The Wealthiest Client I Ever Worked With, and How He Taught Me to “Be Careful What You Wish For.”
- Brainz Magazine
- 5 minutes ago
- 6 min read
For nearly 14 years, I've helped individuals navigate the complex landscape of addiction in order to achieve recovery. Nicknamed "The Casual Counselor", my approach is unconventional, but undeniably effective.
From 50 feet away, you could see that this man had some serious coin. He just had that air about him. His clothes, his shoes, his 14kt gold Rolex watch, designer shades, and so on. But it was also in the way that he carried himself. His presence. Confident, cocky, strong willed, impressive. You just knew that this guy had made a fortune for himself.
And so he had.
He had been a financier of some sort on Wall Street, and had worked his butt off to amass a huge fortune of wealth. I mean, a fortune to the degree that he had more money than he could spend in ten lifetimes. His money made money for him. He would never have to work an ordinary job, ever. He drove to the clinic everyday in his Maserati, a gleaming, polished sandy colored masterpiece of automotive engineering.
And his stories!
He had the most incredible stories. He had met US Presidents, Senators, Congresspeople, sharing tables and conversations with them at $10k a plate invite-only dinners for “very important people”. He had met Bill Gates. Steve Jobs. He had hobnobbed with rockstars and Hollywood stars and starlets at super secret parties, many hosted by him. He had rented out entire floors of Vegas Casino Hotels for days-long parties of absolute debauchery and decadence.
He had properties all over the country. Manhattan, The Hamptons, Malibu, and a 1,000 acre ranch somewhere out in the Dakotas when he needed a quiet place to decompress. He had rented private islands and traveled the open seas on luxury yachts, sometimes arriving by helicopter for a week in the sun and the ensuing fun of whatever happens on the decks of yachts.
He was a talented musician, and he actually owned guitars that had been once owned by famous rockstars, bid on at Sotheby’s Auction Houses. We’re talking guitars that you and I have heard ripping solos on mainstream radio stations and The Billboard Charts . His collection amassed something like 50 of the finest instruments ever built by some of the most talented luthiers in the entire world. Vintage art painted by the famous masters hung on the walls of his various properties, each one of the homes guarded by tall gates and security guards.
Wealth? Oh, yeah. He had gone above and beyond what we have been conditioned to believe is the pinnacle of the American Dream – to build an empire. He had built an empire, and he reveled in the stories of all of his wild nights, near misses, brushes with disaster, and prolific excess, with a coy smirk on his face. Truth be told,there was a part of me that envied him. I would have loved to own that Rolex and drive that Maserati and have a home on the cliffs in Malibu and strum a guitar owned by Eric Clapton.
I mean, who wouldn’t?
But when I started really getting to know him, as I was assigned as his primary counselor, I started to get to know the real man. The man behind the stories. The man behind the multiple luxury properties and the wild parties and the really cool stuff, and I learned that he was one of the most empty, sad, and lonely people I have ever encountered in this field, and everyone I encounter, at first, feels empty, sad and lonely. But this guy? This was on a whole other level. He was a veritable shell of a human. An empty husk. It was like his soul had been sucked out of him.
I also soon learned those incredible stories he told? He was a talented storyteller, for sure, but he actually didn’t really remember the details of all of those wild nights. He had been so loaded on drugs and alcohol for so long, that whatever details he could remember were fragmented, at best, and they seemed rather shallow and lacking any real depth when viewed objectively. Fun nights? I suppose. But what good was all that fun he had when he had no real recollection of what had even happened?
He had a lot of nice stuff, he had never ending money, but he had had these objects of wealth for so long, they didn’t even really mean anything to him anymore. How many watches or guitars or even homes can you acquire before it all starts to just get old? In his earlier career, it had all been so exciting and amazing, acquiring all of these one-of-a-kind treasures, but the shine, over time, had eventually dimmed. What did it all amount to now? It was just a collection of nice stuff. But just “stuff”, at the end of the day, no matter how exclusive or rare.
I learned that his large social circle weren’t actually genuine friends. They weren’t trustworthy. They were parasites. Hangers-on. They just wanted a piece of the action. A slice of the pie. A generous host who might shower them with material goods or free drugs and booze. He really had no one who he reported he could actually rely on if he really needed someone to talk to about something important. He was surrounded by people constantly, yet simultaneously alone through all of it.
He had been married many years ago, and he had helped to create two children. They were both now grown, themselves, with families of their own. His wife had long since divorced him, as he had been a terrible husband, a serial adulterer, never present at home, never inviting her to all of his fun trips and VIP events. She was relegated to stay at home to raise the children while he grew his fortune and reveled in the excitement of what it afforded him.
I learned that the one thing he really wanted, in addition to achieving sobriety and recovery, was to reconnect with his grown son and daughter, and meet the grandchildren he had never known. They had no interest in having any contact with him, despite his many attempts at trying to arrange get-togethers with them over several years.
Why? He had been an absent father. Never around. They had barely ever seen him, no less ever knowing him. He had been preoccupied with that never-ending party, which at some point, always seems to end.
Everyone always wants to go to the party. No one ever wants to stick around to help clean up. So it goes when you live that kind of life.
The irony of it all: The one thing he truly wanted, the reconciliation with his long-estranged son and daughter, was the one thing his millions of dollars could not buy. Love, respect, and trust cannot be bought. He had learned this lesson in the hardest of ways.
His story, no matter how glitzy and glamorous, was a tragic one. It was a cautionary tale. He taught me something really important in this American Dream lore: “Be Careful What You Wish For”, because…well, you just might get it. And nothing is free in this life. For all he owned, he had paid a terrible price.
The last time I saw him, he had just about a year of continuous sobriety under his belt, and he seemed committed to keep going. I hope he did. I hope that, maybe one day, he will be able to reconcile the fractured relationship with his kids, and get the opportunity to meet his grandchildren, and start something “new”. I hope this for him, but I also know the outcome is not up to me.
Still, hope is a nice thing to hold onto in this difficult life, and in stories of tragedy like these. Perhaps, just maybe, there are better days ahead for him. More will be revealed, I guess.
Read more from Joshua Bennett-Johnson
Joshua Bennett-Johnson, Licensed Addictions Therapist
After working for 7 years in an amazing clinic, I launched into private practice in 2018. I love my job. I can say that without reservation. Watching people rebuild their lives is something that is worth more than any dollar amount.
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