Unbeatable: The Legend of Vincent Scott – Chapter 4: The Great Escape
There are few things more maddening than knowing you need to leave a place but feeling trapped in it. Vincent Scott had reached that point. He was like a thoroughbred forced to run laps in a kiddie corral—too big for the space, too bold for the pace. It wasn’t just the toxic air of favoritism or the maddening politics anymore. It was knowing in his bones that he had outgrown this chapter and if he didn’t turn the page soon, it might close on him for good.
The rise of Dick Knoll, hand-picked and handed the reins because of his close ties to leadership and unwavering obedience, felt like a slap in the face. Shelly Cheekwood’s ironclad rule, driven more by smoke breaks and petty gossip than metrics, further distorted the picture. And of course, there was Dana “The Saw” Warsaw—a corporate terminator whose numbers-first approach left a trail of bodies far longer than resumes.
Vincent’s personal life offered an escape valve: late nights filled with laughter, pool sticks cracking balls, jokes flying between Jeff, Cliff, Jay, Danny, and Ted. But even that camaraderie only masked the tension, didn’t erase it. He was dying on the inside, waiting for the right escape route. But it wasn’t for lack of trying.
He had applied to eighty-five roles. Sales manager. Account executive. District director. Online strategist. You name it. He applied like it was a second job. Most roles never called back. A few gave him generic rejection emails. The rest? Ghosts.
Then came the call.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005. His desk phone rang. Local number. Rare.
“ABM, this is Vincent.”
“Yes, is this Vincent Scott?”
“Yes, it is. How can I help you?”
“This is Keith Dickhauser. Director of Sales for ABM’s Online Advertising Unit. I posted a requisition online that you recently applied for.”
Vincent played it cool. He had no idea which job this was, but danced through the conversation like a seasoned politician. As Keith invited him to lunch at an Italian place in Greenfield, Vincent would’ve said yes even if the location was in the Temple of Doom.
The next day at Francesco’s, the two men hit it off. Keith was direct, probing, and curious. He even asked taboo questions—age, religion—but Vincent didn’t flinch. He answered with honesty and conviction. Keith was impressed.
“Do you have any other questions?” Keith asked, sliding his credit card into the checkbook.
“Yeah,” Vincent replied, a sly grin forming. “When should I tell my current boss I’m reporting to you?”
Dickhauser burst out laughing, a belly laugh that would become a regular sound in the years ahead. But reality quickly tempered the moment. Keith explained the hiring process, the other candidate, and the possibility that Vincent might have to wait.
Wait he did.
A week later, Keith called back. No offer. Not yet. Maybe Q1 of 2006. Vincent was disappointed but not defeated. The flame had been lit. Now he had to endure the smoke.
Back at the Rockford call center, things remained upside-down. His team was crushing expectations. Phil and Lucy? Drowning. Vincent’s results were undeniable, yet he received no praise—only scrutiny. Upper leadership investigated his calls, convinced something shady had to explain his success. But he was clean. Always was.
Meanwhile, Oklahoma City and other markets built “Dream Teams”—hand-picked rosters of the best reps fed the best sales calls. These elite units were created to hit the unattainable 100% commission target. The catch? Unless a team hit 100%, they got zero. Only 3% of managers company-wide qualified. Most faltered.
But not Vincent.
He didn’t have a Dream Team. He had misfits. The ones Shelly deemed unworthy. And yet, in December 2005 and January 2006, Vincent’s team ranked in the top four out of 115 units. The only teams ahead of him were those fake Frankenstein super-squads. It was like watching a lone Spartan outfight entire armies. And they still refused to reward him.
When Vincent proposed a bold idea—to take 52 of the 78 reps in all of Rockford and let Lucy and Phil split the rest—he wasn’t just being strategic. He wanted to out-lead Dick, who managed 51 with help. Vincent wanted to take 52 solo. It was audacious. It was Vincent.
Dana and Shelly countered: he could only be considered if he terminated someone using their “call flow” system. Translation? Embrace their flawed leadership method. Vincent refused. His principles wouldn’t let him. He’d taken 37 castoffs to the top of the charts. He didn’t need shortcuts. He needed out.
That hope came with the Dallas trip. The entire division convened, and Vincent decided to exit with grace. He laughed, he bought drinks, he charmed those who had been trained to despise him. He even made peace with Dick Knoll. Smiled. Shook his hand. Spoke to Dana Warsaw with poise. It was all by design. He was going out on top.
And then, it happened.
Keith Dickhauser called. Effective March 1, 2006, Vincent Scott was being promoted to lead a team of advertising consultants in ABM’s new online division. The five-year sentence in the call center had ended. Vincent had finally broken out of the dungeon.
The last two weeks flew by. Vincent tied up reports, said goodbye to the few who mattered, and watched as Shelly made one final political move—promoting Peter Swansea over Jeff Mason, Vincent’s clear protégé and the best candidate by far.
It didn’t matter.
On his last day, Vincent Scott walked out of the building that had given him his first real taste of sales success. He left behind the heartaches, betrayals, and battles. But he also carried with him the wisdom of every call, the grit of every rejection, and the fire of every fight.
He had survived the system without selling out.
He had taken the high road and still reached the summit.
And now, he was headed into uncharted territory with only one certainty: he was just getting started.
Vincent Scott thought he had seen it all. He had clawed his way to the top of a corrupt residential sales division, dodged knives in his back while lifting others up, and exited in a blaze of quiet glory. But nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming wave of imposter syndrome that hit him when he stepped into the towering citadel of ABM’s Minneapolis headquarters.
It was March 1, 2006. A date etched into his mind not as the start of a new job, but as the true beginning of his second act. The first time he entered the ABM skyscraper, he felt like an actor walking onto the set of a high-budget corporate thriller. The marble floors, the echoing footfalls of executives, the smell of Starbucks and status — this wasn’t Rockford. This was the major leagues.
Vincent wore his best suit, but he still felt underdressed. These people had spent their careers in marketing, knew the product inside and out, and spoke a different language. He, by contrast, was a master of residential bundle flips and statistical illusions, not digital advertising or CPMs.
But he walked into the fire willingly.
The assignment was on the eleventh floor. After navigating the parking garage and meeting Roy the security guard, Vincent took the elevator up and wandered until he arrived at a glass-paneled office. It was empty, save for the trickle of new faces wandering through. Eventually, Derek Walters arrived. A married father of two, recently returned from a stint at a competitor, and now poised to helm the newly birthed ABM Online.
Derek was stoic. No-nonsense. A man who didn’t smile unless it was calculated. His poker face rivaled a statue, and his praise, if ever given, was always directed at those he hired himself. Alongside Derek was Keith Dickhauser, the loud, theatrical architect of the division—a man who thrived on being the center of attention in every meeting but rarely said anything useful.
Derek had the vision. Keith had the volume. Together, they were building something new.
Vincent was their top draw, or so they claimed. And now he was tasked with helping them scale from 10 reps to 100 in a matter of weeks. He was to be the first face every candidate met—the gatekeeper.
“Don’t mess around with the help,” Keith barked suddenly.
Vincent blinked. “Come again?”
Keith smirked. “You heard me. Don’t get involved with the girls. I don’t need the distraction.”
Vincent gave a tight nod, still stunned. “Understood.”
He started interviewing candidates that very afternoon. Baptism by fire. Derek trusted his judgment, and within days, Vincent was vetting dozens of potential hires. He also had a lot of the top Rockford sales reps who followed him like the Pied Piper.
It was time for Vincent to build his empire.
