Rob Feinstein sits in the producers chair with a cell phone in his cold, damp hands as pale young men in loose, pleather and vinyl pants & wifebeaters file through the doorway of a rented out gym. Guarding the front entry on a stool Paul Summers takes accepts cash and ApplePay from an assortment of talent. Many of them are young, just getting their start out in the business. Some of them are older, journeyman who haven't yet reached the grandest stage of Wrestlemania much less WWFG TV. But they all had one thing in common: They all wanted to sit under the learning tree of Brantley Summers for the affordable price of $60 USD.

"Hey guys, I just wanted to thank everyone for showing up, unfortunately our guest is running a little late. We uh, we've got our guys working on it... I know some of you are asking for a refund, please just give us another couple of minutes while he figure this out."

A red faced and flustered DJ Hyde addresses the situation in the middle of the ring just trying to be transparent with the boys. A murmur is heard throughout the room as Feinstein leans over massaging his temples negotiating the $500 deposit which became a $750 deposit the day of the seminar. Anticipation builds as a fleet of Range Rovers pull outside of the gym with David Otunga stepping outside of the passenger side. Drinking from his coffee thermos, he speaks into the phone:

"We're parked outside. He's not coming inside until we get the rest of the deposit. I don't know what Vince told you, or what Dean said, but the rate is the rate Feinstein. Either cough it up or we're out of here!"