The simple way that any normal person can become a millionaire overnight!

About a year ago I gave up on my dreams of retiring from my 9-5. In the three years before I’d tried every get-rich-quick scheme from crypto trading to email marketing to dropshipping trinkets from Ali Express. Wasting the precious few hours of the day after work staring at a computer screen, desperately trying to optimise every second. Spending every spare cent from my pay on courses and coaches. Dragging my tired steel capped feet around the workshop on three hours sleep, dripping with sweat that wreaked of caffeine and zyns and strange herbal stimulant concoctions I’d been convinced to buy by the ads I was trying to study to steal THEIR marketing secrets.


One weekend I spent 16 hours writing ad copy for a new pheromone product (they’re these chemicals you put on your skin that are supposed to make women want to have sex with you, basically) and earned a measly 200 dollars. I might as well have taken a second job flipping burgers. I wanted more than I deserved, I expected too much. The things about myself that I hoped would drive me forward: my imagination, my passion, my yearning for freedom and self accualisation were the machine of the money making internet tapped into to keep me on a constant loop of chasing shiny objects.


But on the other hand, I couldn’t do my job any longer. I worked as a forklift operator in a steel fabrication shop. Between noise, heat, back breaking labour and worst of all, mind numbing boredom I was starting to feel like I’d do almost anything else. I felt like I was going to be stuck there for the rest of my life. But I was wrong.


I’d like to tell you that it was all my idea, that my genius and ingenuity and persistence are how I finally escaped to live the life I had always wanted to live. But the truth is, it happened by chance. Or should I say destiny?


You see, one of my workmates was much more successful at the side hustle thing than me. He had an electric bike business on the side that he had bought on seller finance. With NO MONEY DOWN. That’s right, no money down.


So I finally gave up on the idea of building an internet business. Instead, I started frantically emailing local businesses trying to convince them to sell to me. I know it sounds insane, but when all you have is a hammer everything looks like a nail. And to me, the hammer was email heading hooks and call to actions. One weekend I spent every waking moment sending emails to businesses. I didn’t even shower. And that weekend changed my life forever. But not how you think.


You see, the universe works in funny ways. When you are intensely focused on something and ignoring every thing else, it’s like it creates some sort of etheric energy field around you that attracts life changing opportunities. Some times those opportunities have nothing to do with the thing you’re actually trying to do. This was one of those times.


I was so locked in to writing and reading emails that I was opening everything, including emails with head lines I would have turned up my nose at a week earlier. You would have never gotten ME to open an mail that titled “JS Hardy: reply in the next 24 hours and I’ll show you how to make life changing money”. But on the early hours of Monday morning, as I took the first sip of my double shot macchiato, that’s exactly what I did. I had no clue what sort of a wild ride I was in for!

My life was about to change forever!

There was something uncanny about the email. It read:

Hi JS,


I know you’ve been trying for a long time to build a future for yourself and it’s been a struggle. Don’t give up yet, you have a lot of heart! I want to share an opportunity with you that I think could be exactly what you need to change your situation. Perhaps you’d like to meet in person to discuss it? You can call me on [number redacted]


Kind regards,
Timothy Lambert


I was confused. It had the subject line like an internet sales email but it was from a guy who wanted to meet in person. Was he a business owner I had emailed and forgotten about? It wasn’t in response to any email. Why was he speaking about me as if he knew what I was thinking? Like he knew something about me? Again, that wouldn’t be weird for a sales email, we do that all of the time, but for a guy who wants to meet in person and discuss an “opportunity”?


I was convinced it was a scam. But I was too curious to let it go. And I had nothing to lose. Even if he was some weird scammer, if he wanted to meet in person that could be good practice for negotiating with business owners.


I decided to call him, not text, both because he sounded like somebody older who would be ok with that and because the email literally told me to do so. It was 7 am by now and I was going to be late for work.


He answered. “Hello? Timothy Lambert speaking.” He had a Californian accent. A scammer for sure, I thought.


“Hi, it’s uh, Hardy.” My voice was still rough from having just woken up.


“Who?”


“JS Hardy. You sent me an email about meeting for some kind of business opportunity.”


“Yes! Fantastic! When are you free?”


“Today. I mean, if you are in Sydney that is.”


“I certainly am. Let’s make it a late lunch, 2pm at the harbour.”


His confident, sing songy way of speaking caught me off guard. Of course, I’d rather spend the afternoon meeting with some mysterious, supposedly rich American man than go to work so that’s what I did. I even tried to make myself look presentable: I ironed my 50 dollar blue button up short sleeve t-shirt and some khaki shorts and slicked my stringy blond hair back with mouse. I look like an English gangster from the movie Snatch when I try to dress up, but at least people would know I tried.


He sent me to a restaurant on the water with a swordfish out the front. I was at the front in the middle of explaining to the hostess that I was there to meet with someone when he called out to me from the back of the room and waved. He was sitting at a huge table at the back by himself, the high ceiling of the restaurant meant he was surrounded by empty space, like a man alone in the ocean. I was embarrassed but nobody else in the restaurant looked up from their food.


When I got to the table, Tim stood up to shake my hand. He was a tall, thin man in his late forties with an enormous bald scalp sitting atop his long angular face, a small goatie revealed his natural hair color to be a dirty blond with traces of white and gray hairs. He wore a light blue polo shirt that looked like he bought it yesterday, long hairy arms protruded from the sleeves with comically large hands. He passed an enormous, cuban cigar from his right hand to his left before he reached to shake mine.


“Good to meet you, JS?” He inflected on my initials with a question tone to indicate he wanted to know my given names.


“John Sebastian. I go by Hardy though. Nobody remembers John and too many remember Sebastian.”


“Very good. I’m just Tim.” He took a puff of his cigar and motioned for me to sit down with his other hand.


We haven’t smoked inside for 30 years in Australia. It was surreal to see the smoke curving around his body in the air. But nobody batted an eyelid. It was like he was invisible to them.


“Are you like… actually allowed to smoke in here?” He laughed. His face and voice were soft and non-threatening, almost naive.


“They make special provisions for me Hardy. Wonderful people in this place. This whole country is amazing.”


Everything about the man was confusing and I stared at him intently as if he was a puzzle I was trying to solve. He sat sprawled out like he was trying to appear strong and manly, but he spoke gently, as if I was a small sensitive child.


He told me how he started out as a computer hardware engineer who specialised in something to do with nuclear reactors. Now he said, he was part owner of several large tech companies ranging from software to aeronautics. But he kept insisting, none of this was how he got rich.


I didn’t get any smooth talking salesman vibes from Tim. If anything, I sensed a longing from him to be accepted by me, the every man. He said something about how it was people like me who held society together. I thanked him, but I told him what I honestly thought which is that was BS.


I was wondering where on earth this was going but I was patient. It’s not every day I get to eat ocean trout at a five star restaurant. He also got me a whiskey on the rocks, but I drank it slowly, wanting to keep my head straight for when the pitch finally came. He ashed the last part of his cigar on a saucer next to any empty oyster shell. And then he asked.


“Hardy, how much would 20 million dollars change your life?”

I was about to learn rich people party in a different sort of way!

Now, obviously I did not believe this man was going to help me make millions of dollars for no particular reason. And I did on some level feel like my intelligence was being insulted. But here’s the thing: I didn’t value my time all that much any more. I had seen so much disappointment by this point that I scarcely cared that I was even alive. But more importantly, what if I turned my nose up at him and it turned out, for some insane reason, he really was going to help me get rich?


I couldn’t take that chance. And that’s why, when he stalled and refused to tell me what the big secret was, I didn’t even object. And when the mysterious, awkward, cigar smoking American offered me to spend the rest of the afternoon on his yacht I didn’t hesitate to join him.


The yacht was a type of yacht called a “fly bridge” which is a medium sized motorised yatch that is driven from a top platform above the main deck. It was the first time I had ever been on a luxury boat and although I was impressed, my brain was still in business mode and I found myself wondering if there was an opportunity in the market for SEO blogs in the luxury yacht niche, which in turn made me think about how much I hate myself. Maybe Tim will turn out to be a serial killer taking me out to sea to put me out of my misery. But once it got going hanging out on the yacht was one of the most fun experiences of my whole life.


The man driving the yacht was a friend of Tim’s, a chubby guy who introduced himself as Geezer. Geezer reminded me of Philip Seymour Hoffman in the Talented Mr Ripley, an unaesthetic, grubby little fat man with air of unearned arrogance. He drank Coronas, wore a haiwaiin shirt and snorted like a pig when he lauged. But there was plenty of sights to cleanse my eyes from the initial assault: there were no less than half a dozen young women in bikinis who would have been half of Tim’s age. They were friendly and warm in a way that always shocks you coming from women that attractive. Tim sent one of them down below to get me a beer.


On the opposite side of the top platform to the controls, a DJ who also happened to be an attractive young woman was setting up her equipment to play some music. Her name was Sarah and she was from Germany where she said she was a touring artist and made original music. She had thick dark hair and pretty geometric tattoos on her forearms.


To say I was amazed that this was even happening would be an understatement. How did I go from sending emails until two in the morning to beers, bikinis and beats in the sun without even lifting a finger?


“What do you think Hardy? Do I know how to throw a party or what?”

“It’s awesome Tim. Thanks for inviting me. But I still don’t-”


“Oh you think this is awesome Hardy? This is a normal week day for us.” Geezer looked over his shoulder and gave me a cheeky grin.


“You wait until you see what we got planned for later on.” I decided it was best to be patient and let things reveal themselves in time. I went below deck to get a break from the sun for a few hours and played jenga with two of the girls. They were both British models or something. Honestly, that part is a bit of a blur.


When Tim came down to call me back up the sky was pink from the setting sun. We were now far from land that it looked like we were in a giant dome.


“We are in international waters now. Its time to get the party really started!”


Geezer was holding an enormous revolver pistol in his hand. For a moment I thought I must be some kind of blood sacrifice to whatever demons allowed these dorks of men to play high society. But then Tim handed me an identical pistol.


“They’re a modern take on the Colt 45, an old cowboy gun. It has insane recoil though, watch out for it!”


Geezer pressed a button and an disk shaped object shot out of the back of the boat into the sky. He fired the pistol and shattered it. It sounded like a bomb went off.


“Your turn next Hardy!” I had never fired a gun before in my life. When I pulled the trigger the pistol flung backwards and almost hit me in the face. I could see the bullet whizz through the air far above the target. Was this a way for these douchebags to make themselves look cool in front of the girls, I wondered?


Sarah was playing low paced dubstep with wobbly bass in the back ground and the sound of the whizzing clay pigeons followed by gun shots blended with the bass and drums to create a dark exciting atmosphere that I will never forget. I think of those moments fondly even when my ears ring at night.


On my fourth reload of the pistol, I finally figured out what to do: I held the pistol lower than the point the pigeon was going to fire to so that the recoil would raise the gun to the target. Bullseye! The disc shattered and every body cheered.


Tim slapped his hand on my shoulder affectionately. “Nice work Hardy. Are you ready to talk about your future now?”


“Sure.” In the blur of guns and girls and music I had forgotten all about the mysterious million dollar secret. And part of me still knew that I probably shouldn’t trust Tim and Geezer.


But nothing could have possibly prepared me for what came next.

The way he showed me how to make millions was so simple it was INSANE!

Tim didn’t say anything. Instead he turned to Geezer who handed him in envelope. He opened the envelope, took out a folded piece of paper and handed it to me. The two men stood grinning at me while I slowly unfolded the piece of paper. Printed on the page was some kind of strange poem.


“We say we no longer have slavery

But now we are all slaves


Because we built slave world where you have no value unless you make things

Not good things just things”

“What the hell?” I read the words again. I pinched myself to see if I was dreaming.


There was no way this could be possible: they were my words! I started writing this a year ago and never finished! It was sitting on a hard drive of my old computer. It wasn’t even connected to the internet!

But I only wrote the first three lines. And this was a complete poem!

“We say we no longer have slavery


But now we are all slaves


Because we built slave world where you have no value unless you make things

Not good things just things

Every second must be optimized or you will be out competed by a dead eyed thing maker

Billionaires are enslaved

They frantically spin the hamster wheel


They tell us sleep is for the week

Slaves to leveraged finance

Slaves to shareholder value

Suffocated of creativity suffocated of movement

Gritting their teeth in anxiety as they profess themselves great men

And that’s the best you can get, the top of the mountain

Or should I say the scrap heap?

AI should free me to write poetry all day that doesn't rhyme

But it won't

A billionaire slave will use it to build a bigger and more efficient hamster wheel

Sisyphus of the scrap heap”

I whispered the last words to myself again out loud: “Sisyphus of the scrap heap.” Then I turned to Tim. “Who wrote this?”

“You did Hardy.”

“No I didn’t. I wrote the first three lines. Somebody finished it. How did you get this? Did you hack into my computer somehow?”

Tim shook his head. “You posted this on Facebook. Complete with an explanation that it was an unfinished poem from a couple of years ago.”

“I don’t think I did that. You’re messing with me. Or you’re mistaken.”


“Actually you’re right. You didn’t post this on Facebook. But you will.”

I stared at him, letting my eyes go out of focus as if I was trying to look through his body and see the air behind him.

“What the hell are you talking about Tim?”

“You see Hardy, what I have is the only thing in the universe that can make any person a millionaire, or even a billionaire, no matter who they are or what their skill set is. Do you know what I’m talking about Hardy?”

“Um. I think so? You mean…” I felt stupid saying it out loud so I paused and waited for Tim and Geezer to finish my sentence for me. They just stood there with their enormous irritating grins. “A time machine?”


Tim and Geezer began to clap like a pair of retarded seals. Some of the girls felt like they had to go along with it and before you know it they were all clapping and laughing. It was extremely uncomfortable.


“Yes. A time machine. You see I am from the year 2045. My self from this time is younger than you are now Hardy! In my time, I was just like you. I told you I was a computer hardware engineer but in my time that’s more like a technician. Yeah, I owned a few companies that made a few widgets. They didn’t make me much. It’s like if you got a job flipping burgers on the weekend. I was just like you Hardy, wearing myself thin, chasing my tail just looking for anything, any way to escape. But weighing myself down more and more all the time. I feel that when I read your words Hardy, I feel your pain.”

“The poem’s not really about me, but um, thanks.”

“No Hardy, thank you!”

“What for? No, I don’t care what for. Tell me about the god damn time machine. Please.”


“It came to me one day in my email. You know that now don’t you Hardy? You should ALWAYS check every email. Because I was dealing with a customer in Japan. He wanted to purchase some of my cobalt batteries. Someone up there loves me Hardy.” He looked up at the sky in religious ecstasy, almost in tears. “Because he accidentally sent me the patent. I called my team in Bangledesh the next day, maxed out all my credit and built a protoype. And then do you know what I did after that Hardy?”

“I assume you went back in time and told yourself to play the winning lottery numbers.”


“Exactly Hardy! Great minds think alike! And then of course, I invested that money in start ups. High risk, high rewards. Only it’s not much of a risk when you know who is going to win out anyway! Sometimes it wasn’t perfect, sometimes my actions would glitch the time-line and my prediction was no longer correct. But eventually I figured out how to manage the risk and be successful most of the time. I turned MILLIONS into BILLIONS!”


“Ok. Well what does this have to do with me?”

“I’m glad you asked Hardy. Perhaps you should sit down for this one.”

He was right about that. With all the crazy talk of time travel and millionaires I felt like my head was literally spinning. I took a seat on the side of the leather cushioned side of the platform and stretched my arms on the rail behind me, feeling the sea breeze against the back of my neck. One of the bikini girls sat next to me and began stroking my head gently, seemingly oblivious to the conversation. I felt at ease for the first time in years, as if all of my problems were melting away from me.

Tim described to me how he was so rich that life eventually started to feel devoid of meaning. He needed a challenge. And he remembered his passion for business and so he became what he called a “world builder”. He used his power of time travel to find people who had the potential to make positive change but weren’t living up to that potential. It turns out that’s nearly everybody.

Tim and Geezer were friends of mine in the future. I asked them how I turned out but they didn’t want to tell me. It sounded bad. But he said he always knew I had it in me to be better. He believed in me. I was holding back tears when he said that, so I took a big swig of my drink and nuzzled my face into the bikini girl so nobody could see.


“So you see Hardy, I can give you everything you ever wanted. I can take you to the time machine tomorrow and we can go back and put on last week’s lottery numbers. Or we can tell you younger self to invest in Bitcoin or Ethereum. How ever you want to do it I’m happy to help. But first, I need to know that you are fully committed to creating the future I come from. To being a world builder like me! Because it’s a life time commitment. I need to see that I can see the leader in you Hardy! Do you understand?”

“Um. I think so. But what do I actually have to do?”

“Just take some time tonight to think about yourself, who you are, what you want. And I will tell you what you have to do in the morning.”


He signalled for Sarah to cut the music and turned to make his way down the stairs towards the anchor at the back of the ship.

I sat for a while longer, enjoying the glimmer of the stars and the chitter-chatter of intoxicated female voices.

I couldn’t believe this was actually happening!

Sometimes when I know that I have to sleep that’s the hardest time to get to sleep. I was on a boat shaking back and forth, with my ears ringing from gunshots, excited and terrified of what awaited me in the morning, so I figured it would be one of those nights.

I stayed up for a while on the couches below deck chatting to the only sober person on the boat, Sarah, the DJ. She had an incredible knowledge and passion for music. She must have been at least 5 years younger than me and yet she had seen the whole world. She was like some otherworldy creature of pure creativity and energy and yet she sat and listened and encouraged me to take the opportunity.

At one point I asked her what she thought of the whole time travel thing. “Yeah, I guess it’s kind of weird huh?” she said with a shrug like she was talking about a rainy day in summer. I had the strange feeling that she was so committed to her role of performer that what we talked about on the boat wasn’t even real to her. Maybe I would sleep better if I felt like it wasn’t real as well.


I was stretching out on the couch and she said something about making sure I don’t get sea sick and that’s the last thing that I remember before I fell asleep. I was startled a weak by the roar of one of the revolvers. I tried to doze back off but they fired again and again, one after the other. There was no point in lying around any longer, I made my way up the stairs of the deck still in the same clothes as the day before.

“Good morning Hardy!” Tim was wearing a straw hat and dark shades to shield himself from the morning sun. He had a cigar in his mouth like when I bet him. His cigars were black instead of brown. It was Geezer firing the pistol. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah.”

He asked me if I got lucky with the German girl and he didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t. Older men like to live vicariously through the young. Even though I’m not so young.

There was one girl up and she was making bloody marys, I asked for mine with extra vodka and then I asked Tim for a cigar.

“Take a shot first! That will wake you up!” He handed me a pistol. I took three shots at the clay pigeons and missed every single shot. I skulled my drink in frustration and felt the burn down the back of my throat.

“Tim. It’s been a lot of fun hanging out with you here. Thank you.”

“Any time Hardy.”

“But.” I paused. He took the cigar out of his mouth to indicate I had his attention. “I’m tired of messing around. I want to know I need to do to get into that time machine.”

“Ah. Of course.” He resumed puffing the cigar. “Hardy, I’m going to be straight with you. As world builders, we need mental toughness, problem solving skills and above all perseverence. I need to see that you can stick to something no matter how hard it gets. So I’m going to ask you to do something challenging, but believe me when I say that it’s something you are more than capable of doing.”

“Ok. What’s that?”

“I want you to start an online business and scale it to 500K a year revenue.”


My heart jumped up into my throat. What kind of a sick joke was this? I had already wasted so many precious hours slaving in front of the computer screen. The humiliation, the indignity. The total negation of myself. He was asking me to do it again. Like being in a burning house and you’ve just escaped the flames but you find out the key to get out is still in there and you have to go back. I couldn’t do it.

“Tim.” I paused and her stared at me with a big stupid mouth open grinning like a toddler. I thought about what I was going to say for a second. Then it came to me. I smiled. “Go to hell.”

I raised the pistol and shot him right between the eyes.

THE END