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Unbeatable: The Legend of Vincent Scott – Chapter 2: The Call-Up

There’s only so much that keeps a man sane when he knows he’s capable of more but forced to do the same thing every day. For Vincent Scott, that sanity was preserved first through dominance. Supremacy. Being the best rep on the floor.

And when that wasn’t enough, it was about setting new records—becoming the all-time leader in every statistical category he could find. He would master any metric where he wasn’t #1 until he was.

And he didn’t do it quietly.

Vincent turned the floor into a theater. He’d stand and point across cubicles like a showman, daring his peers to catch up. His energy lifted the whole office. Especially Bryant Edwards, his next-door cubicle neighbor, who went from a middling, checked-out rep to a top performer—driven not by process, but by proximity to someone burning with purpose. Vincent didn’t just compete; he inspired.

In April 2003, it finally shifted.

Shelly Cheekwood—his energetic but increasingly inconsistent Area Manager—pulled Vincent into her office. She gave him what he desperately needed: hope.

“Hang in there,” she said. “There’s an end in sight.”

Two weeks later, she delivered.

Two hundred and forty-eight sales days after Vincent was first told he might be manager material, the real interview came. And this time, Vincent wasn’t just speaking from ambition—he was selling her, hard.

“Shelly, I have a job to do. If this company is paying me to enforce its rules, that is my job. I see the manager as the ambassador of the company. I will be forthcoming with ideas, but my goal is to replicate what I do now—in 20 people. I’m here to support them and remove their blockers. But at the end of the day, it’s my responsibility to uphold policy and drive results. Would you rather have one Vincent or twenty?”

That was the closer.

And Shelly bought it.

Just days later, the promise was fulfilled: effective May 1, 2003, Vincent was promoted to Sales Manager.

Finally, the day had come.

But it came with a twist.

To avoid potential favoritism and proximity to his peers, Vincent was being relocated to Montrose. And not just to Montrose—but to take over the team previously managed by Ashley Flowers. The very woman who tried to write him up, who asked him to cheat, who held him back.

Now demoted back to a rep, she was heading back to Rockford.

Montrose was, as legend had it, a dump. Its carpets hadn’t been cleaned this millennium, and its windows looked like they had been cryogenically sealed in grime. It sat next to a pizza shop where someone had recently been shot. The call center was known as “The Dungeon.”

But Vincent didn’t flinch. This was the majors. His call-up. And he embraced it with open arms.

With pressure off and the future unlocked, Vincent returned to the floor for his final week as a rep with fire in his veins. He posted a one-day sales record that shattered every metric in the division. He went out on top.

The promotion was announced to the division the last selling day of April. Reactions were mixed. Bambi Jennings, once queen of the leaderboard, was inconsolable. Jake Stallings, another top dog, nodded in respect—he knew Vincent was the real deal.

Harriet Raines, a tenured manager and Vincent’s quiet supporter, would also return to Montrose to help train him during his early months. She’d grown tired of her one-trick Vincent pony team and had long admired his work ethic. This was her exit strategy—and Vincent’s entrance.

Vincent’s first team was just eight people.

Montrose was burnt out. Many of the reps had already resigned themselves to mediocrity. Harriet, Vincent, and a third manager—Lucy Hansen—would steer the site. Lucy was by-the-book, cold, obsessed with call grading, and terrible with morale. She rarely got along with anyone.

Vincent quickly learned just how bad things were. When he started monitoring calls, his jaw dropped. He heard sales reps destroy scripts, butcher brand promises, and flounder through objections with all the finesse of a toddler on roller skates. This was his new reality. His job now? To fix the chaos.

He began how he thought any good leader should—by building relationships.

He got to know everyone. Dick Knoll, a portly family man rumored for promotion. Terry, who tried to impress with bravado and jokes. Marcy, a beautiful expectant mother. Susie, surviving paycheck to paycheck after separating from her husband. Nancy, a frequent flyer on disability leave. Lacy, full of potential but emotionally drained from her custody battles and workplace drama. Anne, newlywed and full of optimism. Katrina, the most senior on the team and the one who tested him most.

Vincent sat right in the middle of the team, taking over the desk of a rep on extended leave. He played music. Made himself accessible. Jumped on calls. Played call recordings and broke down where reps could have risen instead of fallen. He drew conclusions from data. He listened. He acted. He coached.

Progress was slow, but it was real.

Dick Knoll was promoted two weeks in, taking Harriet’s old team back in Rockford—becoming Ashley’s boss, no less. In a stunning twist, he would eventually fire her after an investigation into allegations of having phone sex with a customer.

Vincent took it all in. But he never lost focus.

Shelly, for all her initial sparkle, began to show her cracks. She rarely showed up. When she did, she brought drama, yelling into her phone about her ex-husband-roommate-whatever. Rumors of drugs swirled. Vincent began to realize: she promoted him because she needed a workhorse.

He didn’t mind.

It gave him more space to grow.

He represented the market on district manager Max McKay’s daily calls. Max was old-school. Cool. All about balance, hustle, and making money. Vincent ate up his philosophy.

“What a customer experiences before they experience you is irrelevant,” Max once said. “While you have them, you are the center of their universe. Act like it.”

Vincent did.

He got his first real test when Katrina—queen of seniority—completely butchered a call. He wrote her up. She gave him the cold shoulder for days. Performance tanked. But Vincent didn’t flinch. He held the line. And just like that, she came back. They always did.

Respect was earned.

He was now guiding a team climbing into the top quartile of the division. Harriet remained at #1. Dick trailed Vincent. Lucy and Stacey? Back of the pack.

Vincent had arrived. The dungeon didn’t defeat him. It was his forge.

The road of Vincent Scott’s first management experience in the Residential Sales Division of ABM was a slow, churning unraveling of idealism.

In the early days, Vincent had arrived with fire. His presence alone had shifted tides, energized the floor, and injected a heartbeat into a division that had long been left for dead. He brought light into dark corners, belief into broken systems, and drive into dormant reps. For a time, his formula worked. But momentum, like motivation, has a shelf life.

The early spike flattened. The glow faded. The reps who had once stood on their feet cheering him began to slouch again. And as Harriet Raines had once told him in her hard-nosed yet prophetic way: “When your team is up, ride the wave. When they are down, make them behave.”

By late 2003, the decision was made to consolidate the Montrose and Rockford offices into a single location in Rockford. Montrose was closing. The dungeon was dying. And Vincent, at long last, was heading home.

It was a bittersweet transition. The Montrose reps had grown to revere him, not just for his sales acumen, but because he walked the talk. He had done the job, lived the grind, mastered every script and rebuttal, and carried a confidence so electric it ignited others. But the flame was flickering because at the end of the day, it was still brutal call center sales.

At the same time, the winds of corporate change blew cold. Max McKay—Vincent’s philosophical ally and quietly subversive mentor—was being pushed aside. “Special project” duty. The corporate retirement village for leaders who had overstayed their welcome. Max’s crime? Prioritizing people and sales over scripts and structure. Vincent would carry that torch, even if it burned his hands.

December 1, 2003: Vincent stepped into the Rockford office with the familiar crunch of snow beneath his boots. He was back. And he was ready. Montrose loyalists greeted him like a returning king. Old colleagues embraced him like a prodigal peer come full circle. For a moment, it felt like his territory again.

But comfort has a cruel expiration date. Weeks later, their mercurial manager Shelly Cheekwood dropped the bomb: she was pregnant.

As if on cue, the next shock came: Shelly’s new boss would be Dirk Slabor—a 32-year-old Napoleon complex personified, known less for his leadership and more for being married to the incentives program manager. Lacking empathy, overflowing with arrogance. The storm clouds were forming.

Vincent, ever the idealist with sharp edges, still believed in the benefit of the doubt. He gave it freely—perhaps too freely. Especially to reps like Barbara Allison, whom he had inherited from the reshuffling. A notorious problem-child. A disaster waiting to happen. But Barbara—like many under Vincent’s influence—promised redemption. And for a brief moment, she delivered. Strong numbers. Good call flow. It almost felt like a new beginning.

Until it wasn’t.

Weeks later, the facade crumbled. She was back to her old habits, and Vincent caught her in the act: avoiding calls, hanging up on customers. It was over. Vincent made the call. His first termination.

The room was quiet. Cold. Final. A necessary evil. He walked her to the conference room that had become the graveyard for underperformers, not with pride but with resolve. There would be more—many more—but none would sting like the first.

Vincent never wanted to become the executioner. But as a leader, he realized the weight of responsibility. He vowed to be the champion of the hard workers. But if you gave up, he gave up on you.

Barbara’s dismissal marked a pivot point. No more benefit of the doubt without merit. No more tolerating mediocrity under the guise of second chances.

But the problem with Vincent Scott was he didn’t want to default to writing up his people for a bad call here or there and moving them out of the company like they were being pressured to do by Dirk Slabor. Let’s be real: If you monitor someone enough, you can find enough calls to terminate anyone no matter how good they are.

Shelly showed up late, ducked out early, and wielded her motherhood tales and personal grievances as shields against accountability. When it came to performance, she deferred to emotion over metrics, gossip over data. She gravitated to sycophants like Dick—the eager bootlicker who mastered parroting leadership clichés—but brushed off Vincent’s actual, measurable results like lint on a blazer. She wasn’t impressed. She was threatened.

And when the insecure are threatened, they don’t elevate you. They erase you.

Vincent felt the heat rising long before the fire was lit beneath him. It wasn’t sudden. It was slow—a strategic bleed of recognition and resources. He was, ironically, performing at a historic level. Crushing goals. Elevating throwaways. Mentoring rising stars like Peter Swansea and Jeff Mason. Turning dust into diamonds. He read comp plans like sheet music and orchestrated symphonies of sales. He played the system without ever cheating it—exploiting loopholes like a cunning pitcher works the edges of the strike zone.

Minnesota? He conquered it. Company-wide? He dominated. His team’s commissions grew. Team dinners expanded. The Vincent Scott mystique multiplied.

He brought in his best friend, Ted Benton, who immediately rocketed to #1. He took castoffs like Jessie Stone and, through scripting and belief, transformed them into Top Guns. Meanwhile, Dick received all the blue-chippers—the already-polished, ready-made stars. Yet, somehow, Vincent still outshined him.

But results weren’t the currency of this court. Compliance was. And Vincent, well, he didn’t fit the mold. He wasn’t a soldier. He was a general.

Shelly and Dirk didn’t want greatness. They wanted subordination. And Vincent? He made them feel small. He was the living embodiment of everything they were not—passionate, relentless, adored. So they plotted his fall.

The verdict came in a room of glass and silence: The Aquarium Meeting.

Vincent stepped into the sterile, fishbowl conference room—his quarterly review already feeling like a sentencing. Dirk leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled.

“Your revenue numbers are impressive,” he admitted.

But. Always a “but.”

He cited vague grievances: “Insubordination.” “Internet plan volume.” “Aggressiveness.”

Vincent countered with facts, logic, and references to the very playbook they once praised. Dirk fumed. Shelly remained silent. The decision had already been made.

Dick would be interim manager during Shelly’s maternity leave instead of Vincent. Vincent would be “coached.” And just like that, mediocrity was rewarded. Mastery was punished.

Vincent left that room in a haze. No explosion. No confrontation. Just a quiet, calculated exile.

And it hurt.

Not just because he was passed over—but because it wasn’t based on merit. It was political, performative. This wasn’t a lesson in growth. It was a betrayal. A mugging of everything he’d bled for.

While Vincent had made his share of mistakes—some fueled by pride, others by passion—he wouldn’t erase a single one. Every misstep, every reaction to injustice, every moment of knee-jerk defiance had forged him. For better or worse, he lived out every silent rebellion his colleagues only dreamed about. He was Robin Hood in a headset, stealing recognition from the elite and giving belief to the forgotten.

Vincent couldn’t change the politics, but he could dominate the perception. He sent floor-wide reports, highlighting performance insights, scripting verbiage, exposing weaknesses in sales patterns. He made himself indispensable—again. And reps took notice.

They whispered. Asked who was really in charge—Dick or Vincent?

“Dick sends follow-up emails,” they laughed. “But Vincent’s the one who tells us how to win.”

Vincent smiled. He knew perception was power. And he wasn’t about to lose.

He leaned into his “floor general” role harder than ever. Created culture. Sparked change. He made himself the linchpin.

He pushed harder. Dug deeper. But every time he clawed back, there was just a little less gas in the tank.

Unbeatable: The Legend of Vincent Scott – Chapter 1 – The Accidental Salesman

Vincent Scott didn’t mean to become a legend.

He didn’t mean to become anything, really. He was a kid from Mankato, Minnesota, who followed a girlfriend to the city and applied for a phone role he thought was customer service.

You don’t become the greatest by waking up one day and deciding you will be.

You become the greatest by not quitting when everyone else does. By standing up when life knees you in the gut. By answering the phone for the ten-thousandth time with the same intensity you did the first.

Chapter 1: The Accidental Salesman

In 2000, Vincent Thomas Scott III graduated from Minnesota State University, Mankato, with a degree in Business Management and not a single clue what he wanted to do with it. While his classmates launched careers or pursued advanced degrees, Vincent did what many recent grads do: he lingered.

For six months, he bummed around his hometown of Mankato with his two constants—his college buddy Ted and his girlfriend Julie. Ted was planning to move back to Minneapolis with his growing family. Julie had earned a volleyball scholarship and would soon be playing for a university in the city. Vincent, meanwhile, was making habit of showing up at his parents’ house at 3 AM after a night of bar-hopping and bad decisions.

The party had to end.

Logic eventually caught up to him. Ted was moving, Julie was moving, and Vincent’s nocturnal antics were getting old. It was time to move on, to grow up, and to figure out what came next.

He followed Julie to Minneapolis and spent a seemingly endless month working behind the counter at Cooke’s Grocery Store, slicing meats, dodging managerial glares, and questioning everything.

Then the call came.

All Brand Marketing—ABM for short. His godmother’s sister-in-law happened to be a director of communications there, and she knew the hiring manager. That was all it took to get him on the radar. Of the dozen new hires they were bringing in, ten were internal transfers. Two slots were left. Vincent landed one.

Before he even walked through the front doors of ABM’s Rockford call center, Vincent already had doubts. He thought he was interviewing for a basic customer service job—answering billing questions, troubleshooting service issues, transferring calls to other departments. He imagined wearing a headset and reading a few canned lines before passing a call along.

The job visit was scheduled for September 11, 2001. Vincent woke up that morning at his apartment, excited and a bit nervous about what the day might hold. He poured coffee and flipped on ESPN, where the big talk of the day was about Michael Jordan—His Airness—contemplating a return to the NBA with the Washington Wizards. Vincent was riveted. Then, just after 8 a.m., the news shifted. The world changed. Planes hit towers. Smoke billowed. Panic gripped the nation.

His job visit was canceled. The world stood still.

The next week, his visit was rescheduled. He walked into the ABM center with low expectations and a guarded heart. But nothing could prepare him for what he saw.

It wasn’t customer service. Not really.

It was sales. Aggressive, high-pressure, one-call-close sales. The kind where you had to convince someone to buy something they hadn’t asked for—right now—on a phone call they never wanted to make. It was a boiler room with fluorescent lighting. The call script was thick and unrelenting. There was a section for every rebuttal. A phrase for every objection. You weren’t talking with people—you were cornering them, herding them toward a yes.

Vincent wanted to walk out that day.

The training class was twelve strong, and most of them had some call center or sales background. Vincent had neither. He had worked at a grocery store deli and had a college degree in business—whatever that meant. He was out of his element and knew it.

The first week of training was brutal. Roleplays, script memorization, drills on how to deliver pricing without flinching. Vincent was sweating through his collared shirt every day, quietly wondering how long he could fake it before someone figured him out.

He didn’t understand the jargon, the culture, or the need for such pressure. He had never sold anything in his life.

Sales was not on his radar. In fact, mid-way through training, he had called his parents and even his godmother’s sister-in-law to say he didn’t think he could do it. He hated it. He feared failure. It was uncomfortable in every possible way.

The trainers didn’t mince words: “For some of you, this isn’t the right role for you, and that’s OK.” But they always seemed optimistic about Vincent. And with nowhere else to go but back to Cooke’s Grocery Store—back to the cold cuts and the fogged-up deli case—he stayed.

He stuck it out.

Of the twelve in that training class, only two graduated. Everyone else either resigned or exercised what were called “retreat rights”—a policy that allowed them to return to the internal positions they had vacated to try out this new role. Some said the expectations were impossible. Others cracked under the pressure. Only two endured. And somehow, Vincent was one of them.

The others around him seemed more confident, more polished. But somehow, Vincent made it. They handed him a headset and a cubicle and threw him into the deep end.

The floor was chaos. Morale was low. Grumbling was high. Everyone had something to complain about: the managers, the process, the pay structure. Vincent could feel the negativity bleeding through every conversation around him.

Still, he chose to do his best.

Vincent still remembers his first sale with photographic clarity.

Her name was Mrs. Robinson from Hereford, Texas. He was sitting in the fourth row of cubicles from the main entrance on the second floor. With no real finesse or confidence, he read a script line-by-line and closed his eyes as he said the final word. He waited, heart pounding.

“OK,” she said.

That was it. He was in.

The reluctant salesman was no longer reluctant.

From that point forward, Vincent started walking to the sales board more than anyone else. He filled his sheet while others struggled to record a single win. People took notice. He was swiftly ascending the rankings—past Jake Stallings, past Bambi Jennings.

Surely, some thought, he must be doing something unethical.

Wrong.

Vincent had learned how to talk fast and listen faster. He’d take what customers said and use it to build compelling cases. He tied their own words into his pitch. He wove perception and presentation into something magnetic. He knew the game inside the game: if a customer believed the new package was better than what they had—even slightly—they said yes.

Soon, he was winning prizes, gift cards, electronics. Outfitting his apartment from contest winnings. Earning more than triple what he’d ever made at the grocery store. His first full year? Over $75K.

Vincent became a force of nature. Every call was an opportunity. Every objection, a puzzle to solve. He filled sales sheets so fast, he needed extras. He brought energy to the floor—standing, pointing, goading his cubicle neighbors to compete. He made everyone better. Bryant Edwards, in the cube beside him, went from mediocre to elite just trying to keep pace.

Vincent won President’s Club every quarter he was eligible. Even the tiny sales—a $3.95 feature—mattered. He took pride in each win. Each march to the board.

Every number next to his name on a report reflected his absolute best—no matter what was happening around him, in his life, in his relationships.

Vincent Scott had become what he never intended to be: a salesman. And not just any salesman.

The best.

He had paid the first in a never-ending cycle of dues.

After his explosive rise from grocery store meat clerk to call center phenom, Vincent had set the sales floor ablaze. Month after month, he led the board. He won every contest. He filled his cube with microwaves, coffee makers, DVD players, and gift cards—rewards for dominance. He was winning, and loudly. There were stretches where his sales sheet was so full he had to use two. He made noise every single day, often goading his teammates into competing with him, standing to celebrate each sale, pointing and pacing like a prizefighter between rounds.

Vincent’s name started to come up in management meetings. Other managers would linger near his desk, taking notes on what he said. Some reps would lean over and ask him for tips. His own manager, Ashley Flowers, began leaning heavily on him—not for coaching, but to keep her team numbers afloat. She wasn’t leading. She was riding his coattails.

At first, Vincent didn’t care. He was making money, he was the best, and the thrill of victory was enough. But after several months of unrelenting excellence, the same old thrill began to wear thin. He wanted more. He wanted to build something, shape something. He wanted to lead.

So he told Ashley.

She nodded politely and offered vague encouragement. Then nothing happened.

Vincent doubled down. He took newer reps under his wing. He started leading informal huddles. He offered up suggestions to Ashley—ways to improve morale, to onboard better, to refine call flow. She used some of his ideas but never gave him credit. She dangled the carrot of promotion, always just out of reach.

What Vincent didn’t realize at the time was that Ashley had no real intention of helping him rise. She viewed his performance as a tool—one that she could leverage to bolster her own credibility. But she didn’t want a strong personality rising from her team who might one day surpass her.

One particular conversation with Ashley etched itself into Vincent’s memory permanently.

It was late afternoon, and Vincent, frustrated with a lack of success pitching ABM’s overpriced internet service, approached her desk. He knocked lightly on the metal frame of her cubicle. Ashley turned from her screen, which had been displaying what looked suspiciously like a shopping cart full of handbags, and quickly minimized the window.

“Yes, Vincent?” she asked, feigning interest.

“Ashley, I’m doing everything I can, but customers just aren’t biting on our internet service. I can’t get past the fact that everyone’s getting free trial discs from Online Solution in their mailboxes. They don’t want to pay more for our service.”

Ashley leaned back, puffed out a cloud of smoke from her last break, and lowered her voice.

“Well, you’re not the first person on the team to bring that up. Look,” she said, leaning in as if sharing a secret, “what I told Deb—and now I’m telling you—is this: if you just can’t close the sale, send out a few free disks anyway at the end of the month. That way, they won’t be able to call in and cancel before it hits your numbers.”

Vincent froze. His brow furrowed.

“Wait… what?”

“Come on, Vincent. Everybody does it. It’s no big deal. Just send a few. I’ll cover for you.”

It wasn’t advice. It was a directive to cheat.

It was the moment everything changed.

Vincent walked away without another word. His instincts screamed not to trust her. He had always been principled, sometimes to a fault, but this was different. This was sanctioned deception. And it explained a lot: why Ashley’s team numbers often looked stronger than their morale suggested. Why turnover was so high. Why trust in leadership was nonexistent.

He never sent the disks.

He never even considered it again.

But from that moment on, he knew Ashley’s leadership was a façade. And he knew he had to find a way out from under her.

Then came a moment that solidified everything.

It had been a particularly difficult day. Vincent had taken a call from an elderly woman—Mrs. Delores Hanford—who had been with the company for over thirty years. She lived on a fixed income and called because she noticed a strange charge on her bill. Vincent walked her through the details patiently, helped resolve the confusion, and then, with sincerity, offered her a small add-on service: a $3.95 wire protection plan. He knew she didn’t need or want the $40 Everywhere and Everything bundle the company required them to push.

To his surprise, she agreed.

That night, Vincent left work proud. He had done the right thing—for the customer, for the company.

The next morning, Ashley pulled him into the infamous conference room known as “The Aquarium.” Its glass walls made it visible to the entire office unless the blinds were drawn. Today, they were.

“Vincent,” she began, flipping open a folder, “I have to inform you that this is a disciplinary meeting. Would you like union representation?”

Vincent’s face tensed. “No, I don’t need anyone. What’s this about?”

Ashley pushed a printed call score sheet across the table.

“This is about your call with Mrs. Hanford. You failed to follow call flow. You did not offer the Everywhere and Everything Plan as required.”

Vincent blinked. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. This is a serious violation.”

“You do realize she’s 82 and has been paying $18 a month for basic service since the Reagan administration? And I got her to say yes to a $3.95 service she never had before. That’s a win.”

Ashley didn’t flinch. “Our process is not negotiable. Every customer must be offered the full plan regardless of age or circumstance.”

“This is ludicrous,” Vincent said. “Are we in the business of helping people or gaming stats?”

Ashley slid over a printed warning. “Future failures will result in further disciplinary action up to and including termination. Do you understand?”

“I understand the words coming out of your mouth. But none of it makes sense.”

Ashley smiled tightly. “Consider this your official coaching.”

Vincent left The Aquarium furious. But instead of rebelling, he decided to play her game—for a day.

The next morning, he followed the call flow to the letter. Every question. Every mandatory upsell. Every robotic phrasing.

The result? His worst day on the phones since week one. He went from $500 gross profit days to barely clearing $100. Customers were frustrated. Calls dragged. He felt fake.

And it wasn’t just him who suffered.

Because Vincent typically carried the team, Ashley’s entire team performance tanked overnight. Her reports showed it. She panicked.

The following afternoon, she called him back in.

“We’re going to remove the warning,” she said quickly. “Just… keep doing what you’ve been doing.”

No apology. No admission of fault.

But Vincent heard what she wasn’t saying: I need you. I can’t afford for you to follow my playbook.

He nodded, said thank you, and left the room.

And that was the day he knew.

Ashley didn’t care about customers.

She didn’t even care about integrity.

She cared about metrics that made her look good.

And Vincent? He cared about winning—but winning the right way.

From that moment on, he never once strayed from his values.

And Ashley, for all her posturing, never dared to put another warning in front of him again.

The way out came in a reshuffling of leadership. The call center was underperforming, and corporate knew it. In a quiet but telling move, Ashley was reassigned to the Montrose center—effectively a demotion. In her place came Harriet Raines.

Harriet was a firebrand—opinionated, loud, sharp. With over 25 years of company tenure, she had a reputation for being no-nonsense and unfiltered. Unlike Ashley, Harriet didn’t hide behind metrics or policy jargon. She said what she meant, and she expected results.

At first, Vincent was wary. He didn’t know whether Harriet would be more of the same.

But he quickly realized something critical: she wasn’t fake. She had rough edges, but she had experience. And she respected performance.

Harriet gave Vincent room to lead informally, and while she didn’t always agree with his approach, she appreciated his work ethic. She didn’t ask him to cheat. She didn’t need him to make her look good—he did that naturally.

Over time, their dynamic turned into one of mutual respect. And as Harriet started to feel the weight of two decades with the company, she began looking for her successor.

Unknowingly, Vincent had passed the audition.

And his rise to management was no longer a question of if. It was just a matter of when.

Months passed.

Then, a change.

The Area Manager, Maggie Allen, was replaced. In her place came someone entirely new—Shelly Cheekwood.

From the moment Shelly arrived, everything felt different. She was loud. Energetic. She brought breakfast to the team. She shouted “Rockford rocks!” as she walked the floor. She seemed to care. And more importantly, she paid attention.

Within weeks, Vincent received an email from Shelly asking to meet. It surprised him. He hadn’t reached out to her, assuming any request from a frontline rep might get lost in the flood of voices.

When they met, she was warm and direct.

“Vincent,” she said, “I’ve been inundated with people telling me they want to be a manager. But the one person I hoped to hear from—was you.”

Vincent was floored.

They talked for nearly an hour. She asked him about his goals, how he would lead, how he would discipline former peers. He told her the truth: he believed in the mission, but the system needed help. He believed that customers and employees were too often afterthoughts. He wanted to make it better.

Shelly smiled. She believed in him. She told him, “When I can make a move, you’ll be one of my first.”

Vincent walked out of that meeting with hope.

But hope has a shelf life.

Weeks turned into months. He kept producing, kept mentoring. He tried to be patient, but it wasn’t his nature. He was young, confident, and growing increasingly disillusioned. He began to loathe the monotony of call center sales. He had already mastered the game. There were no more challenges. Just recycled objections and a whiteboard full of his own name.

He started voicing his frustration.

To peers. To managers. Sometimes too loudly.

He stopped hiding his disdain for the process. He joked sarcastically about the call flow. He stopped sugarcoating his feelings in team meetings. He was no longer the polished poster child of the sales floor—he was the rebel who had outgrown the machine.

Shelly noticed.

But instead of dismissing him, she doubled down. She invited him to share ideas, to coach, to continue helping others. She reminded him that she hadn’t forgotten their talk. “Just hang in,” she said. “I’m working on it.”

It was nearly a year after that conversation before anything happened.

Vincent’s patience had long run dry. He was going through the motions now—still selling at a high level, but increasingly detached. He wasn’t inspired anymore. His relationship with Julie had ended. His vision of what life could look like had been altered.

Then one afternoon, Shelly called him back into her office.

This time, it was different.

“Vincent, there’s going to be a management opening. And I want you in the seat.”

He felt everything at once: validation, relief, anxiety, excitement. He had waited so long that the promotion felt surreal.

But there was one more twist.

“You’ll be going to Montrose,” she said.

The lowest-performing site. The call center in the basement. And—you guessed it—the team led by Ashley Flowers.

“She’s being reassigned back to Rockford. You’ll be taking over her team.”

Poetic justice.

On his last day as a rep, Vincent broke the all-time one-day sales record for the site. He walked out a legend.

And walked into Montrose a manager.

Now, the real work was about to begin.

How Therapy Helped Me Heal, Lead Better, and Show Up for the People Who Matter Most

For most of my life, I didn’t think I needed therapy. I thought I could outrun the pain, outwork the pressure, outachieve the trauma. I told myself, “I’ve got this.”

But here’s the thing… the weight we carry catches up eventually.

Even the strongest back starts to bend when the load is built over decades.

Therapy has helped me improve every relationship that matters to me.

That’s not a dramatic overstatement. That’s truth.

Therapy helped me face emotions and scars I buried for over 40 years.

I used to wear those scars like armor — silent proof that I could take the hits and keep going. But in protecting myself, I was also pushing people away. I was present, but not always there. I was “strong,” but not always real. I was showing up — but not always the right way.

Therapy didn’t change who I was.

It reminded me why I am who I am.

It helped me connect the dots between things I never thought were connected — childhood moments, relationship patterns, defense mechanisms, and the guilt I never fully faced.

It taught me that listening is more important than lecturing.

That presence matters more than performance.

That love isn’t earned by results — it’s proven by consistency.

I spent much of my life trying to win — in business, in arguments, in life. But healing helped me let go of the need to always be right and lean into the desire to always be there.

Because it’s not about getting the last word.

It’s about being what other people need — especially the people who count on me most.

My wife.

My daughters.

My family.

My team.

Myself.

I used to believe vulnerability was weakness. That opening up gave others ammunition to use against me — and many did.

But now?

I’m grateful for the damage that’s been done to me.

Because for a long time, that pain fueled me. It drove me to succeed, to push, to prove.

But I don’t need to run from it anymore. I don’t need to keep it locked in the basement of my soul.

I can make peace with it.

I can trust wisely.

I can embrace my humanness.

I can lead with it.

Therapy didn’t “fix” me. But it helped me reconnect with the parts I’d neglected… and realign with the man I want to be.

And for that, I’m deeply thankful.

To anyone out there carrying a silent burden —

You don’t have to do it alone.

You’re allowed to heal.

And you’re never too strong to get help — in fact, the strongest people I know do.

We can’t always go back and change the start of our story.

But we can start from where we are and write a better ending.

#MentalHealthAwareness #EmotionalIntelligence #LeadershipDevelopment #PersonalGrowth #AuthenticLeadership #VulnerabilityIsStrength #HealingJourney #FatherhoodMatters #TherapyWorks

How to Become and Stay the #1 Sales Performer: Proven Habits, AI Secrets, and the Process That Builds Champions

https://thesaleshunter.libsyn.com/mastering-ai-relationships-and-time-management-brilliantly

How to Be the Best in Sales – The Process, the People, the Purpose

By Carson Heady | Managing Director, Microsoft | Author of “Salesman on Fire”

Based on my recent appearance on The Sales Hunter Podcast with the one and only Mark Hunter

“I’ve never worried about a quota a day in my life. What I’ve obsessed over is people and process. If you get those right, the results take care of themselves.”

Let’s be real. Everyone wants to be great. Everyone says they want to be the best.

But very few actually put in the work, the heart, the humility, and the systemization required to earn that title—and keep it.

So how do you stay on top of your sales game in a world of constant change, automation, noise, pressure, and burnout?

You reinvent. You stay humble. You study. You serve. And you obsess over people and process.

I’m pulling back the curtain on exactly what I do—and what you can do—today, tomorrow, and every day to rise to the top and stay there.

1. Stay Humble – And Stay Open

Let me start with a confession.

In my 20s, I was a lone wolf. I ran on adrenaline and ambition. I could close. I could charm. I could win deals. But my greatest growth came after I was humbled—by life, by layoffs, by reinvention.

I’ve been fired. I’ve been told my ideas wouldn’t work. But each setback made me sharper. It made me think deeper, listen more, and lead with empathy.

Top performers aren’t arrogant. They’re curious.

They don’t assume they know everything. They seek out what they don’t know.

They don’t avoid discomfort. They run toward it, because they know that’s where the growth is.

Key takeaway: Be wide open to change. Reinvent often. Let life humble you and make you wiser.

2. Master the Process – and Make It Yours

I don’t chase quotas. I don’t chase noise. I chase conversations and relationships—because those are the fuel for everything that matters in sales.

“Before you get a relationship, you need a conversation. Before you get a conversation, you need to earn attention.”

Here’s how you do that:

Build a repeatable process. Not someone else’s, yours. You don’t need to sell like me. You need to sell like you, but with intentionality.

Get hyper-specific on your ICP. Know your top accounts. Know your buyers. Know what keeps them up at night.

Craft your message to earn the meeting. I’m talking 2-3 sentences. Smart. Concise. Valuable.

Refine with AI. Use it to sharpen subject lines, response rates, outreach messaging, and call talk tracks. But remember: you are the publisher. AI is just the editor.

3. Use AI to Win—But Pull the Trigger Yourself

I like to say: AI is your Q. You’re James Bond.

It can gather the intel. It can feed you suggestions. But you? You’re the one who pulls the trigger. Or chooses not to.

Here’s how I use AI daily:

Territory Planning: Feed AI a spreadsheet, your org’s offerings, and ask where the best opportunities lie. Messaging: “Write me a subject line that gets this opened.” “Write me a sentence to get a ghosting prospect’s attention.” Talk Tracks: During customer calls, I’ll literally ask AI for responses to objections in real time. Gap Spotting: Where am I stuck in the process? AI helps diagnose and prescribe tweaks.

The beauty is in the prompt. Learn to prompt like a pro.

4. Obsess Over People – Not Just Prospects

Sales isn’t a numbers game. It’s a relationship game.

And that includes:

Your buyersYour peersYour partnersYour mentorsYour team

Ask yourself:

“Whose goals do I serve?” “How do I help them win?” “How do I elevate every single person I touch?”

One of the most powerful things I’ve learned is: Don’t just sell. Uplift. Bring others with you. Make your colleagues better. Make your buyers’ jobs easier. Show up with value.

And then you earn trust. And then the deals come.

5. Ruthlessly Protect Your Time

I don’t believe in work-life balance. I believe in ruthless discipline of your schedule—so you can create the space to do what really matters.

I time block. I prioritize. I cut meetings that don’t serve my goals. I ask my team to assess: Is this call critical? If not, we shift it, skip it, or repurpose it.

Every minute you spend is a vote. Are you voting for progress or procrastination?

6. Sell 3 Quarters Ahead

I start building my next fiscal year in the fourth quarter of the current one. Why?

Because trust takes time. Relationships take time. Outcomes take time.

If you’re only thinking about this week, this month, this quarter—you’re already behind.

I build my Moneyball sales process based on:

DataTimingSolution playsTalk tracksCompetitive differentiation

And I run the play again and again—not once.

7. Be a Lifelong Student of the Game

Want to be the best?

Study the best.

Every time I got stuck in my career, I found someone better than me—and I asked them how they did it.

Ask for 15 minutes.

Study award winners.

Borrow. Tweak. Refine.

Take notes on what works.

Tinker with your process constantly.

And don’t just double down on what you’re good at—figure out how to use your strengths to make others better too.

“Control the controllables. Master your message. Own your mindset. Show up every day and execute with precision.”

Want to Be the Best? Start Here:

Create a process that works for YOU.

Be obsessed with relationships—not just results.

Use AI to plan, write, refine—but trust your gut to deliver.

Protect your time like it’s your most valuable asset (because it is).

Play the long game. Sell into the future.

Never stop learning. Never stop evolving.

Lead with humility. Win with consistency.

I’ve been knocked down. I’ve lost deals that could’ve broken me. I’ve been told no thousands of times—and I’ve kept getting back up.

If I can do it, you can too. But it takes daily discipline. It takes a relentless focus on serving others. It takes a willingness to listen, learn, evolve, and show up consistently.

The world doesn’t need more sellers. It needs more servants, students, and strategic leaders.

Be one of them.

And you won’t just be the best. You’ll stay the best.

Let’s go.

Follow me on LinkedIn | YouTube | X Grab your copy of The Show Must Go On today Host of Mastering Modern Selling

#SalesLeadership #ModernSelling #SalesMindset #SalesProcess #AIinSales #PersonalBranding #CustomerObsessed #SellWithPurpose #Top1Percent

From Social Seller to Social Fundraiser: How I Built Relationships That Have Raised 6-Figures in Fundraising Using LinkedIn—and How You Can Too

When you work in nonprofit, the mission is massive—but the team is often tiny. You’re stretched thin, wearing five hats at once, and just trying to keep the lights on while pushing toward the next big goal. Sound familiar?

I’ve lived this from both sides: as a partner to nonprofits and as a guy who started on LinkedIn with zero followers, no master plan, just a hunger to serve and show up.

In my career, LinkedIn didn’t just change the game—it became the entire playing field. And in the nonprofit world, I’m convinced: LinkedIn is the most underutilized power tool in your fundraising, recruiting, and storytelling arsenal.

Let’s talk about becoming a Social Fundraiser—and how to build real relationships that create real revenue without ever being transactional. So grateful to join Dana Snyder recently on Missions to Movements to discuss.

Where It All Started: From Laid Off to LinkedIn Evangelist

My relationship with LinkedIn began after getting laid off from a corporate job in 2010. Around that same time, I released my first book, and my publisher urged me to get active on social. But I wasn’t just trying to sell—I was trying to connect.

I realized early that the people I needed to build relationships with were already on LinkedIn—executives, decision-makers, influencers. If I could learn to earn their time, I could change my career trajectory. And I did.

Now, more than 48,000 LinkedIn followers later—and after helping nonprofits raise over $100,000 through simple outreach strategies—I’m here to tell you: if I can do this, you can too.

The Golden Rule: Earn the Conversation

If you take one thing away from this, let it be this:

Don’t oversell. Don’t overdo. Earn the conversation.

Nonprofit leaders, fundraisers, volunteers: your cause is worthy. Your story is compelling. But in a world full of noise, attention is currency. To get it, you need to:

Keep your messages short (2-3 sentences max)

Make it personal: why you care

Make it valuable: what’s in it for them

Make it easy: invite a quick call, not a huge ask

The point isn’t to immediately close a gift or get a commitment—it’s to start a meaningful conversation.

My Connection Request Playbook

Every single time I send a LinkedIn connection request—especially to C-suite leaders—I include a message. Always.

Here’s why: people get dozens of generic invites daily. If you want to stand out, tell them why you care and what’s in it for them.

Let’s say you’re a nonprofit looking to connect with a potential corporate sponsor or board member. Here’s what works:

“Hi [Name], I admire your work at [Company] and saw your recent post about [insert insight]. I’d love to connect and explore how we might partner to create more impact in [shared cause]. Grateful for your time!”

I’ve used variations of this to secure meetings with CEOs, CISOs, CIOs—even when nobody else could get in the door. Not by pitching. By positioning value.

Tools of the Trade: Sales Navigator & AI

LinkedIn Sales Navigator isn’t just for sales. It’s for strategy.

Whether you’re looking to recruit, fundraise, find board members, or attract volunteers, Sales Navigator helps you:

Filter by geography, title, nonprofit interest, or board experience

Build custom lists and send InMail to the exact people you want

Monitor updates from your target list to personalize your outreach

Track who’s engaging with your links and content (Smart Links FTW)

And AI? It’s your writing partner.

When you hit a creative wall (we all do), let tools like Copilot or ChatGPT help draft that initial message or repurpose your content across channels. I’ve used AI to turn transcripts from a podcast into a week’s worth of social posts or videos.

Think Progress, Not Perfection

Here’s the secret: you don’t need a 30-day content calendar or a social media manager. You need to start.

Start where you are. Share what you care about. Create content that makes people feel something—hope, purpose, urgency, joy.

Post a short video from a recent site visit.

Write about what your mission means to you.

Share a photo of your team or those you serve.

Capture a leadership lesson you learned today.

Even if no one “likes” it today, they see it. Visibility leads to credibility. And credibility earns conversations that can change everything.

Real Examples, Real Impact

I worked with a nonprofit CEO recently who began posting short videos from each location she visited. One of those videos caught my attention. That simple action led to her speaking at a summit for 1,000+ nonprofits—and opened new partnership doors.

Another nonprofit I supported raised $80,000 through a LinkedIn campaign. We simply messaged people, told the personal story behind the ask, and invited a conversation.

It didn’t take a huge budget. It took belief, consistency, and heartfelt outreach.

Turning Missions into Movements

One of the most fulfilling parts of my role today is helping nonprofits turn their missions into movements. LinkedIn isn’t just a tool—it’s a bridge. A bridge to relationships, funding, partnerships, storytelling, visibility.

You never know which post, podcast, or message will change your trajectory—or someone else’s.

Every video. Every blog. Every comment. Every DM. It’s all part of your digital legacy.

Final Takeaways for Nonprofit Leaders

Start small: Pick 1-2 platforms and show up consistently.

Earn the right to a conversation before making the ask.

Leverage LinkedIn Sales Navigator to find and nurture your ideal connections.

Use AI tools to repurpose content and keep momentum.

Build relationships first. Revenue and resources will follow.

Tell stories—from the heart. Spotlight your team, your mission, and your impact.

Be human. Be bold. Be real.

Let’s Make Social Fundraising the Norm

I didn’t set out to become the #1 social seller in tech. I simply wanted to connect, serve, and create community.

Now I want to help nonprofit professionals like you become the #1 social fundraiser in your space.

Your story matters. Your mission matters. And LinkedIn is the launchpad.

Let’s get to work.

#SocialFundraiser #LinkedInForNonprofits #FundraisingStrategy #NonprofitLeadership #SalesNavigator #AIforGood #MissionDriven #DigitalFundraising #RelationshipCapital

The 7 Leadership Lessons I Learned from Being a Girl Dad of 3

“You don’t raise your kids to be like you. You raise them to be who they’re meant to become. And if you’re lucky, they’ll let you walk beside them long enough to learn from them, too.”

I’ve been in leadership roles for over two decades—at work, and at home. But nothing has taught me more about leading with empathy, patience, clarity, and purpose than being a girl dad to three daughters—ages 17, 8, and 4.

There’s something wildly humbling about parenting across a 13-year age span. It’s like leading three different generations simultaneously, each with different needs, communication styles, dreams, and energy levels.

I used to think leadership was about being the loudest voice in the room. Turns out, the real leadership magic? Listening to the quietest one.

And these three girls? They’ve made me a better listener, a better communicator, a better leader… and a better man.

LESSON 1: Your Team Isn’t You—Don’t Try to Make Them You

With my first daughter, I’ll admit: I parented the way I thought I was supposed to.

She should play sports because I played sports. She should be tough, outgoing, do the things that worked for me. I was well-intentioned—but I was steering.

Now, with daughters at 17, 8, and 4, I’ve read books like Raising Girls Who Like Themselves and learned how much better it is to let them be their own person, not a reflection of my past or hopes.

In leadership, it’s no different. We don’t build clones. We build teams. The goal isn’t to mold people in your image. It’s to give them the tools, confidence, and support to become the best version of themselves.

LESSON 2: You Can’t Fix Everything—But You Can Sit With Them in It

When my daughters are struggling, the fixer in me wants to jump in with solutions. Say the magic words. Make it all better.

But I’ve learned—especially with my teen—they don’t need me to fix everything. They need me to be present. To sit with them in the mess. To say: “I hear you. I’m here. I don’t have all the answers, but I’m not going anywhere.”

I apply that same principle at work. Leaders aren’t fixers. They’re safe spaces. A good leader doesn’t always offer a solution—they offer support, trust, and belief that the person will find the solution themselves.

LESSON 3: You Have to See, Hear, and Understand Them… Not Just Manage Them

Every child is different. My 4-year-old needs a snuggle and a snack. My 8-year-old needs time to talk through her feelings. My 17-year-old? She might just need me to listen without judging.

I’ve learned the hard way: what I think they need, and what they actually need, are often very different.

The same goes for leading people.

True leadership is empathetic awareness. It’s slowing down long enough to understand someone’s state of mind—not projecting your own expectations onto them. Don’t assume. Ask. Observe. Reflect.

LESSON 4: Encourage Exploration, Not Performance

Something we’ve prioritized in our home in recent years is branching out. My daughters are trying new things: volleyball, guitar, dance, singing, art.

Not because I told them to.

But because we created a space where it was safe to try. Where curiosity was valued more than performance. Where “just give it a shot” was celebrated even more than “win the game.”

That’s been a breakthrough in my leadership style, too. I used to value execution over experimentation. Now? I reward curiosity. I encourage my team to try, test, learn, and grow.

Growth doesn’t come from perfect. It comes from permission to explore.

LESSON 5: Lead with Grace—For Them and For Yourself

There are days I lose my patience. I say the wrong thing. I miss the cue that one of my girls just needed me to listen, not lecture.

But I’ve also learned: you can’t lead well if you don’t offer grace—first to yourself, then to others.

When my kids mess up, I remind them they’re not their mistakes. When I mess up, I try to show them what accountability, humility, and resilience look like.

In the professional world, grace is often underrated. But it’s the glue that builds loyalty and trust. When people know you’ll give them the benefit of the doubt—and that you’re human too—they’ll move mountains for you.

LESSON 6: Presence Over Perfection

My 4-year-old doesn’t care if I crushed my sales number. She just wants me to play Candyland and listen to her story about the unicorn with sunglasses.

Leadership is the same. The people we lead don’t always need a brilliant strategist. Sometimes, they just need someone who shows up, fully present, with their whole heart in the game.

The how of your presence will long outlive the what of your performance.

LESSON 7: Repetition Is the Real Coaching

One of the most powerful things I’ve learned as a dad is this:

They don’t always listen to what I say once. But they do absorb what I model consistently.

Leadership is modeling, over and over. It’s not just the big team meetings or inspirational talks. It’s the day-in, day-out choices. It’s how you talk about people behind their back. How you respond to pressure. How you lead when nobody’s watching.

They’re Not Just Watching—They’re Becoming

Being a dad—especially a girl dad—is an immense honor. It humbles me, challenges me, heals me, and sharpens me.

And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see parallels every single day between parenting and leadership.

Both require patience.

Both require intention.

Both require an ever-evolving understanding of what someone else needs to thrive.

The more I learn to lead my daughters with love, freedom, trust, and empathy… The more I learn how to lead my teams, my partners, and even myself.

And if I’m doing it right? Maybe one day they’ll grow up knowing how to lead with love too.

What’s one lesson you’ve learned about leadership from parenting—or vice versa?

#LeadershipLessons #GirlDad #ParentingAndLeadership #AuthenticLeadership #EmpathyInLeadership #LeadWithLove #ModernFatherhood #EmotionalIntelligence #CarsonHeady

How I Got Executive Meetings No One Else Could: Real Stories, Exact Scripts, and the Secret Strategy That Wins the Room

“How I Got the Executive Meetings Nobody Else Could”

What if the meeting that changes your life isn’t on your calendar yet?

For most of my career, I’ve been obsessed with one question: How do I get in front of the people no one else can reach — and how do I lead those conversations in a way that opens doors others didn’t even know existed?

The biggest career breakthroughs rarely happen from sending one cold email. They happen from obsession, from long games, from pattern recognition and precision timing.

They happen because you choose to be so valuable that the executive doesn’t just take your meeting—they want you in the room.

I’m going to take you behind the scenes of the most impossible executive meetings I’ve ever gotten—and what I said and did to land them, lead them, and ultimately earn trust, unlock opportunity, and deliver transformation.

THE CEO MEETING: THE LONG GAME OF AUTHENTIC ENGAGEMENT

Six months. Dozens of thoughtful comments. Every post. Every interview. Every signal.

That’s how I got the CEO meeting no one else could.

Most sellers give up after one like or one message. But I played the long game. I started authentically engaging with the CEO’s content on LinkedIn. Not just generic likes or “Great post!” comments—I was specific. Relevant. I brought insight or asked a question that elevated the conversation.

After months of consistency, I messaged:

“I’ve been following your journey closely. What you’re building is bold, visionary, and exactly the kind of mission I love helping leaders bring to life. I’ve got a few strategic ideas I’d love to share that build on your direction. Could we grab 15 minutes next week?”

That meeting led to a multi-million dollar engagement. Not because I pitched anything. But because I proved over time that I understood their mission, their mindset, and that I could be a partner that adds value.

THE CISO MEETING: PLAYING TO PUBLIC PRESENCE

Security leaders are inundated. Everyone wants their time. Everyone talks products.

So I studied. I listened. I researched.

This particular CISO had a huge public presence: blogs, videos, podcast appearances. I didn’t just consume it—I documented it. What topics did they return to? What did they emphasize in every interview? What tone did they use when talking about risk?

Then I reached out:

“I’ve listened to your episodes on cyber resilience and your piece on zero trust was one of the sharpest takes I’ve heard. I work with mission-driven leaders to operationalize those strategies at speed and scale. I have a perspective I’d love to share with you. I think you’d appreciate the lens.”

Ego? Maybe. But mostly it was respect.

We met. I didn’t pitch. I asked:

“If you had full budget and no barriers, what would you fix first?”

That single question broke the dam. I won the right to keep talking—and eventually to deliver.

Within 6 months, I went from being ghosted to an 8-figure deal getting signed.

THE CIO MEETING: THE BACKDOOR STRATEGY

This one stung.

No reply to messages. No response from their team. The CIO had no interest.

So I pivoted. I went to the Board. I earned credibility with the CEO. I aligned with the CFO on the financial case. I created internal demand above and around the CIO.

Eventually, the CIO agreed to meet—begrudgingly.

He opened the meeting with, “I’m not sure why I’m even here.”

I responded:

“You’re here because your board and leadership team believe in the transformation you’re driving. I’m here because I can help you get there faster and safer, with less risk and more alignment. I’m not here to sell you anything. I’m here to solve.”

He challenged me. He grilled me. But I walked out of there with just enough trust to get a small opportunity.

I delivered.

We scaled.

And I won the deal.

THE UNWINNABLE DEAL: LINKEDIN AT SCALE

There was a customer everyone said was locked. The incumbent vendor had it sewn up. No way in.

So I created one.

I built a custom campaign and messaged over 500 Director+ leaders at that organization over LinkedIn.

Every message was personalized. Every touch showed understanding of their mission, challenges, and outcomes.

Eventually, it started clicking. Execs started forwarding my messages. One SVP replied:

“This is the most thoughtful outreach I’ve seen. Let’s talk.”

We talked. We earned trust. We knocked out the competition.

And we won the “unwinnable” deal. 9-figures.

THE FASTEST PATH: SALES NAVIGATOR ALERTS

Here’s one of my secret weapons: Speed.

I set alerts on LinkedIn Sales Navigator for executive changes across all my top accounts.

Every time a new exec is hired, promoted, or posts content, I reach out immediately:

“Congratulations on the new role. I partner with leaders like you in the first 90 days to help identify fast wins that align to your vision. I’d love to connect for 15 minutes to offer insight and resources you won’t get anywhere else.”

Why does this work? Because everyone else waits. I move. Because I bring value they can use. Because I’m not trying to sell. I’m trying to empower.

HOW I LEAD EXECUTIVE MEETINGS

Getting in the room is just the beginning. Here’s what I say once I’m there:

Opening Line:

“I’m here to understand your priorities and show you where I can help de-risk key decisions and bring you value you can’t get anywhere else. Opening new revenue streams, unlocking resources you’re not aware of but are entitled to, and not just paying the word ‘partnership’ lip service.”

Mid-Meeting Anchor:

“What are the top 1-2 outcomes that would move the needle for you the most this year? And what’s standing in the way?”

Closing Ask:

“If I can bring the right people, ideas, and resources to help with this—who else from your team should be engaged and how quickly can we advance?”

You’re Not Selling. You’re Showing Up as the Differentiator.

This isn’t about the clever subject line.

It’s not about the perfect deck.

It’s not about the demo.

It’s about doing the work. Showing up early. Staying when others leave. Listening deeper. Moving faster.

What separates the top 1% in sales is simple: They show up as the partner leaders didn’t know they needed, but can’t afford to be without.

So show up. Be that person. And build the meeting that changes everything.

What’s the boldest move you’ve ever made to land an executive meeting?

#ExecutiveMeeting #SalesLeadership #CLevelConnections #TrustBasedSelling #LinkedInSelling #SalesStrategy #PersonalBranding #DealEngineering #LeadershipGrowth

Top 1% Sales Secrets: Control the Controllables, Obsess over People & Process, and Stay in the Fight

3,058 job rejections. Deals lost that could have crushed me. Laid off at my peak. Still here. Still swinging.

People look at my resume and think, “He’s always been a success.” But what they don’t see are the thousands of slammed doors, the heartbreakers, the letdowns, and the grind behind the grind.

What separates the top 1%?

It’s mindset.

It’s consistency.

It’s committing to your process—no matter how many times you get knocked down.

I want to learn from the best.

I want to know who’s hitting numbers I can’t yet fathom.

And I want to build their brilliance into my own arsenal.

That’s how we grow.

Assimilate what’s great. Stay hungry. Stay humble.

I’ve been social selling since 2013. When I brought those tactics to Microsoft, folks looked at me sideways:

“You’re prospecting on LinkedIn? What does that even mean?”

But I knew it would work. Because it’s Moneyball.

It’s not about emotion. It’s about probability.

Like Billy Beane’s A’s, I focused on data-driven decisions.

If I optimize every step in the process for the highest statistical return—I’ll win more. It’s simple math.

So here’s how I think about sales:

Craft the highest-performing prospecting message.

Keep momentum hot—don’t let it cool.

Follow up immediately after a great meeting (because 50% is forgotten in 2 weeks!).

Stack the odds in your favor—because the house always wins.

And when things go sideways—and they will?

Get back up.

That’s how you join the 1%.

#LetTheWorkSpeak #ModernSelling #SocialSelling #SalesLeadership #Resilience #MindsetMatters #MoneyballSales #Top1Percent #CareerGrowth #B2BSales

You’re Not Behind—You’re Being Built: Wisdom Life Didn’t Teach Me, But Experience Did

There’s a lie that gets whispered to us somewhere along the journey.

It says: “You’re behind.”

Behind what? Behind who?

Some mythical timeline where everything makes sense, where the pain you’re going through is optional, where your career and life unfold perfectly according to plan.

Let me be the first to tell you from personal experience: there is no perfect plan. But there is a perfect preparation.

Because life doesn’t hand you wisdom.

It hands you experiences that break you open—and that’s where wisdom walks in.

Reinvention: The Repeated Reality of My Career

I’ve been laid off. I’ve had years where I was flying so high I was untouchable, and years where I felt like I was crawling through glass just to keep going.

I’ve led winning team after winning team. I’ve won big stages, held top rankings, and crushed quota. And I’ve also sat in meetings where I was told “we’re going in a different direction” and had to figure out how to reassemble the pieces of my identity that were tied to that role, that title, that validation.

But you know what I’ve learned?

Reinvention isn’t a punishment. It’s a proving ground.

Reinvention isn’t about starting over. It’s about starting better.

Every “no” I ever got became a redirection. Every closed door was a corridor to something greater—if I was willing to walk it.

So many of the things I thought were setbacks?

They were setups.

Here’s the hard-earned truth:

The rejection? It taught me how to tell my own story.

The delay? It gave me the maturity to lead when my opportunity came.

The pain? It taught me empathy—and that’s the foundation of influence.

The fire didn’t destroy me. It revealed the parts of me that couldn’t burn.

So if you’re in a season where it feels like everything is crumbling, I get it. I’ve been there.

And I want you to remember this:

You’re not behind. You’re being built.

You’re being sharpened. Refined. Elevated. Prepared.

Not for a future you that’s perfect and polished—but for a future you that is true, strong, and whole.

What I Wish I Knew Sooner

If I could go back and tell the younger version of me one thing, it wouldn’t be about how to close a bigger deal, or how to optimize outreach cadence, or even how to network better.

It would be this:

Feel everything. Don’t run from it.

Invest in the people who matter, and they’ll carry you through.

Your identity is not in your title, quota, or reputation. It’s in your character.

And maybe most importantly:

The wisdom that transforms you doesn’t come from the highs.

It comes from the fire you thought would destroy you.

What is something life taught you that no book ever could?

What’s a time when you were “behind” but turned out to be in exactly the right place for growth?

What wisdom came from your most painful chapter?

Drop your stories and lessons in the comments. Somebody out there—maybe someone silently struggling—is going to read it and feel less alone.

Because we grow through what we go through. And your voice could be the wisdom someone else is waiting for.

#Wisdom #Leadership #PersonalGrowth #Authenticity #LifeLessons #Reinvention #MentalHealth #Clarity #GrowthMindset

💻 How to Build a Winning Culture When You’re Miles Apart: Secrets from Remote Sales Leaders Who’ve Been There

“Culture isn’t something you create once. It’s something you commit to every single day — especially when you’re not in the same room.”

The world of work has forever changed.

As leaders, we no longer rely on hallway conversations, impromptu lunches, or in-office rituals to foster team spirit. For many of us, remote is the new normal — and that begs the question:

How do you intentionally create a thriving, high-performing culture when your team is scattered across cities, time zones, and screens?

This week, I had the privilege of sitting down with my friend and fellow sales leader Jeff Kirchick to tackle this exact question. What unfolded was a deeply authentic conversation about vulnerability, trust, leadership, and the sometimes unconventional methods we’ve both used to build remote cultures that win.

Let’s unpack the real takeaways — the stuff you can implement right now to foster stronger teams, deeper connections, and a sense of purpose that transcends geography.

The Remote Leadership Reality Check

Jeff and I both lead teams where Zoom is our conference room, Teams is our break room, and digital signals are how we measure presence and productivity.

The first myth we had to bust?

Culture doesn’t come from pizza parties or virtual happy hours.

Culture comes from consistency, clarity, vulnerability, and shared purpose.

What Jeff Taught Me: Vulnerability is a Superpower

When COVID first hit, Jeff did something bold. Instead of waiting for company culture to adapt, he became the spark.

“I started a workout class in the mornings,” Jeff said. “I called it Kerchfit — a play on CrossFit and my last name. It grew to over 50 people during the pandemic.”

Kerchfit became a ritual. A place for people to show up as themselves — sweaty, unfiltered, and real. Over time, it morphed into weekly meditation sessions and became a cornerstone of Jeff’s remote leadership style.

Key Lesson:

Vulnerability creates safety. Safety creates belonging. Belonging creates commitment.

Jeff shared another powerful example: his company’s on-site gathering where every employee, including the CEO, opened up about their personal “why.” Some were emotional. Some tragic. But all were real.

“When people share what drives them, it raises the stakes for everyone,” Jeff said. “You want to succeed not just for yourself — but for the people around you who’ve trusted you with their story.”

What I’ve Learned: Trust Isn’t Given. It’s Modeled.

I’ve had the honor of leading fully remote teams at Microsoft. And here’s what I’ve learned:

1⃣ Model. Coach. Care.

This is foundational to our leadership culture at Microsoft. I live it daily.

“I never ask my team to do something I wouldn’t do myself,” I told Jeff. “When someone doesn’t know how, I lead from the front and walk with them.”

If I’m asking them to prospect, you better believe I’m prospecting too. If I’m pushing on pipeline, I’m right there in the CRM with them. That’s how trust is built.

2⃣ Trust + Empower + Inspect

Remote work changes how you lead. You can’t micromanage from afar. But you can build systems to inspect what you expect.

Review forecast qualityTrack deal milestonesCreate space for coaching

“If the results aren’t there, we’ll examine the processes,” I said. “But autonomy starts with trust. And trust starts with belief.”

3⃣ Uncover the WHY

When I inherit or build a new team, I start with a survey.

Why?

Because I want to know:

How often do they want to connect?What do they want from 1:1s?Where are they trying to go in their career?What lights their fire?

If I’m not helping them get promoted, grow their income, or become a better version of themselves — what are we doing? I want to be a co-pilot on their journey, not just a checkpoint.

4⃣ Create Rituals of Recognition

Years ago, a manager introduced me to something called “DJ of the Week.” Every week, someone on the team gets to choose a song to kick off our call — based on a win, a best practice shared, or just something that stood out.

It sounds small, but the impact is huge. People want to be seen. They want to be celebrated.

And beyond that, I encourage “players-only” meetings — spaces where the team can meet without me. Because they need time to vent, brainstorm, laugh, and collaborate on their own terms.

Bottom Line: Culture is a Daily Choice

What makes culture work remotely is what makes it work anywhere:

Trust

Transparency

Vulnerability

Recognition

Shared mission

You just have to over-index on it when you’re not together physically.

“The goal,” I said to Jeff, “is to create a culture that exists and thrives — even when they close their laptops for the day.”

Practical Actions You Can Take Today: Send a team survey to uncover communication preferences and personal goals. Share your own failures and growth moments with your team. Start or re-center on your team’s “why” — personal and professional. Introduce a fun ritual like “DJ of the Week” to drive recognition and energy. Empower “players-only” meetings so your team can bond organically. Lead from the front. Do the hard things. Let them see you doing it.

What are YOU doing to build culture across your remote or hybrid team?

What’s working?

What challenges do you face?

#RemoteLeadership #CultureMatters #ModernSelling #SalesLeadership #TrustAndTransparency #VulnerabilityInLeadership #LeadFromTheFront #HighPerformanceTeams #FutureOfWork