Ronald Ritchie is the wealthiest individual in the world. He owns 14 multinational conglomerates, a worldwide hotel chain, a TV network, 2 airlines, a cruise ship line, half of Brazil and Argentina, two complete island chains in the Pacific, a 50,000 square mile ranch in Australia, houses in New York, Paris, Rome, Hong Kong, London, Jakarta, Singapore, Rio, and Hawaii. He has 8 Rolls Royces, a Ferrarri, a 250 foot yacht and a blimp.

Ronald Ritchie has a wife, 3 children and 6 grandchildren.

Ronald Ritchie will be 77 years old tomorrow.

What drives the richest, most successful man in the world?

A man obsessed by competition and winning, with control and expansion, with accumulation, ownership and capitalism, with the old fashioned Christian work ethic and finally with fame, wealth and power.

A man who by all accounts has worked 18 hours a day since he was twelve years old. Beginning in grade school with paper routes and lawn mowing, through his high school days selling stereo equipment, in college expanding to computers and pizza franchising. After college came shrewd investments in stocks and precious metals. Then Ronald Ritchie’s fortunes really took off. As a venture capitalist he invested in semiconductors, holography, fiber optics, superconducting, and fusion start-up companies. By the time he was thirty his portfolio included controlling interest in the companies that dominated all the major technological breakthroughs of the final years of the twentieth century.

And when lesser men would have relaxed and smelled the roses, Ronald Ritchie was just shifting into gear. His incredible memory, his organizational skills, his foresight, and drive carried him up to unimagineable heights of power and wealth.

A man who by the age of 36 was a self made billionaire.

A man who on the eve of his 77th birthday is the only trillionaire in history.

What would it be like to be such a man?

Rising every morning precisely at 5:00 am, as he has ever since he left college at the age of 21, Ronald Ritchie shaves while taking a shower. After dressing he has breakfast. Every day of the week, each meal is selected to ensure a balanced diet in every respect. He reads the newspaper while eating. He leaves for work at 6:00 am and is at his desk in front of his array of computers, telephones and fax machines by 6:30 am.

His daily schedule is arranged and coordinated by his personal secretary. Every minute is full. He was once told by one of his financial people that his time was worth 1 million dollars per minute.

Very simply, time was money and money is the score in the symphony of Ronald Ritchie’s life.

He works until 7:00, then meets his wife and some business associates for dinner. Then he and his wife return home. He is in bed and asleep at 11:00.

Organization pervades Ronald Ritchie at every level of his existence.

Every weekend he has a party for selected, important, potentially useful business associates, politicians, actors and scientists. Every three weeks, he spends one week visiting the head offices of some of his companies. Every four months, he coordinates one of these business trip with a one week vacation with his wife at one of his stately mansions throughout the world. Every Christmas all of his children and grandchildren gather together at his home in Manhattan.

And every year his wife throws a birthday party for him, transporting 100 or so of his closest friends to exotic locations all over the world for the celebration. Usually costing well over a quarter of a million dollars, they are beautiful examples of the blending of business, politics, publicity, power and influence in the guise of a birthday party. When asked about the extravagence Ronald’s only comment was: “Well, that’s what friends are for.”

And his corporations, all of his business ventures, his relationship with his wife and children, his attitude toward himself mirrors, reflects and is reflected in each hour, each day, each week, each year of Ronald Ritchie’s life. A life built on machine like precision and control, based on principles of hard work and efficiency and executed to perfection. His undeniable success is a model for all to admire and a stunning testament to his personal beliefs.

What is the secret of his success?

Within his constant, year long, busy schedule of interlocking committments and obligations, Ronald Ritchie has 4 free hours per year. For four hours, no one is allowed to bother him, not his wife or children, not even the President of the United States. For four hours once a year, he is alone with his thoughts. And these four hours occur at the same time every year, from 7 pm to 11 pm on the night before his birthday. Tonite.

He uses these four hours as a time to assess himself. It is his time of thinking, of self congratulation on the past years accomplishments and then as a time of renewel and committment to the next year’s goals. It is time given to thinking about goals. And Ronald has been constantly thinking for his entire life. And his life is a tribute to the clarity and effectiveness of his thinking. From 7 to 11, for four hours, one night a year, Ronald Ritchie thinks about himself.

His traditional procedure on “my sole night” as he calls it, is to pour a snifter of brandy and heat it to 100F. Slightly over body temperature, “not too cold, not too hot” as he would say. Ronald is not much of a drinker. It dulls his thinking. He wouldn’t normally approve of anyone drinking alone. But “sole night” is special, he can do whatever he thinks is appropriate. He can afford to.

Then after a private, solitary toast to himself, he sips a bit of the brandy and reviews the goals he set for himself exactly one year before. One by one he recalls his goals. Invariably he has accomplished them all. After another self toast and sip of brandy, he thinks about what he should accomplish during the next year. The goals he will accomplish with relentless intent. He has never failed. The private goals that build upon and intertwine with each other have made him the wealthiest, most powerful individual in the world.

Sometimes he consults his vast library of reference books to read about what other wealthy, famous people have done at similar stages in their lives. Then he vows to do better, bigger, farther, and more. The clarion call of Ronald Ritchie.

By ten o’clock he has a list of goals. He runs over them in his mind, thinks about them, thinks about ways to combine them, to accomplish them more efficiently. He eliminates any goals that he thinks are unrealistic or impossible to accomplish. His process of thinking had become so refined, so internal, that it has been years since he had even thought of anything that he couldn’t do.

His goals are not easy or simple, in fact if there is one characteristic that runs through them all, it is that they are always precise yet never too restrictive. Over the years he has set goals like: get married (attractive, social graces, useful, not too demanding), have a child (an heir), buy Brazil (well maybe half).

A man of subtle humor, Ronald was quietly amused when he added: “live for one more year” to his list of goals at last year’s “sole night session”. Then at the age of seventy six and a trillionaire, he could afford to have a private joke once in a while.

Then he reviews the next year’s goals and makes a contract with himself. He closes the deal with a glass of champagne, flinging the empty.glass into the fireplace.

He completes the ritual, usually by 10:30. Then Ronald steps outside to gaze at the stars and breathe the night air, fully committed to his new goals and assured of their certain completion over the next year.

He has celebrated his “sole night” for over fifty years. Four hours once a year for fifty years. Two hundred hours of assessment in a life of achievement. For four hours once a year. One night, the same night, every year. From 7 to 11 on the night before his birthday. Sole night. Soul night. Tonite.

What is Ronald Ritchie thinking about tonight?

It is 7pm. Ronald enters the study of his Manhattan penthouse. On the desk is a bottle of Remy Marten VSOP and a bottle of champagne on ice. He fills a brandy snifter and sets it over the candle and looks at his watch. Four minutes. He opens the curtains. The city is below him. Then sits down at his desk.

“Tommorrow I will be seventy seven.” he thinks. He picks up the brandy and feels the temperature. It seems perfect. He toasts the night. He toasts his soul. He takes a sip. He relaxes.

He reviews the goals he set last year. He has done well. He feels the secret pride that powers hims as the brandy reaches his precise brain and warms his body.

He turns his mind to the future and thinks: “what should my goals be?” He thought of Rockefeller, Mellon. “At my age they devoted their time to philathropy. Maybe I should do that now. Maybe it is time to retire. Form a number of charitable foundations. Focus on helping humanity. Yes that would be nice.

He thinks, argues, debates with himself and eventually decides his course of action, his goals for the next year.

He opens the champagne. “I’ve done this every eyar for god knows how long.” He fills his glass. “It’s always the same, just the same. But it works, it is effective. That can’t be denied.” He tells himself. “Yes, incredibly successful.” He laughs silently to himself. “Maybe it’s time for a change. Yes a change.” He toasts himself. Then he throws the glass into the fireplace.

Ronald Ritchie, a thinking man, man of action, of goals and plans, power and wealth, as reliable as a machine in his consistency, precision, efficiency and success. A man of calculation and committment, a man whose word is his contract. A man who accomplishes every goal that he sets out for himself.

Ronald Ritchie walks out onto the balcony and looks up into the night sky. There are no stars above Manhattan, noone has seen stars there since the invention of the electric light bulb. Only the moon and the reflected haze of the city’s lights can be seen. Below him, the glare of the city, the hustle, the bustle, the noise, the confusion, millions of uncertain people. And seeing this Ronald feels a certain pride in his accomplishments.

And as he stands there he is unaware that in fact he has not yet accomplished all of last year’s goals. That one goal remains unfullfilled, an obligation that he has committed to.

So, precisely at 10:34 pm, on the evening before his seventy seventh birthday, on his “sole night”, Ronald Ritchie achieves last year’s final amusing goal and dies.