The Art of the Hustle 2 (Complete)

Chapter Nine

The large meeting room was booked and there were fresh bagels, muffins, and fruit on the table. It was early Tuesday morning and most of the meeting's attendees still looked half asleep, tending to their coffees and morning carbs.

Trevor sat at the front of the long conference table. He looked wide awake and ready to go.

"Good morning," he said, greeting people as they entered. He gave everyone a few minutes to get settled and made some light banter to ease people into the meeting before he talked business. Scanning the crowd, he made eye contact with everyone in the room. He didn't see Ashley, but figured she was running late so he started without her.

"Okay, so as many of you know, we have three market segmentations. We have our loyal customers, they tend to be the early adopters. They act as brand ambassadors and are the ones who are with us no matter what.

"We have another segment of customers who are perhaps more easily swayed by the latest promo. They tend to show no brand loyalty and jump around from competing products. They are classically known as the 'price sensitive' consumers.

"Then we have a segment of the population who are not in this market at all. Our focus should be to understand their needs and build a platform that speaks to them. This way, we can grow our market share and potentially convert those non-customers into loyal customers.

"We already have a product in place that will compete with any other product offering from our competitors. So perhaps our value prop is not clear. We need to differentiate ourselves from the competition by expanding our product offerings. This way if one of our products doesn't connect with a particular customer, we have different options that we can promote..."

Trevor was well into his slide deck when Tami came bursting through the door. This was unusual for her. She wouldn't normally barge into a meeting unless it was serious. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to, the look on her face spoke volumes.

"Excuse me, please," Trevor said, exiting the room.

"Tami, what's wrong?" Trevor asked with concern.

Tami immediately started to cry. She could barely speak. Trevor looked at her in shock, waiting for the bad news. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"It's Ashley... she's been in an accident."

Trevor's whole world stopped. His ears blocked out all sounds, his pupils dilated, and he nearly vomited. It felt like he had been kicked in the stomach. He was not expecting that kind of news and remained paralyzed as to how to respond.

So far no one in the meeting knew what was happening. All they saw was Trevor standing outside the meeting room looking like mannequin and Tami doing her best to console him. They exchanged a few words and Trevor took off running toward the elevator. The people in the meeting knew something had gone terribly wrong so they got up and left the room to inquire about the incident.

On any other day, the elevator travelled at a reasonable speed, but on that day, it felt like a lifetime had passed before it reached the ground floor. When the doors open, Trevor sprinted out of the elevator and into the lobby, pushing passed people, causing more than a few heads to turn.

Once on the street, Trevor jumped into the nearest cab and told the driver to take him to St. Paul's Hospital. Being in a position of power with an abundance of resources afforded Trevor many luxuries such as personal assistants, drivers, chefs, maids, and a team of others who work hard to make his life easy. However, this time Trevor was on his own.

The hospital was only a few blocks away and when he arrived, he paid the fair, and ran inside. Upon speaking with one of the hospital staff in the emergency room, Trevor was escorted to his wife's body. She was all alone with a sheet fully draped over her. In the corner was a bag full of bloody clothes that had been cut off her after the accident.

A nurse consoled Trevor as he stood in the doorway and cried harder than he had ever cried before.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Morrison," she said. "The social worker will be down soon to talk to you."

Trevor sat in the waiting area in the ICU until a petite and well-dressed woman entered.

"Hi Mr. Morrison, my name is Sarah, I'm one of the social workers. Can I get you anything?"

Exhaling a deep breath, Trevor was still in shock, trying to process everything that had happened. His mind was spinning and he had tunnel vision. Whatever the social worker was saying barely registered with him.

"Here are some pamphlets you can take with you," she said, setting them down on a nearby table. "They provide details on everything you may need from emotional support to making arrangements. Of course, I will also leave you my card so if there is anything else you need, please don't hesitate to contact me."

The social worker continued to sit with Trevor, but could tell he wasn't all that receptive. With the posture of a cashew, Trevor slumped over with his face buried in his palms. Losing a loved one was worse than dying a thousand deaths and during his time at the hospital, he went to some pretty dark places.

Feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders, Trevor eventually stood up and exited the hospital. Once outside, he began to walk down Davie Street back to his marina-side condo in Yaletown. Dragging his feet like a zombie, Trevor was in a daze. To the untrained eye, it would appear as though he was high on drugs or drunk. He didn't even bother to look before crossing the street. A car honked and slammed on its breaks, but Trevor remained unfazed. He just continued on, stumbling back to the home he once shared with Ashley.