It's a Fact If You Can Believe

“Money is for those without spirit.” Or whatever that thrift store prophet said. He smelled like a rug soaked in cat piss, like the rest of those would-be saints. Why do they let people like that into a library? I’ll never understand, especially when my family paid millions for its restoration. The only reason I remember him is the stench.

Me, though? I made it. Opened my first company at twenty-five. Had to shut it down— I was paying too many freeloaders who didn’t know the value of hard work. The media claimed I went bankrupt. I didn’t. I broke even. Maybe if those entitlement junkies worked instead of complained, they’d still have a job.

But I did learn something. Just one adjustment to a line in the paperwork, and I could’ve walked away with a profit. So, I got a better lawyer. He costs more than he’s worth, but it’s pocket change to me.

My parents said I was wrong. They told me that “Failing upward” wasn’t part of the family brand. They didn’t see the vision, so I cut them loose. In the end, they were right about one thing: I am special. And greatness was always within my reach.

Using their money was easier than dealing with the banks, not that I couldn’t have convinced them. Rule number one: Never put your own on the line. As my empire began choking off the assets of the weak, their pet projects lined up for the taking. People started to pay attention. The media, God bless them, couldn’t get enough of me. The lesser outlets accused me of being unethical. But if it wasn’t moral, why was it legal?

It wasn’t long before I became the most eligible bachelor. Who wouldn’t want me? Wealthy and had a face that pulled cameras from all directions. I thought about entering a beauty contest, but honestly, what would have been the point? Women lit up when I entered a room. Of course, they all wanted me. I only chose a few; I could afford to be selective. Eventually, I married one to keep the rest away.

Amy… or was it Jennifer? She was a bombshell. She stood beside me at all the galas, a second smile for the cameras. Handled the small talk while I discussed business with the real men. It didn’t last. I traveled often, and she spent her time throwing parties, hoping to land a reality TV show. I didn’t mind; she stayed busy, and I made good use of the jet. But when I came home, she’d scream at me—drunk, high, or whatever. And when the wrinkles started showing, I cut her loose. Who wants to be seen with that? Had another one within the month.

Given my success, I figured it was only right to share my wisdom. I wrote a book explaining how to achieve tremendous success, and naturally, I was the proof. The publisher said it needed edits. I told him it was perfect. People needed exactly what I gave them. He said it didn’t “fit his brand.” No surprise the others didn’t make it. The editor didn’t recognize greatness when I handed it to him.

I had money, power, a following, and an empire. All I needed was a temple. I only owned half of Congress, but that was enough. It wasn’t hard to slip a few hundred acres of national park tucked inside some bill about economic relief or disaster aid. I didn’t read the title. I didn’t need to.

Construction began on my temple, my cathedral of power. The workers adored me so much that I barely had to pay them. I was creating jobs, after all. Unemployment was high.

That’s when they started to flock to me. I didn’t just build an empire. God had stood from his throne and gestured for me to take his seat. So, I did.

They carved my face into the mountain, cast statues in gold, and fulfilled my every need. A few rose above the rest. The leeches at my side—the lawyers, bank owners, and politicians—were a necessary evil. But at any sign of dissent, they were cut loose. Those who did not share my vision weren’t worth keeping around.

I had the tallest building, taller and far more beautiful than the waterfall nature plopped beside it. That’s just how it goes. What I build cannot be outshone. Nature took millennia to make something people admired. I did it better in a matter of months. Mine draws bigger crowds. More praise. And it always will.

People began to worship me. They came on a pilgrimage to see their reflection in my statues. They asked me to save them. I never asked for their devotion, but they gave it willingly. I sold them clothing, trading cards, and my favorite: hats. They proudly wore their faux crowns, each embroidered with my name. Some even tattooed my likeness into their flesh, which I didn’t care for. The artists never got it right. No one can.

I walked my hallowed grounds once the work was complete. The cathedral’s outer walls kept the undesirables out. I didn’t care that they built their shacks along the outside so long as they matched my aesthetic and paid their dues. Those who could afford it deserve to be here.

On opening day, the crowd formed before sunrise, lining up to be sure they’d make it into the courtyard. I don’t know why they were worried; it was large enough to hold them all. I could hear their chants through the gates. To them, I was salvation. The chosen one. The man who would lead them into something greater.

Now, standing in my best suit behind the curtain, I was ready to address the masses gathered below my balcony. I stepped into the spotlight. The crowd greeted me with an ovation, slightly less worthy of the god I am. Their cheers and cries rolled through the courtyard. I stared at them as their rightful leader, ready to tell the biggest—no, the only—lie of my life.

“You are all special.”

The crowd erupted. Some knelt.

Is it really a lie if they believe it? I didn’t think so.