Humbled by Patricia Haley Page B

for Joel several weeks ago, before he got the awful news about the pregnancy. He was fighting to keep a healthy outlook on life and stay motivated. Joel wanted to bury his head in the sand lining the Chicago beachfront, but who was he kidding? The millions, maybe billions, of grains of sand weren’t sufficient to bury his predicament. His last hope was getting one of his financial propositions to materialize. Then he’d have a greater purpose, beyond answering his wife’s cries of desperation.
    Joel leaned against the wall in the penthouse foyer, holding his mobile phone.
    â€œMr. Mitchell, I can’t,” said the male voice on the other end of the line.
    â€œPlease, call me Joel.”
    â€œAll right, Joel. As I was saying, I can’t fund your proposal. It’s too risky.”
    Joel lifted his chin toward the ceiling, searching for a string of convincing words. “Come on. You’re a venture capitalist. That’s exactly what you do, loan money for risky start-up projects.”
    â€œI am, but this is too risky,” the venture capitalist stated. “You want fifty million to start a religious consulting firm.”
    The guy’s description wasn’t completely accurate. Joel wasn’t starting a religious firm. He was planning to provide leadership training to churches. That’s what he did at DMI. It was in his DNA. He’d run DMI for several years with unprecedented success. If he was given the financial backing to get started, he could build a profitable clientele again. Joel needed a break, and he was counting on this investor to give him one. Joel couldn’t give up without a fight.
    â€œYou don’t understand. I know this sector of the market,” Joel told the guy.
    â€œLook, Joel, I’ve done my homework. There’s already a dominant player in this space, as you know, DMI.”
    Joel shoved his hand into his pocket. He teetered between being mad and being proud. “Then you also know DMI was my father’s company, and I was the CEO for several years, during its most successful era. We had unprecedented sales during my tenure. I lived and breathed DMI. As I said, I know this market better than anyone in the business,” he said, raising his voice. Sheba came around the corner with a troubled expression on her face. He nodded and waved her off, mouthing that he was okay. She gave him a friendly smile and retreated.
    â€œJoel, I’m sorry, but the U.S. audience is saturated by DMI. What’s left is too small for you to make the kind of profits you’re projecting.”
    Joel pressed his fist against the wall. “Are you kidding me?” His voice was definitely elevated this time. “Do you know how many churches there are in the United States, let alone in the world, that could use leadership and financial management training? As established as DMI is, they could never service the entire country,” Joel said, squatting, with his back braced against the wall.
    His excitement must have gotten Sheba worried again, because she poked her head around the corner. He waved her off, sealing his affirmation with a wink. Joel stared toward the window and gulped.
    â€œI really need this money.” His words were razor sharp, and his head was heavy. His fist was pressed hard into the center of his forehead. “Please, I need your help.”
    There was an abbreviated silence. Joel read it as a shift in his favor, until he heard, “The answer is no. I just can’t help you with this venture. I wish you the best, Mr. Mitchell.”
    â€œJoel. It’s Joel, man. Call me Joel.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Joel. Maybe next time.”
    â€œYeah, maybe,” he said as the phone conversation came to a close, smashing his hopes in the process. Joel didn’t move right away. Eventually, he sat down completely on the floor with his back against the wall and legs stretched out as thoughts bombarded him.
    Sheba