Alexandria, Louisiana.
A desk seat around here runs about $2,500 a month. Before taxes. Before training. Before the week in July when they're in Destin and the phone's ringing anyway.
I was thinking I'm selling software. I'm not.
I'm selling employees — not replacements, new hires that were never going to happen. The work owners do at 9 PM.
The job descriptions:
The night secretary. Kenneth's a one-man law firm. His system answers the 9 PM call, takes the story, books the consult, opens the file — then waits for his tap. She can't touch SEND, won't calculate a deadline, and can't touch a dollar of client money.
The bid department. Big contractors pay whole departments to read state bid filings. Tyler pays nobody. His system reads Louisiana's paperwork every morning, prices clearing work off seventy-eight thousand lines of real winning bids, and put a multimillion-dollar road job on his board before his coffee got cold. It's banned from bidding. The handshake stays his.
The auditor. The day one roofer's system went live, it read his books. Found $195,882.75 in open receivables. Caught a $19,000 error his old software never blinked at. Worked its first shift for free.
Strange employee. Works nights, never quits — and it turns down work. No payroll, no tax filing, ever. Half of custom software is knowing what to refuse.
And when a great employee walks, everything they knew walks with them. This one can't walk. You own it — the code and the data, outright.
Nobody rents you your own business back.
I'm Trevor. Found It Software, Alexandria, Louisiana.