By: Omar Flores & Omero Flores

Teammates

THE J. FLORES COMPANY

As I nervously drove up to my childhood home, searching for the right words, my father approached me. Lines of worry were deeply etched into his 75-year-old face. He had been observing as we sold off assets and shut down offices. It had been 22 years since he last worked, and he was well aware of his age, too old to be considered for employment anywhere. He asked if he should brace himself for a drastic change in lifestyle. He contemplated selling goods at a flea market and was even willing to relocate to San Antonio, if necessary, to evade the shame of our failure.

For the first time in my life, I stood there, paralyzed, unable to find the right words to explain our predicament to my father. Eventually, he just walked away, leaving me to grapple with the consequences of my decisions and the crumbling business we had so painstakingly built.

Why was this happening??? This question plagued my mind, gnawing at me incessantly. Why? Why were we being punished after years of hard work and sacrifice? Why was the universe conspiring against us, pulling the rug out from under our feet just as we had started to find our footing? We had given our all to this business, dedicating countless hours and pouring our hearts into it. And yet, it felt like everything was falling apart, slipping through our fingers like sand.

My father’s story

In order to explain what my father felt, I have to trace it back to the origins of his story. As a young boy, he undertook a perilous journey, crossing the Mexican border illegally in search of a brighter future. He traveled with his mother, his younger brother Pancho, and his sister Lidia. Their existence must have resembled the lives of the children you might encounter on the streets of a developing country, hawking chewing gum and trinkets under the vigilant supervision of their mother. This was their humble beginning.

Their pursuit of a better life left them no choice but to embrace relentless labor. As the eldest male child, my father naturally slipped into the role of protector and provider. He toiled away at odd jobs, from shining shoes and collecting cans to working in the fields—anything that would contribute to their survival.

Throughout our childhood, my brother and I had limited insight into our father’s past. He was a man of few words who largely kept to himself about his childhood. If you met him, you would likely find him open and jovial, a persona he had perfected during his years in sales. Yet when it came to his personal life, he remained a closed book.

The story I’m about to share is a patchwork of fragments, pieced together from rare moments over the years when he’d let his guard down. One particular incident stands out, something that occurred very early in his life and that, I believe, profoundly shaped the man he became. As I’ve mentioned, my father worked tirelessly, as did his mother in her role as a housekeeper. Their minimal earnings were what kept the family afloat.

One day, when I was around 22 or 23, we were sitting in a doctor’s office. As we waited, my dad’s attention was caught by an old magazine ad featuring Pancho Pantera, a brand of chocolate milk popular in Mexico similar to Quik. Seeing that advertisement sparked a memory, prompting him to share a story from his childhood, an unusual occurrence for my typically reserved father.

He began to reminisce about how Sundays were a special day for him and his siblings. It was the only day of the week when he didn’t have to work. Every Sunday, as far back as he could remember, his mom would buy them a “mollete dulce”, a type of Mexican bread that has a bit of butter and sugar on top. She would divide it into three pieces, and each child would get one.

He was probably about seven years old at the time. They each had little plastic cups into which they would pour a generous serving of Pancho Pantera chocolate milk. That advertisement had triggered these sweet memories, and for a few moments, he opened up to me, and he spoke fondly about how on Sundays, they had the liberty to be kids and play. Seeing my dad light up like that, brimming with childlike excitement, was a rare sight. As he recounted these memories, his eyes sparkled with the same excitement a child would exhibit while narrating their playtime adventures.

Then, as he continued his story about the “mollete” his mood got darker as he recalled the memory of a particular Sunday. It was the first time each of them had their own “mollete” — one for him, one for his brother, and one for his sister. He seldom shared personal stories. But that day, he was living through his past, reliving each moment in vivid detail. It was as if I was seeing a side of him I never knew existed.

He recounted how that particular Sunday would always live in his memory. After they had eaten their “molletes,” his mom gathered them, and they began walking down the street. Their destination? A monastery for nuns. Upon arrival, he, his little brother, and his sister continued to play. I was sitting there in the doctor’s office, engrossed in his narration, when all of a sudden, I noticed a shift in my dad’s facial expression. His eyes, once shining with joy, were now staring blankly into the distance, tears streaming down his face. I had never seen my dad cry before. This was not just a few tears trickling down; it was uncontrollable sobbing. We were in a crowded waiting room, people all around us, and I was desperately trying to figure out what had triggered this sudden emotional breakdown. He couldn’t articulate his words, but as he tried, I began to understand the story he was trying to tell.

He was reliving the heart-wrenching memory of when they had to leave his little brother and sister at the monastery because they couldn’t afford to take care of them anymore. The weight of the guilt he carried was immense. He blamed himself because he hadn’t earned enough money to keep his little brother and sister with them. His grief stemmed from the fact that he never wanted anyone to experience the pain and sorrow that he had felt on that fateful day.

Already as a child of seven or eight, my father carried an unimaginable burden. I have a son who’s now eleven, and it’s inconceivable to think of someone so young shouldering such responsibility. But I believe this was one of the experiences that fueled my father’s drive. He never wanted to relive that painful moment, and from then on, he worked relentlessly, always striving to stay ahead.

His life didn’t get much easier. He spent his days working in the fields where his mother dropped him off each morning. During the periods of the year, like harvesting season, when he had to sleep on the farms, he even had to worry about things like hiding a knife under his pillow to protect himself from the older men.

He couldn’t attend public school because of his undocumented status but got a break from another group of nuns who ran a private school. They knew of his situation and let him attend without charging any tuition. His mother would help clean the place up in return. I seldom talk about this, but there’s another incident that had a profound influence on him.

Once, he shared a story about his time at the school. When you’re dirt-poor and pretty much known as an orphan, it’s a tough situation to navigate. He found a pair of nice shoes in the trash that someone had discarded. The soles were pretty worn out. But in his youthful optimism, he thought that if he tore off the worn-out soles and walked carefully, no one would notice. He did just that, and it turned into a deeply embarrassing situation at school. The other kids found out, and, as kids do, they made fun of him for essentially wearing shoes without soles. I believe it was experiences like these that molded him into the man he became and spurred him on in his relentless pursuit of a better life.

As he advanced in his career, he found himself drawn to sales. Through the late 60s and early 70s, he honed his skills as a floor salesman in a local electronics store. His talent didn’t go unnoticed even by big-name companies. They must have started to see that a Spanish speaker who excelled in sales was an asset. I also imagine he must have felt a huge sense of accomplishment knowing that.

A beginning

In those days, when you needed to buy a TV, you’d go to a mom- and-pop shop, and if it needed fixing, you’d have to return to the store you bought it from. My father asked: “What if there was a repair shop that would fix it no matter where you bought it?”

By 1974, my father had successfully launched his business. Growing up, our father was a constant worker. He was seldom around, but somehow we never felt deprived of his presence, and he made sure that we never wanted for anything. During the little time he had with us, he made sure it was meaningful.

At the time, I didn’t understand what he was trying to do. But he would impart some serious life lessons on us. “Don’t ever trust anybody in this world. Nobody. If we’re ever at war, don’t turn your back on me.” I had no clue what he meant then. “Mistrust people, be cautious,” “Keep your business to yourself,” “Always pay cash.” Despite his cynical outlook on life, his heart was always filled with compassion, and his values were centered on caring for others.

Not long after us graduating from high school, my father fell seriously ill. Like many small business owners, he had pushed himself to the brink for the sake of the family. The result was that he became incapacitated, unable to move or communicate.

There was no way around it my brother and I had to find a way to keep the company afloat. My brother was 20, and I was still in my teens. The only thing I knew was that we had to ensure people got paid on Friday. That was the extent of our knowledge of our father’s business. We tried to decipher his business operations based on our recollections of accompanying him to banks, visiting various stores, and observing his collections process. He had a box at home where he kept everything organized and a small card file with names. We began scrutinizing everything, studying his notes, attempting to comprehend his shorthand.

That week felt like it stretched into infinity. Somehow we managed to assemble the payroll and ensured everyone was paid. It felt like an incredible feat, but in an instant, it was Monday again, and we had to restart the whole process. It was like emerging from a nightmare only to discover you’re still trapped within it. The second week was no easier, nor was the third. It was an endless cycle of weeks flowing by. For years, we lived with the anxiety that we might not make it to the next week.

I took up station at the same desk my dad had once occupied. Stretched between two filing cabinets, a piece of plywood covered with stacks of paper, bills, and envelopes served as the desk. Sitting there, a surge of emotion overwhelmed me. I was occupying the same space my father had, mere feet away from where I used to impatiently wait outside, bitterly complaining about his perceived selfishness. Now, I was navigating through his personal hell. All those instances where he picked us up late from school, the countless errands he ran with us in tow, even the moments spent in the sweltering car outside his office, now my office. I was awestruck by the enormity of pressure and stress one person would willingly endure for their loved ones.

The relentless nightmare persisted; it didn’t abate. Fast forward three years, and I was about 21 or 22. I remember carrying a persistent knot in my throat, an ever-present sense of dread. It was my companion as I drifted off to sleep, and it greeted me as I awoke. It clung to me every hour of the day, seven days a week. Tears often streaked my face each morning upon waking. I yearned for an end to it all. My dad had recovered by then, but we refrained from reintegrating him into the business, knowing it was a slow poison to him. I lacked the courage to admit to him that I no longer wanted to carry on because that would mean he’d have to step back into the fray.

Struggling

One day, my brother approached me with a suggestion. He recommended that I read a book. In my entire life, I had never read a book — not in high school, not anywhere. However, I decided to take his advice and read the suggested book, ‘Rich Dad Poor Dad.’ The book prompted me to read another and then another until a cascade of knowledge opened up before us. We quickly grasped that acquiring knowledge is akin to embarking on a journey. Reading books is like walking to your destination, attending seminars is like driving there, and finding a mentor is akin to flying. We determined that we needed to go to seminars and find mentors, individuals who could guide us and invest their knowledge in us. This became a cornerstone of our belief system.

Fast forward to 2008. My brother and I had made money in several different sectors, such as real estate, land development, the stock market, and precious metals, and all our earnings from our side businesses were put back into our father’s business to keep it afloat. It had been evident for years to anyone that we should have closed down the original business. Still, it was like attempting to bite off your own tongue; we just couldn’t bring ourselves to do it. I think it was a mix of pride and the fact that it was my father’s legacy.

We were, therefore, turned to anything that would help us find the magic bullet that would help us sustain the business. This search led to two events that fueled a rage so potent within me that it consumed every bit of me for years to come.

The first event took place at a global seminar in Arizona, attended by intelligent people from around the world. We were confident in our ability to hold our own in any conversation. We were well-rounded, well-read, and it was right after the aftermath of 2008. Many attendees were discussing the future, speculating about what was going to happen and where the opportunities lay.

At the after-party, we found ourselves on the outskirts of a circle of people. My brother and I tried to nudge our way in, but one influential individual, a wealthy man, locked eyes with my brother. He began collecting plates from everyone around him and handed them to my brother. In his world, there was no other reason for two Latino boys to be there except if it was to help clean up. It wasn’t overtly racist; he was just immersed in his own worldview, and in that perspective, that was our role. He might not have realized it, but everyone else did. The embarrassment was intense.

I was silenced by the humiliation. To be looked upon and know that no matter how hard I worked, no matter how much I read, no matter how much I knew, I was always going to be seen as just a Latino. For my brother, it was no big deal. He shrugged it off with a laugh. For me, that realization cut me deep.

This incident, along with others of the same sort, filled me with a seething internal rage. At that moment, it was like a bomb went off inside me. I found a new clarity about what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to build the biggest business I could as a form of retaliation. I wanted to leave a mark. I wanted to carve a path across the earth, and when people would ask: ‘How did you do it?’ I would know exactly what to say to them: “Because of a WB.”

Drive

That drove me. I lost interest in real estate, stocks, and precious metals. I wanted to learn everything about business. In my mind, I needed to become the best businessperson in the world. And that’s exactly what I set out to do.

When I returned from that seminar, and I cast everything aside to dive headfirst into business. I sacrificed my social life, my weekends, everything. While others were out at the movies or drinking, I was at home, reading and honing my skills in every spare minute I had. During this period, I got married and had a child, but I was scarcely present for either. Despite our efforts, we could never make a breakthrough. Every year, our revenue hovered around $900,000 to $1,000,000. Invariably, there would be some setbacks.

My brother Omar is just a year older than me, and we have been inseparable since childhood. One day, we were in our office building, and he said to me: “Hey, bro… I want to see if I can skip lunch from now on and leave a bit early every other day. I want to spend some time with my kids. They’re growing up, and I want to pick them up from school.”

Omar’s shift in focus sent me into a panic. I realized time was slipping away from us. Everything we wanted to achieve seemed to be falling through our fingers as time caught up with us. This realization only drove me to make more aggressive moves, behave more assertively, and push even harder.

Success

Around this time, a gentleman entered our office during one of our ambitious Friday company meetings. Intrigued by our discussions, he wanted to meet with us after hearing us speak.

The man had arrived in a decrepit pickup truck that seemed barely roadworthy. According to him, his air conditioning company had been a remarkable success, starting from a garage and eventually reaching a turnover of $35 million. He narrated the whole saga of its rise and fall. There wasn’t much reason to believe his claims, but as was my habit, I decided to verify his story online. The company did exist and had indeed seen success. However, they had run into legal trouble.

This discovery sparked a heated debate in my family. They wanted no part in this venture but propelled by a blend of ego, anger, and a growing fear of time running out, I was resolute in my decision, and he started growing our sales team. He was good.

At first, it was just him. Then, he brought in another person, and they would huddle together, strategizing their daily tasks. We observed them from a distance. Gradually, two turned into three, and before we knew it, they had attracted a crowd. That crowd continued to grow. They began to occupy more space in the office, the lower level of the building, and even the parking lot. Our revenues grew from 1 million to 2 million, then to 3 and 4 million.

We began hosting lavish quarterly meetings, renting out venues, flying in motivational speakers, inviting vendors, and showcasing our progress through charts. We compared our current position with our humble beginnings, using Apple as an inspirational reference, and outlined our future ambitions. Our air conditioning business, once considered the company’s laughing stock, now accounted for 95% of our total business, completely overshadowing my father’s business.

At this stage, we were financing 99% of all our air conditioning sales. However, only 2 out of every 10 customers had good credit, and we knew we were missing out on 80% of the market. Reflecting on the knowledge we had acquired, we devised a plan to find default insurance that we could purchase for customers with higher credit risk, thus making it attractive for investors to buy our contracts.

With the plan in place, all we needed was to approach an insurance company, but everyone brushed us off. They were utterly perplexed because this concept was unheard of on such a small scale. Despite making countless calls and enduring repeated rejections, it seemed like we were hitting a brick wall. They kept insisting, “You’re out of your depth,” and “That’s not a thing.” I knew what we were proposing was viable, even though I felt like I was buried deep in Google search results, endlessly scrolling, dialing, and getting nowhere.

Moonshots

Still, it pays off to work hard. After a long and winding road, we ended up getting a meeting with the CEO of Redstone. Upon arrival at their offices, we stepped into a vibrant space filled with rows of individuals engrossed in their monitors, engaged in phone conversations, and the buzz of the place was palpable. We were escorted to a glass-encased conference room situated in the heart of the action. As we commenced our presentation, I started to outline our business plan as I had practiced for days on end in the hopes of getting a meeting like this one.

As soon as he comprehended the crux of my discourse, he was able to anticipate the remainder and interrupted me by saying: “What else?”. It was a humbling experience, to put it mildly. After fast-paced, intricate discussions, we managed to walk out of the meeting with a letter of intent for $60 million. On that same day, we got another promise of $10- $15 million from Flexport Capital.

After an exhilarating day, we went out for dinner, ready to indulge in one of the most expensive steaks we had ever eaten. Over dinner, Omar turned to me and said, “Hey, dude, it’s unfolding exactly as you predicted. I don’t know how you do it. Everything you described, from negotiating with hedge funds to orchestrating all of this just as you envisioned.” To his remark, all I could respond with was an overconfident, “I know. This is nothing.” Looking back, that exchange is one I deeply regret. Rather than celebrating our collective triumph, I arrogantly hogged all the credit.

Crossroads

Fast forward to July 2018, Omar and I walked into one of our sales offices, where we were met by a secretary we hadn’t directly worked with. She explained, “Yeah, it’s just my time. My sister has an awesome opportunity, and I’m going to join her.” I didn’t give her announcement much thought, but Omar did and stayed behind. After about 5 minutes, he came out and said, “Guys, we need to go back inside. Something’s off.” Confused, I asked him what he meant. He couldn’t quite articulate it, but he had an uneasy feeling. We returned inside and started talking to the secretary, who, by that point, was visibly nervous and kept her conversation brief and vague.

At the rear of the office, we could hear our sales director’s booming laughter filtering into the space we were sitting. He was the same person who had once arrived in a beat-up pickup truck and the one who had been the result of building our incredible sales results.

We had recently promoted someone to an HR role and decided to consult with this new HR manager. As we began to recount the strange interaction we had with the secretary, we were abruptly interrupted, and she said: “I already know what’s happening.”

She then started to describe the sales director’s interactions with women in the office after hours. She asked, “Don’t you remember so-and- so?” She listed several names, all women, who had left the company. “That’s why they’re not here anymore,” she stated matter-of-factly.

This revelation brought everything to a grinding halt. Back then, I didn’t have a daughter as I do now. The only woman I could think of was my mother. The thought of someone treating my mother the way this sales director had treated those women was too much to bear.

My brother Omar and I stepped outside. Despite the sweltering heat of July, I felt a chill run down my spine. I stood there, trembling, my body convulsing with shock and wrestling with what to do next. The architect of our well-oiled sales machine, the man who had helped build a company that efficiently churned out products, was also the same man who had exploited women in the most abhorrent way.

We could have confronted him, demanded he stop his behavior, and likely, no one would have said a thing. But deep within, I knew that if we turned a blind eye, we would cross a moral line we could never step back from, so Omar and I made a tough decision. That very afternoon, we drove to the sales office and confronted him. Without resistance, he collected his things and left the office.

The aftermath was brutal. We witnessed our once-flourishing company crumble before our very eyes. Our workforce shrunk from a robust 80 to a meager 18 within three months. As we exposed the rot at the heart of our organization, it seemed that those who had thrived under such corrupt leadership scattered like roaches under a harsh light. We tried to steady the ship, but it was as if we were grasping at sand – everything slipped through our fingers.

Crash

The descent into financial chaos followed rapidly thereafter. Foreclosure notices started piling up, and banks grew impatient. Frantic, I brokered deals to offload properties we owned. We sold off an office in McAllen, a building that held a special place in my heart. It was the first property my father and I had ever bought together. As a teenager, I sat with him and watched him sign the papers with gleaming pride. Back then, it was a triumphant milestone. Now, it was just another casualty in our desperate scramble for liquidity. One by one, we let go of our properties and buildings, even our vehicles. Each time a vehicle was sold, it brought a temporary sense of relief – we could afford to make payroll a little longer. One of the hardest moments was letting go of one of our first technicians, a man I’d known since childhood, but our situation left no room for sentiment.

This is where I started my story. My father braced for the worst and worried that he might have to go back to the misery he had grown up in.

Just months prior to this upheaval, my brother had sold his house, planning to build a new one with his wife. They were temporarily residing in a rental, dreaming of the day they would move into their newly built home. Those dreams were now ashes in the wind. In my desperate state, my thoughts turned to the money from my brother’s house sale. Perhaps I could borrow it to keep our sinking ship afloat a bit longer…

I found myself sharing a desk with Joe, one of the many individuals I had steamrolled on my ascent to power. Now, we were equals, making desperate phone calls side by side, fighting to keep our heads above the water. By this point, November had descended, and the biting chill of winter was setting in.

Brotherhood

The dreary weather outside was a mirror of my inner turmoil – cold, desolate, and stormy. I was in a state of morbid anticipation, awaiting the inevitable downfall. I remember one particular Saturday morning when I accompanied my brother on an installation job. He picked me up in the wee hours of the morning, a flicker of hope dancing in his eyes. He turned to me, his voice ringing with conviction, “We’re gonna make it, man. We’ve done it before. We’ll do it again.” But the circumstances had changed dramatically since the first time. We were now ensnared in the throes of millions of dollars of debt. He was oblivious to this detail, and I didn’t have the heart to shatter his optimism. I met his hopeful gaze and echoed his words, “Yeah, man. I know.”

Our financial condition was alarmingly precarious, leading to our employees’ checks bouncing back. The staff lived in constant trepidation, rushing to cash their checks at the earliest opportunity, dreading the moment when the funds would dry up. There were establishments that flatly refused to accept our checks.

Amidst this chaos, there was Bob, who had willingly accepted a pay cut, relinquished his hard-earned commissions, and was commuting long distances to the office every single day. His unflinching commitment in the face of such adversity was profoundly moving. Despite the dwindling resources, despite the uncertainty surrounding his pay, Bob was a steady presence in the office. He tirelessly made phone calls, resolved customer queries, and upheld his duties with remarkable resilience. I was at a loss to understand his motivation. Why was he subjecting himself to such duress? Yet, his unwavering loyalty lent me a sense of solace. For the first time, I felt the warmth and support I’d only felt from my brother. His silent solidarity seemed to whisper, “Don’t worry, I got you.” I never voiced this to him, but at that moment, I knew that I wanted to inspire the same sense of reassurance in someone else, just as Bob had done for me.

I had spent my entire professional journey with a single-minded focus on ascending to the top. Now, for the first time, I was beginning to grasp the true essence of “we.” We were confronted with what seemed like an insurmountable challenge, yet everyone around me was pouring their heart and soul into their efforts. I was ready to throw in the towel, but they were not. They relentlessly pushed forward, striving to keep the ship afloat. January yielded to February, and we managed to make small sales here and there, just enough to keep going. Despite the persistent issue of bouncing checks, everyone showed up, their spirits inexplicably buoyant. Gradually, our somber, silent office began to resonate with muffled chuckles, then laughter, and eventually a pervading sense of camaraderie. I found myself witnessing the forging of unbreakable bonds between teammates, a camaraderie born of shared struggle. This collective resilience was drawing us closer together, imbuing us with a newfound sense of hope and determination.

New beginnings

Turned out the universe wasn’t against us. Rather, it had been guiding us through a crucial learning process. It was teaching us that success wasn’t solely about making money or building a business empire. Maybe it was about building a community, a family, a tribe that stands shoulder to shoulder, supporting each other, that earns and learns together.

And so, we started to look at our situation differently. We stopped asking ‘why us?’ and started asking ‘what now?’. We realized that we still had a choice. We could let our circumstances define us, or we could define our circumstances. We could give up and admit defeat, or we could rise from the ashes, stronger and wiser.

With this new perspective, we began to see light at the end of the tunnel. We saw a path forward, not an easy one, but one that was worth walking. We saw a future where we could rebuild our business, not just as a money-making entity, but as a force for good, as a platform for creating shared wealth and fostering a culture of respect, dignity, and mutual support. We saw a future where we could make a real difference, not just in our lives but in the lives of all those associated with us.

And with that vision in mind, we started our journey anew, armed with lessons from the past and hope for the future.