LITMIR.BIZ

      But before we begin our journey together, there is something I think you ought to know …

      Prologue

      It's November 2012 and even though I am standing at the back of the ballroom of the Grosvenor House Hotel, London, it's clear for all to see he's larger than life. I can't believe he's here. I've been waiting for this moment for ten years. I've dreamt about it, and even had nightmares. This is my chance.

      I scan the environment. I'm weighing up my options. On the stage is the diminutive comedian Ruby Wax. The stage is flanked on both sides by four US Secret Service agents in their pristine black suits. I chuckle to myself. I can't help thinking that this looks like a scene from a Hollywood blockbuster.

      ‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ My momentary lapse of concentration is broken by Ruby Wax's nasal accent. ‘Please welcome to the stage the former President of the United States of America, Bill Clinton.’

      The 300-strong audience rises to its feet, applauding enthusiastically. But I'm not one of them. My mind is on more important things. Don't get me wrong – I admire Bill Clinton's humanitarian work, but this is my chance to end something that began ten years earlier. If I take my chance, this will be the end of an era.

      I take a deep breath to calm my nerves but my self-talk is in overdrive …

      ‘Maybe I should just go home to Beckie and forget this whole thing?’ But I quickly chastise myself for even thinking it. ‘No, Andy – you've planned for this moment far too long to back out now!’

      I'm staring, focused on one guest of honour at the top table, and I resolve that this is the day to do it. All eyes and ears are with Clinton. But not mine.

      My mind wanders back to 11 years earlier at the law courts of the Old Bailey in London, where this all started.

      Chapter 1

      Pain into Gain

      It's November 2001. I'm sitting in the viewing gallery of Court No. 4, and if you were sitting next to me you would have been looking down on the old wooden panels and the officious-looking people wearing capes and wigs. I can't help but feel intimidated by the gravitas of the room.

      As I look down on the accused, the relative safety of the gallery is shattered as he looks up at us and secretly makes a cut-throat gesture that sends a shiver down my spine.

      In the dock is a small, boyish-looking girl in her early 20s with short, dark hair giving evidence. Her chin is on her chest. She's just been cross-examined and it's not gone well. After a few moments that seem like eternity, her own counsel asks her one final question.

      ‘Is there anything you would like to add yourself?’

      The young girl grips the rail tighter. She's visibly shaking but there is a determined steeliness to her voice. She looks up and addresses the accused directly.

      ‘I'm going to say something to you now that I didn't have the courage to say before.’ There is a hushed silence in the courtroom.

      ‘NO!

      ‘No longer am I going to believe it was my fault, no longer am I going to keep your secret. It's over. It doesn't matter what the verdict is – the truth is out.’

      We hadn't been together for long but she had confided in me and this is where it had taken us. Over the next few days the case swung one way and then the other, depending on who was giving evidence. I cannot even begin to imagine how tough it must have been for her to wait for the outcome, but come it did.

      ‘Would the foreman please rise?’ asked the clerk of the court in an overly officious voice. ‘Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?’

      I looked up to the gods. ‘Please don't let the last few years of struggle be for nothing.’

      The verdict came: ‘Guilty.’

      The wave of relief was overwhelming; my legs were still shaking as the adrenaline slowly started to leave my body.

      But let me ask you this: have you ever struggled for something for so long and finally succeeded and reached the summit? Only for you to realize it's not the summit, and that there's a whole new mountain to climb?

      That's what happened to us.

      Over the next few weeks she became withdrawn and unresponsive. She would sit for hours on end staring up at the ceiling, not talking, just staring into space. She barely ate anything and I was freaking out, not knowing what to do. At this point I was running a successful recruitment company that was doing really well and had generated revenue of £21,000,000. But all the money in the world didn't help, because I didn't know what to do with it!

      Out of desperation I checked her into the Priory, a mental health hospital. I was all out of ideas.

      I remember looking at the consultant, hoping he had a magic answer. ‘Mr Harrington, she is clinically depressed. We are going to give her some tablets to restore her chemical imbalance. She will need to be admitted.’

      I think I knew intrinsically that tablets were not the answer – but frankly, at this point, I was willing to try anything.

      Fast-forward six weeks and although she has now started speaking again, she was also trashing her room on a regular basis, smoking and in one almighty mess. It was beginning to dawn on me just how lost we both were.

      A Ray of Hope

      One night, after visiting her in hospital, I came home and slumped down on the couch. I switched on late-night TV and surfed through the channels, hoping to find something to occupy my mind so I could drift off to sleep.

      After a few moments I am glued to the TV screen, I'm feeling a tinge of hope. It was an infomercial by Tony Robbins, the American motivational guru. His message was clear: you can master your own destiny. I hear of his work with celebrities like Andre Agassi, but also ordinary people who have attended his events and had life-changing breakthroughs in their businesses and their private lives. People who had been stuck for years had seemingly magically transformed their circumstances. They seemed like genuine people, too – not weird or funky, but solid, dependable types.

      I'm naturally sceptical as I call the freephone number.

      ‘Thank you for calling the Anthony Robbins Companies. Marshonda Henderson here, how may I assist you?’

      Marshonda's incredible gift of the gab convinces me to enrol in the Mastery University programme, which is tens of thousands of dollars'-worth of investment.

      ‘What have I got to lose?’ I ask myself, and resolve – against all medical advice – to check her out of the Priory Hospital.

      A few weeks later, if you had travelled with us, you would have flown to the Orange County Convention Centre in Florida. We had front row seats at Robbins'

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