He looked at the form. The header read: Commercial Real Estate 101: How to Build a Fortune. He took a breath, the scent of expensive cologne and desperation filling the air, and began to write his card number. He wasn't just buying a course; he was buying a version of himself that didn't know how to lose.
"You don't want to work for a paycheck," the narrator’s voice boomed. "You want to own the building where the paychecks are signed."
The gold-leaf lettering on the mahogany doors of the Hilton ballroom didn’t just say "Trump University." It whispered destiny .
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