveted position with a spectacularly successful law firm.

He rose to national prominence within a few short years, and his blue-chip client list included multibillion-dollar corporations, major sports teams and even leading governments. In his heyday, he managed a team of eighty-five talented lawyers and won a string of legal victories, which, to this day, causes me to marvel.

With an income well into the seven figures, he had everything anyone could want: a mansion in a tony neighborhood favored by celebrities, a private jet, a summer home on a tropical island and his most prized possession of all - a s.h.i.+ny red Ferrari parked in the center of his driveway. But, like me, Julian had his flaws.

He worked like a fiend, regularly working through the night and then catching a few hours of sleep on the couch in his princely corner office before beginning the daily grind all over again. Though I loved playing golf with him, he was hardly ever available. I mostly heard the same excuse from his executive a.s.sistant, "I'm sorry, Mr. Franklin, Mr. Mantle will not be able to join you for golf this week due to an emergency that has come up on one of his cases. He does apologize." The man pushed himself relentlessly and, over time, lost most of his friends along with his once sympathetic wife.

I honestly thought Julian had a deathwish or something. Not only did he work far too hard, he lived far too hard. He was well-known for his late-night visits to the city's finest restaurants with s.e.xy young fas.h.i.+on models and for his reckless drinking escapades with a rowdy band of cronies, which often ended up in fights that were splashed across the newspapers the next day. Despite his statements to the contrary, Julian Mantle was digging himself into an early grave. I knew it, the lawyers at his firm knew it and, deep within his soul, I think he knew it.

I watched Julian's steady decline with a feeling of sadness. At the age of fifty-three, he looked as if he was in his late seventies. The constant stress and strain of his hard-driving lifestyle wreaked havoc on him physically, transforming his face into a ma.s.s of wrinkles. The late-night dinners in expensive French restaurants, smoking thick Cuban cigars and drinking cognac after cognac had left him embarra.s.singly overweight and he constantly complained that he was sick and tired of being sick and tired. Over time, he lost his once wicked sense of humor and rarely laughed. A time eventually came when he stopped playing golf, even though I knew he loved the sport as well as our outings together. With all the work on his plate, Julian even stopped calling me. I knew he needed my friends.h.i.+p as much as I welcomed his, but I guess he just didn't care.

Then tragedy struck the Great Julian Mantle. One Monday morning, in the middle of the packed courtroom where Julian was arguing a case for one of his best corporate clients, Air Atlantic, he collapsed. Amid the frenzied screams of his paralegal and the clicking cameras of the media that were present, Julian was rushed to the hospital. On arrival, he was diagnosed as having suffered a ma.s.sive heart attack and was rushed into the coronary care unit. The cardiologist said Julian was as close to death as any patient he had ever seen. But somehow he survived. The doctors said Julian was a fighter and seemed to have "a heroic will to live."

That sad episode changed Julian profoundly. The very next day, he announced he was leaving the practice of law for good. I'd heard through the grapevine that Julian had headed off to India on some kind of expedition. He told one of his partners he "needed some answers" and hoped he would find them in that ancient land that had, over the centuries, gathered such great wisdom. In a striking act of closure, Julian had sold his mansion, his jet and his private island. However, it was his final gesture before departing that was his most unexpected: Julian sold the Ferrari that he loved so muck My thoughts quickly returned to the young stranger in the monk's robes, now standing in the center of my office, still smiling and still wearing the hood over a thick mop of brown hair. "How did you get this gold-plated golf ball?" I asked in a quiet tone. "I gave this to a dear friend of mine a few years ago as a gift for a very special birthday."

"I know you did," replied the visitor. "And he really appreciated your gesture."

"And might I ask how you would know that?" I persisted.

"Because I'm the dear friend. I am Julian Mantle."

CHAPTER THREE.

The Miraculous Transformation of a Corporate Warrior

I was astonished by what I had just heard. Could this young man in the peak of health really be Julian Mantle, a man who had fallen from the pinnacle of greatness as no one I have ever known? And if it was him, how could he possibly have undergone such a stunning change in appearance? I knew Julian had sold his mansion, his summer home and even given up his prized red Ferrari. I knew he'd given up the trappings of the corporate world and trekked off to the Himalayas on some fanatical mission to seek answers to the deep questions he was struggling with. But surely a simple visit to that ancient and mystical place could not have so profoundly transformed a man who had all but worked himself into the ground.

Disturbed by the bizarre scenario that had just unfolded before me, my mind began to race to some of the other possibilities. Perhaps this was a prank masterminded by one of my less-than-mature managers to inject a little levity into what was sure to be a tension-filled week? Or maybe the young man was an infiltrator from a compet.i.tor seeking to get inside our operation to see how bad things really were? Perhaps this visitor in monk's clothing was a deranged trespa.s.ser out to seriously harm me. But before I could examine these options more fully, the young man spoke.

"Peter, I know it's hard for you to believe it's really me. I'd feel exactly the same way if I were in your shoes. All I'm asking from you is a little faith, a little bit of belief in life's small miracles. There's a purpose to my visit."

"And what might that be?" I asked, still not certain who was standing before me.

"Frankly, I've heard you are in big trouble and I've come to help. If what I've heard about GlobalView since my return from the Himalayas is true, you cannot afford not to listen to what I've come to tell you. I've discovered information that will return you and your business to the heights of success you once enjoyed. I've been given knowledge that will lead you to certain market leaders.h.i.+p. I've learned lessons that will show you how to have the most loyal, dedicated and inspired employees of any company in your field. This information was given to me by a very learned teacher, who I met high in the mountains. The timeless wisdom he shared with me is not widely known here in the West. Yet it is so potent and so very profound that I am certain it will revolutionize your entire organization and do wonders for your bottom line."

"Go on," I replied, my curiosity piqued.

"The wisdom I've come to share with you is contained within a unique and extremely powerful system, a leaders.h.i.+p blueprint of sorts. It's actually foolproof. Follow the system and then just sit back and watch your company return to prime health. Well, actually, it's designed to do far more than that. If you follow the formula with conviction, your business will be much more successful than it ever was. It will improve it in ways you never could have imagined. Morale and productivity will soar. Your people will be more committed and creative than you've ever seen them. They will be much more responsive and adaptive to change. Your team will start to work together again and deeply care about the work it is doing. And, to state the obvious, profits will go through the roof."

"Okay. You've got my attention," I responded. "But first let me ask you something. a.s.suming you are Julian, and that's quite an a.s.sumption, why are you dressed like a monk? The Julian Mantle I knew wouldn't be caught dead in anything less than Armani."

"Fair question, my friend," the young man replied with a mischievous grin, which I quickly realized looked very much like the one Julian was so well known for in his younger years. "Mind if I start my explanation at the beginning?"

"I'm all ears," I replied, leaning back into my plush leather chair for what I sensed would be a good story.

The young man proceeded to relate, in minute detail, the rise and fall of the legendary Julian Mantle, from his days as a brilliant young student at Harvard Law School to his unparalleled success as a litigation lawyer handling some of the most complex corporate law cases in the country. He spoke candidly of his victories and also of his well-doc.u.mented decline. He talked about his dreams, his fears, his failed marriage and his heart attack. He even referred to the intricacies of my golf game and said that he sorely missed our fun-filled afternoons in the sun.