Total Financial Awakening: Escape the Grind, Discover Freedom, and Reclaim your Life through Real Estate Investing

By Andrey Sokurec and Alex Delendik

This is the story of Roger Alcott, his wife, Susan, and their two boys. On the surface, Roger Alcott has it all-a well-paying job, a nice home, and luxury cars. Unfortunately, these have come at the expense of long hours and high stress of his corporate job. But most importantly, he's missing time with his wife and kids. Feeling burned out, Roge

• Language: English
• Publisher: Author Academy Elite
• Release date: Sep 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781647462628

Andrey Sokurec

Andrey Sokurec is a native of Belarus, formerly of the U.S.S.R. He obtained a degree in Finance and Banking at Belarus Economic University where he graduated with honors. He left a job underwriting commercial loans to come to America, believing it to be the best place to realize his dreams. By day he worked as a manual laborer, and by night he read books on business success. He purchased his first investment property in 2005. Andrey continued his education at Harvard Business School and has completed over $100 million in Real Estate transactions since then, building up a large portfolio of houses. Andrey has become a recognized authority in Real Estate as the founder of Midwest Real Estate Investment Association, as a host of the TV Show "The Real Deal in Real Estate," and as a frequent guest presenter at investment summits and training seminars. He co-founded with his business partner, Alex Delendik, Homestead Road to integrate the entire process of buying homes, restoring them to marketability, and "homesteading" families.

Book preview

Chapter One

A man should never neglect his family for business.

—Walt Disney

Spring came early to Atlanta, and even though the dogwoods and azaleas were in full bloom, the telltale signs of spring in the Deep South would be gone before Easter this year. Little League baseball practice had started, and the first whispers of success for the Braves were being announced on sports talk radio all over Atlanta.

The one bright spot for sports in Atlanta, mused Roger Alcott, looking out of his office window in Vinings toward the view of the Atlanta skyline to the south.

Both of his sons played sports. His wife, Susan, chauffeured Brent and Chris around to sports and after-school functions throughout the year. As a younger man, Roger had played Division Two football at his alma mater, Furman, but couldn’t remember the last time he had made time to actually watch a game.

Looking up from the spreadsheets that populated his computer screen, he realized it was after 7:00 p.m., so he decided to take a short break and then wrap up work for the day in the next hour. Rooting through the breakroom refrigerator, he found a Diet Pepsi he vaguely remembered putting in there a few weeks ago and decided to claim it.

He popped the tab, leaned back against the counter, and mentally ticked through the tasks he still had to do for the night. I’ve got to sort out this backhaul issue with St. Louis, go over the Smithfield account proposal, and then figure out what we’re going to do with Jacksonville and the Port improvements. We’ve got to get more leverage in there … He let the sentence trickle off, speaking to no one in particular since the normal employees—the worker bees—always darted out of the Alliant Logistics offices at 5:00 p.m. like the building was on fire.

Roger didn’t really hold a grudge against them; he knew they didn’t make any kind of real money. They were largely responsible for doing the things that men like Roger—sales managers, vice presidents, and executives—told them to do. If you could leave promptly at five o’clock, that just meant your boss wasn’t paying attention to all the things that needed to be done.

A noise in the hallway startled Roger back from his thoughts, and he peeked out of the breakroom to see Bradley Somebody, a new outside sales rep that Alliant had recently brought on board.

Bradley looked like he was guilty of something, but then Roger noticed the kid’s tie was loosened, and the top button of his shirt was unbuttoned. Alliant Logistics had a very strict dress code for all salaried employees. Roger always thought it a little Draconian and certainly paid homage to Tom Watson and his ideas from IBM, but Bradley was obviously nervous that a senior executive had just spied him out of uniform.

Uhh, Mr. Alcott? Hi. I don’t know if you remember me … stammered the kid.

Absolutely! Bradley Stevens, isn’t it? The name had swum up to the top of Roger’s brain suddenly.

Yes, sir! I didn’t think you’d remember me. I’ve only been with Alliant for a month or so.

Roger smiled. Well, Bradley, when I was a young outside sales guy, I figured out I’d better be able to remember every name of anyone that I met, because otherwise, they might not think I respected them. To tell the truth, I just learned how to do it to be a better closer. So, what are you still doing here this time of the evening, Bradley?

Well, ummm, I had some things I needed to get sorted out for my little office, you know, knick-knacks for my desk, some pictures of my folks, and a picture of my girlfriend. And I am trying to learn all the software so I can write deals better and faster. I’d ask you why you’re still here, but everyone already told me. You’re like a machine that never stops.

"Yeah, I guess I am. So, it would seem that at least a few of the people you’ve met are still calling me the Terminator?"

Bradley suddenly looked very nervous. Is it proper to discuss condescending nicknames with a superior in your company? Especially if those condescending nicknames were about the superior you were talking to?

With obvious discomfort, Bradley replied, Ummm, gee. Well, yes, sir.

Well, kid, I’ll tell you what. I could tell you that I’m here because the west coast is still open for business, but the truth is, I’ve got a ton of work to do based on sorting out some new ventures and opportunities for Alliant. Besides, there’s a ball game tonight.

Mr. Alcott, I didn’t think you were a baseball fan?

Roger smiled. No, my kids’ team. They’re playing tonight, so my wife has them all sorted out. That gives me an extra few hours here at the office.

You don’t go to your kids’ games? asked Bradley, looking puzzled.

Oh, I’ve been to a few of them over the years, but the way I see it, a man has a bigger responsibility to his family. We’ve got to provide for them. We’ve got a beautiful home, my kids go to private school, and we can take great vacations. In return, though, I have to be here, grinding away. Sure, I hear some whining from Chris and Brent—I’ve got twins—but I know they’ll realize when they’re older that they could do all the stuff they wanted because I wasn’t there at the house, like some underemployed loser waiting on them to get home from school.

Roger took another drink from his Diet Pepsi and continued, "You see, Bradley, it took me a few years to realize that in order for me to get ahead, I had to be willing to do the things other guys wouldn’t. When they were closing down their computer at 4:30 p.m. on a Friday and goofing off until it was time to leave, I was still grinding.

"Six, seven, even eight o’clock at night. Saturday mornings, sitting in here checking on deliveries, stopping in Sunday mornings to check on my schedules for the next week. It’s easier now with technology, but those actions I took? They were the reasons I’ve been successful.

I out-worked the other guys. When the kids were born, I was able to slack off a little bit, but I was so used to working, I just kept on. In the end, that hard work allows me to provide a level of comfort for my family and myself that I couldn’t if I wasn’t busting my ass seventy or eighty hours a week.

He continued, In the end, I guess I’ve just always figured that being able to give them the things they want is better than me sitting there on my duff watching a Little League game. Riding in their mother’s Range Rover is a helluva lot cooler than sitting in some crummy minivan like all the other moms.

Bradley smiled and agreed, Yes, sir. I hated when Mom would pick me up from school in her Grand Caravan. I guess you’re right. Well, Mr. Alcott …

Please, just call me Roger.

Uh, yessir, said Bradley, obviously a little skeptical of this newfound freedom. Well, Roger, sorry to have disturbed your break. I’d better get back and get finished up. I’m supposed to be meeting Elaine—that’s my girlfriend—at the Buckhead Diner here in about forty-five minutes.

Goodnight then, Bradley, enjoy your meal. Great restaurant. I’ve only got another hour or so too. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Bradley Stevens returned to his office and looked around. He watched one last training video mindlessly—something about tips and tricks for booking out backhauls—and then stuffed his notes and manuals into his attaché case.

As he walked out of the office of Alliant Logistics, he chanced to look back to the third floor, the sales floor, and in the late evening light, he could vaguely make out the form of Roger Alcott pacing in his office, the only office with a light still on. Roger’s body language suggested he was talking on the phone.

He got behind the wheel of his little Honda Civic and had to wonder about the conversation with Roger. What drove a man to have a family that he hardly ever saw? Why claw and fight your way to the top of the heap with a company like Alliant only not to be the one who was enjoying the fruits of your own labor?

It really must suck to be Mr. Alcott, he said to the dashboard. And with that, he put the little Honda in gear and drove out to meet Elaine for dinner.

Chapter Two

The faults of the burglar are the qualities of the financier.

—George Bernard Shaw

Roger awoke with a start the next morning with the weird feeling that something was wrong. He mentally ticked off the usual worries—no potential Alliant problems, his wife and kids were home, and the security systems still flashed the all clear message on the keyboard on the wall of the master bedroom.

He looked at the clock, 6:34 a.m., and on a Saturday morning, his mental alarm clock would be going off in another twenty minutes.

So, what the hell had woken him up?

He listened and heard nothing in the house, but he could hear muffled voices outside and the faint sound of a powerful motor.

Shrugging into an old pair of pants and a t-shirt, Roger peeked out the window in the bathroom and could see two police officers walking through the neighbor’s yard. The O’Bannions had moved out six months ago, and the house had been quietly languishing, empty and for sale since then. He quickly moved to his closet, slipped on an old pair of shoes, and stepped out the back door where he hailed the one officer he spied.

Morning, officer. I’m Roger Alcott. What’s going on?

The cop, Roger could now see he was actually a deputy, turned to the sound of Roger’s voice, obviously identified him as not being a threat, and walked over.

Morning, sir. I’m guessing you’re the owner of this home? he asked, indicating Roger’s house.

Roger nodded, and the deputy continued, Neighborhood Watch saw the front door on your neighbor’s house was open about 5:15 this morning. We got here about half an hour ago and are writing it up as a criminal mischief call. Doesn’t look like there’s anything in the house to take.

Yes, sir, Roger said, the O’Bannions lived there until about six months ago. Couple went through a nasty divorce, and the court ordered them to sell the house. I think the ex-wife stayed local, but the husband went back to Ohio or somewhere in the Midwest. They had more than a few nasty fights in the front yard about who was going to keep what, but I thought the house was empty.

Got it, said the deputy, writing notes on a little pad of paper. Did you guys hear anything this morning? Car? Car door? Anyone talking?

Nope, I slept like a baby. I fell asleep about two o’clock after checking on some deliveries my company was handling today, but I never heard anything.

Still writing, the young officer asked Roger, So, do you know anything about the previous owners?

Fairly typical for the neighborhood. Steve made pretty good money, and his wife spent it just as easily. I really think he was married to his job more than he was married to Michelle, but I never heard anything bad about their marriage or their relationship.

Roger added, Actually, I think Michelle just got fed up with Steve never being home. Lord knows her taste was expensive, and the man was constantly buying her things. I haven’t been in the house in a couple of years, but it was always decorated perfectly and clean enough to eat off the floor. I guess they still haven’t been able to sell it, but sooner or later, I’m sure they will.

The deputy, Roger could see his nametag now, Deputy Jenkins, thought for a minute and asked, So, did the wife handle the cleaning? Did she have someone to clean house? Maybe a housekeeper who might still have a key?

He thought a second, shook his head, and said, You know, I’m sure they did, but I would never have been home when they would have been there. I know Steve loved to work in his yard on the weekends. The man would be out here all day either Saturday or Sunday, cutting, edging, pulling weeds, planting, you name it. My wife might remember, so when she wakes up, I’ll see if she knows.

Just then, Susan stepped out of the garage in a bathrobe, wearing a puzzled look that just as quickly turned to worry. Roger, honey, what’s going on?

Well, looks like someone broke into the O’Bannion’s house last night, and Deputy Jenkins was just asking about …

Susan’s face contorted into a fearful grimace. Oh, my God! How’d they get in the neighborhood? How’d they get past the security guard and the gate? Do you think they’ll try to break into our house? My kids are asleep fifty feet from here!

Roger glanced at the deputy with a look on his face that said it all. Oh boy, now we’ve gone and done it. They’ll be no living with her now.

Deputy Jenkins’ face had the same look. Ma’am, I wouldn’t be too worried about this type of crime. Most likely, it was just neighborhood kids, but we’re going to look into any help that the— he stopped mid-sentence and looked down at his notepad—the O’Bannions might’ve hired and make sure it wasn’t some kind of organized robbery.

Susan abruptly cut him off. "I doubt any of the kids in this neighborhood would dare do such a thing as break into a home. This isn’t the ghetto; this is a wonderful subdivision with very good people living in it."

Roger knew where this was going, so he tried to save Deputy Jenkins. Honey, as I was saying to Deputy Jenkins a minute ago, do you remember the name of the housekeepers that Michelle and Steve used?

Still upset, Susan scrunched up her face in deep thought and said, "I think it was Honey-something. Honeywell? Honeyworth? I’m sure they’re in the phone book. I still see their little vans around town."

Deputy Jenkins jotted this new morsel of information down and then addressed Susan. Ma’am, did you hear anything last night? Maybe some muffled voices or a car door closing?

She shook her head. No, sir. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out, and that was about … eleven? Maybe 11:30?

The deputy made another note, then asked Susan about the O’Bannions.

Oh, they were a wonderful couple. Great neighbors, although Steve was hardly ever there. He worked at least as much as Roger does, but Michelle just couldn’t seem to get used to the fact that a man has to work hard to provide for his family and himself.

Roger nodded his head. I think Steve just couldn’t ever quite work hard enough to make it all work. He wanted to keep up with the Jones’, but I don’t think he had the discipline he needed to make it. He was a hard charger, but he would just as quickly interrupt his day to come home and see Michelle for lunch as he would go work on the accounts he had for the company.

And what was his business? interrupted the deputy.

Oh, he was a mortgage banker with First Atlanta. Steve and I used to talk when I’d see him out in the yard once in a while. I think he was just missing that killer instinct that he needed to create the life he and Michelle wanted.

Roger thought for a second and then added, If the poor guy would’ve had a little more commitment, I bet he’d have saved the whole thing. His career, his marriage, the works. As it was, I guess he just wasn’t focused enough.

Jenkins nodded, wrote a few more lines in his notebook, and then turned to the Alcotts. I think that’s all I need. My partner will be over here in a second to give you a case number for this incident. It’ll be on one of our business cards, so you’ll have a direct number for one of us. If you think of anything else, contractors who did work for the O’Bannions, delivery people, even door-to-door salespeople that might’ve been in the neighborhood recently, please let us know.

Jenkins turned to Susan. "And, ma’am, I wouldn’t worry too much about this. I know your kids are right there in the house, but in my experience, these types of crimes are only ever done when the houses are empty. It’s a big jump in the jail sentence from breaking into an empty home versus forced entry into an occupied house. We’ll probably have an extra unit or two ride through in the next few nights, and your neighborhood security