KEY POINTS:
The Weekend Herald last month attended a free two-hour seminar entitled the Massive Passive Cashflow Generator, conducted by Phil Jones at Richmastery's leased premises in Penrose.
The advertisement for the seminar didn't indicate what it was about but asked the reader to "imagine you could build a passive income stream and never have to work again, golf, shopping, travel ... would all be yours".
Jones, his wife, Corinna and Australian entrepreneur Brad Sugars had taught "literally hundreds of millionaires" and were looking for "a new team to train and make wealthy", the pitch on Jones' company website said.
"Their first foray into the health and well-being industry is sure to be huge." Those attending were asked to invest 2 1/2 hours and then make a decision about their future.
Those who registered received a confirmation congratulating them on doing so but had to wait until 90 minutes into the seminar to learn they were being offered the chance to sell and recruit sellers for a juice called MonaVie.
Jones is aged in his 30s, possessed of a quick smile, a practised delivery and the sort of headset microphone favoured by television evangelists. The seminar had that missionary zeal as if he was conditioning the audience of about 100 - ordinary people, the sort who you might see queuing to buy a Lotto ticket.
MonaVie was referred to only obliquely as "the 69th fastest growing franchise in the world". Jones' message was that fortune favoured those bold enough to seize the chance, and he was there to tell us about an opportunity he and Sugars "voted the No 1 Passive Income Opportunity for Kiwis in 2007 ".
What he was about to reveal was taking people from zero to weekly incomes in the thousands. Hell, a Richmastery employee "he's right here in the building" had made thousands putting in just 15 hours a week, said Jones. "Would that be okay?"
"Yes," the audience chanteed.
"Please stand and give the stranger next to you a high-five."
And barely 10 minutes into the pitch we did.
Jones next sought to establish his credibility. He'd transformed himself through property, he said, from electrician to a Ferrari-driving entrepreneur who is married to a former bikini model and who mixes with Very Important People. In his pitch the Ferrari became a symbol of success and successful behaviour (positiveness, boldness) and he compared it repeatedly to the Toyotas driven by his wage-slave audience.
Jones made it sound as though he'd simply decided to be rich, decided not to be like his carpenter father who'd worked all his life only for failing health to blight his retirement.
"Hands up who doesn't want that?"
Up went a sea of hands.
About now I recalled the comment of an industry source about such marketing. The key was to find a hurt and offer to alleviate it. The hurt here was having to work too hard for too little. Jones, who said he had decided to work a short time, retire a long time, said he transformed $25,000 in 1999 into "a substantial multimillion-dollar portfolio" and two years later positioned himself as a guru. He'd set up Richmastery in 2001, he said, to share and grow his knowledge.
But Jones was shy about providing details of his property assets, refusing to say even how many properties he owned. That was irrelevant, he told the Weekend Herald. His credibility was in the success of Richmastery whose seminars 50,000 people had attended.
At the relevant point photographs appeared on the screen in Richmastery's seminar room of a beaming Jones with some iconic faces Bill Clinton, Richard Branson, Rupert Murdoch, Donald Trump. They were examples, he said, of people who created wealth from small beginnings. Though everyone couldn't be like them, the message was that MonaVie could be our stepping stone.
Testimonials proclaiming sudden improvement to long-term ailments are on Richmastery's website including some from people closely connected to Richmastery.
Jones told us the product was so good it would sell itself but it was clear the modus operandi was to sell it to friends, and at a glance the elaborate eight-page compensation plan on the MonaVie website suggested recruiting other distributors (as Jones seeks to do through his seminars) was the best way to climb the pay scale.
Jones, referring to his paunch, said some might wonder what he's doing prompting a health drink and moved seamlessly on, declaring "I'm a wealth guy not a health guy."
Later the Herald asked why a property investor was promoting a fruit drink?
"I'm an entrepreneur and our company teaches wealth creation and so MonaVie fits within those parameters."
Although in the seminar he'd pitched the product as so good it would sell itself, he was more circumspect during an interview later with the Herald. There were no sure things, he said, but MonaVie had proven itself as "very reliable". He was also coy about what's in it for him, saying MonaVie's head office in the United States had requested questions about the product and compensation plan be referred on. Pressed, he acknowledged he or Richmastery got the financial benefits accruing from recruiting new MonaVie distributors other than those brought along to his seminars by other MonaVie distributors.
Yes, he said, "I'm involved, as are a range of other individuals who are very well known in New Zealand and overseas."
In the world of Richmastery, being rich or well known equates to success. The Richmastery website features many more photographs of very well known people with the Joneses, including former New York mayor Rudy Giuliani, English cricketer Andrew Flintoff, former MP John Tamihere and television figures Simon Dallow and Alison Mau. They were taken at events hosted or attended by members of the Presidential Inner Circle (PIC), an "exclusive inspirational networking group" set up by the Joneses. Club motto: "You are known by the company you keep".
PIC members met Branson for breakfast during his January visit to Auckland, had private time with Clinton and during a visit to New York in September were able to pick Trump's brains "for a whole 30 minutes". Jones claimed he couldn't divulge whether a donation was made in exchange for their time because the celebrities had requested it be kept confidential. But Richmastery's spokeswoman, "journalist/writer" Rowena Speirs, said neither Trump nor Branson requested payment, adding "however, often a private donation to the charity of their choice is offered".
Jones rejected the suggestion that showing photographs of himself in such company during his Massive Passive pitch was designed to garner credibility by association and thus influence his audience. All the photographs were evidence of, he said, was no more than that the "PIC have had close interaction with a range of well-known and exclusive individuals". But he didn't mention PIC during the seminar or how the photos came to be taken.
Tamihere told the Weekend Herald he didn't know the Joneses or Richmastery, but was approached by them at a boxing event.
The photograph of the Joneses with Dallow and Mau was taken at a charity function. The Herald understands PIC paid a premium for a table at which the television celebrities were seated and when asked to be photographed with the Joneses, Dallow and Mau had agreed out of politeness. They felt uncomfortable and considered it opportunistic, the Herald was told.
Jones acknowledged that in some instances the celebrities simply happened to be at the same function. But that, he said showed they were able to get PIC members access to "a range of individuals".
As for his Massive Passive pitch seeming like conditioning, Jones sees it differently. To him, it's simply the skill of keeping things interesting.
