Chapter Twenty - Fake It Till They Break It

CHAPTER TWENTY

Fake It Till They Break It

IF I WERE evil, I wouldn’t lie—I’d perform.

I'd build a production so good, so loud, and so shiny, no one would ever stop to ask if it was real.

Because it wouldn’t matter if it was.

I'd start with the leaderboards.

I wouldn’t publish full numbers. That’d be risky. Too easy to question.
Instead, I’d post partial stats.
Percent to goal.
Ranking by team.
A “top ten” with no context.

No one needs to know what the goals were.
No one needs to know how many rookies flamed out in week two.
We only need to show who's winning.

Even if they aren’t.

Then I'd roll out the stage videos.

If I were evil, I’d film my best guy doing a pitch.
It doesn’t have to close. It just has to look confident.
I'd add subtitles, maybe a little lo-fi hip hop beat, and cut it off right before the customer says “no.”

Post it everywhere.
Instagram. TikTok.
“Look how it’s done.”
"Visualize success."

And when the rookies try to do the same pitch and it doesn’t work?

That’s their fault.
They just need to manifest harder.

If I were evil, I'd create imaginary incentives.

Trips to Cancun.
PS5 giveaways.
Legend dinners with the founders.

But I’d never make the criteria clear.
You qualify when I say you qualify.

And if too many people are close to hitting the bonus?

Change the deadline.
Change the rules.

Or just cancel it quietly and say “we’re focusing on the next big thing.”

Because if I were evil, there would be one golden rule:
Never show the books.

Never show how much the company makes.
Never show how much the reps keep.
Never let them run the math.

Because if they ever do the math,
the spell breaks.

So I’d keep it all under wraps.
I'd bury the truth under dodgeball games, highlight reels, and hard work slogans.

If they ever ask for transparency?

I’d give them a free T-shirt instead.