Jamal walked out of The Lexington Hotel, feeling like he was on top of the world. He had just landed a meeting with Leonard Marks, one of the biggest names in real estate. But there was a problem - he had nothing to show for it.
He had talked his way into the opportunity of a lifetime, but now he had to deliver. He had seven days to turn his bluff into something real. Failure wasn't an option.
As he walked through the city streets, Jamal's mind was racing. Where was he going to find a property to pitch to Marks? He needed something big, something that would impress Marks and his investors.
He pulled out his phone and dialed the only person who might be able to help him - Deion.
Deion answered on the second ring. "What's up?"
"I need your help," Jamal said. "I got a meeting with Leonard Marks in a week. Real estate deal."
Deion whistled. "Damn. I don't know how you pulled that off, but respect."
Jamal cut to the chase. "I need a property. Something I can pitch as a serious investment. You know anybody sitting on something they might want to flip?"
Deion thought for a moment. "Maybe. You ever heard of the Kingston District?"
Jamal nodded, even though Deion couldn't see him. "Yeah. Ain't that the neighborhood they've been trying to redevelop?"
Deion said, "It's still rough, but a lot of investors are eyeing it. I know a guy who's holding onto an old warehouse out there. He's been trying to sell it for months."
Jamal's ears perked up. A warehouse could work. If he could package it as a redevelopment project - maybe commercial lofts, office spaces - he could make it sound big.
"How much is he asking?" Jamal asked.
Deion said, "Around $300K, but he ain't getting no buyers." Jamal's mind was racing. He had to make this happen.
"Think he'd let me pitch it like it's mine?" Jamal asked.
Deion laughed. "Oh, so we're still running the fake it till you make it game?"
Jamal said, "Bro, I just need Marks to bite. If I can get investors behind it, I'll figure out the rest." Deion sighed. "Alright. Let me talk to him. I'll set up a meeting."
Jamal exhaled in relief. "I owe you."
The next morning, Jamal met up with Derrick Haynes, the owner of the warehouse, at a diner on the east side of town. Derrick was a big guy, built like a linebacker, with sharp eyes that didn't miss a thing.
"I hear you're looking for buyers," Jamal said as they shook hands. Derrick leaned back in his seat. "I hear you don't got no money."
Jamal didn't flinch. "I got investors," he said confidently. "But they don't move unless they see something worth their time. That's where you come in."
Derrick studied him. "You're saying you wanna pitch my spot like it's yours?"
Jamal said, "More like ours. I bring in the buyers, you get your money, and we both walk away happy."
Derrick took a long sip of his coffee, then set the cup down. "You got seven days?" Jamal nodded. "Seven."
Derrick exhaled. "Alright. Don't waste my time."
Over the next few days, Jamal worked nonstop. He hit the library, pulling up city redevelopment plans to see what Kingston District's future looked like. He studied real estate trends, memorizing numbers like his life depended on it.
With Tariq's help, he mocked up a business proposal - a full presentation outlining how the warehouse could be turned into high-end lofts.
By the fifth day, Jamal had everything he needed:
- A property to pitch
- A business plan
- Confidence
Now, he just had to sell it to Marks.
The morning of the meeting, Jamal stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie. He looked the part - sharp suit, polished shoes, confidence in his stance.
But beneath it, he was nervous as hell. This is it.
He arrived at Marks' office ten minutes early, clutching his presentation folder like it was his lifeline.
The receptionist led him to a sleek conference room, where Leonard Marks sat at the head of a long glass table. Two other men - his business partners - flanked him.
Jamal forced himself to stay calm.
"Mr. Carter," Marks said, folding his hands. "Let's hear it."
Jamal took a deep breath and launched into his pitch. He sold the dream, talking about the Kingston District's growth potential, the demand for commercial lofts, and the return on investment. He backed it up with numbers, projections, and a clear plan.
The room was silent when he finished. Marks tapped his fingers on the table.
"It's a good pitch," he admitted. "But I have one question."
Jamal braced himself. "What's that?"
Marks leaned forward. "You're asking us to back this deal, but do you have any skin in the game?"
Jamal's stomach clenched. He had zero money to invest. But hesitation was death in business. He leaned in, meeting Marks' gaze.
"I'm all in," he said. "If I didn't believe in this, I wouldn't be sitting here. Give me one shot, and I'll make it happen."
Marks studied him. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he nodded. "I like you, Carter. You remind me of myself when I was starting out." Jamal held his breath. Marks smirked.
"We'll back the deal. $500K."
Jamal almost collapsed in relief. Marks extended his hand. "Welcome to the big leagues."
Jamal shook it, his grip firm. This was it. He had bluffed his way into the deal of a lifetime, and now he had to make it real.
As he walked out of the office, Jamal felt a rush of adrenaline. He had done it. He had actually done it.
But as he looked down at the contract in his hand, he felt a twinge of doubt. What had he just gotten himself into?