Chapter 10: Getting my last name in the craziest way possible (& 2M+ of sales in one night)

Many of you are new to the newsletter, which is my memoir, and the first truly honest writing of the 21st century.

I welcome you to what is a very powerful community.

?We have just crossed the 200 subscriber threshold. Soon, we'll grow to over 1,000 and I'll be able to monetize and use the profit to help people.

If you need caught up on the previous chapters of my memoir, find them here.

??????????? “A sale?”

??????????? “How much?” Anna asked. I looked at her and she shrugged.

??????????? “The Icarus,” David said breathlessly. “One hundred and twenty thousand.”

??????????? The rising moon held still and the trains running along the coast paused their endless back and forth. The white noise of the waves silenced and I could feel only the pounding of my heart—this heart, this big heart, this heart with so much love to give.

??????????? I made me way through the gallery door and a sea of bodies opened on my way to the Icarus. Next to the sculpture stood a middle-aged man with a strong jaw and a pink suit. Then, his eyes, his piercing blue eyes, turned to meet mine. A full-bodied woman in Prada and a slender, handsome boy stood by his side.

??????????? “Jean-Claude…” I whispered. ?

??????????? “I’ve been looking for a sculpture for my farm. This farm of mine has multiple cash-flowing revenue streams. Have you heard of it?” He barely got out the words—his face was red from that unique heaviness of tears withheld. “My lover and her son—yes, my son—they love emerging art.”

??????????? I stepped toward him.

??????????? “Jean-Claude…” I repeated. My legs gave out and I collapsed into his chest. He held me with strength that can only be built by a life of hard work. It is the strength of my father, and my father’s father, and his father before him. It is a strength that Jean-Claude knows and it is a strength that I know, too. “It’s too much money. It’s too much…”

??????????? “Consider it your first dividend check,” he whispered and he squeezed me tightly.

??????????? By the end of the night, Jean-Claude’s investment had doubled after an incredible run up in the value of my work. Each wealthy individual panicked at the thought that they may miss out on the opportunity to own art from the first truly honest sculptor of the 21st century.

??????????? In total, I collected 2.3M euros in sales that night, mostly untaxed cash, with David’s cut at a modest 10%.

??????????? Jean-Claude and his family stayed long into the night and drank with David, Anna, and me. La Ferme Americaine had blown the back out of my projections. It was already capturing three hundred thousand Euros of liquid profit a month, with enough demand momentum that they would be able to double pricing over the next two quarters.

??????????? David lay on his back gazing up at his chandeliers. He was smoking a cigar and Anna’s head leaned against my shoulder while we watched the smoke rise and disappear into the soft glow of the lamps.

??????????? “Incredible night, Johnny. Incredible night.” David’s voice was gentle like a boy’s. It was startlingly soft coming from his hulking body. The rich pile of muscle continued. “With a night like tonight, they might as well call you The King of Saint-Tropez. No, no. I’ve got one better. They should call you Johnny Tropez. That’s it. That’s it.”

??????????? Anna’s head moved against my shoulder like a nuzzling cat. If it had only been the two of us, she may have purred. ?

??????????? “You changed our lives,” Jean-Claude said. It was true. In my short time in France, I had ended homelessness for a mother and son, whose names escape me, launched Jean-Claude’s farm to planet profit, and allowed him to purchase a sculpture that would no doubt become a priceless heirloom. He raised his glass, but before he could continue, Miguel burst through the gallery doors.

??????????? “?Qué sera?” David asked.

??????????? “It’s for Se?or Johnny,” Miguel said breathlessly. He handed me a telegram.

???????????

???? JOHNNY COULD YOU COME TO PARIS AM RATHER IN TROUBLE

SAUNDERS?