one business.
Never resold to
anybody else
I build the software your business runs on. Once. For you. Never resold.
You didn't open a business to keep a spreadsheet alive.
I run a wellness clinic on software I wrote myself — booking, inventory, payments, texting, the books. Now I do that for a few other businesses a year, and I don't get paid until it works.
Jordan · 1/1 · I am the owner, the operator and the developer. You get all three in one conversation.
Three sentences you’ve said this month. Then the invoice you never see.
If one of these is uncomfortably familiar, that’s the place to start.
The tell You already know if this is you. The calculator puts a number on it
Not one of them is a complaint about technology. They're all descriptions of unpaid work that quietly became part of the job.
“The software almost does it.”
It was built for the average of ten thousand businesses, and yours isn't average. So you fill in fields that don't apply to you, force your process into somebody else's pipeline stages, and accept that the one report you actually need doesn't exist.
“So we built a workaround.”
A spreadsheet living next to the tool, holding everything the tool won't. A group text standing in for a system. Sticky notes on a monitor doing the job of a database. Every one of them made sense the week you built it.
“Now the workaround is the job.”
Somebody exports a CSV every Monday and retypes it. The same customer gets entered into three systems. Nobody can leave for a week without it breaking, because the process lives in one person's head — usually yours.
We're busy. Sometimes nobody can get to the phone.
The call goes to voicemail and the caller doesn't leave one — they ring the next business on the list. You never find out it happened. There's no report for the customer who couldn't reach you.
62% of calls to small businesses go unanswered · 85% never call backI can't take a week off. It's all in my head.
Every decision routes through you, because the process was never written down anywhere but your memory. New hires take months to be useful. One person leaving takes the process with them.
~42% of a business's working knowledge sits in one headEvery year, on top of what you already pay the software. That is the budget a custom system competes against — not zero.
Owners routinely report sixteen-plus hours a week on non-revenue admin — two full working days gone before anyone sells, treats or ships anything. Change the two figures below to yours.
Eight questions. Two minutes. I’ll have your answers in front of me when I call.
Be honest — the scoring rewards it.
Two minutes Nobody sees your answers but me, and only if you book
Eight questions in two parts: five about the plumbing, three about whether you still enjoy any of this. Be honest — nobody is watching, and the scoring rewards it. At the end you get a straight read on where your week is going, and then pick a time — I’ll have your answers in front of me when I call.
Because my own clinic runs on this — and here are four things it found that the old tools were hiding.
I'm not a consultant who read about small business.
Proof Not a portfolio of client logos. My own payroll runs on this.
I help run Eternal Wellness, a wellness clinic and supplement shop. We were paying for a booking platform, a separate storefront, a separate everything — and still keeping the real answers in spreadsheets. So I replaced the whole stack with one system I built. If it breaks, it's my Saturday. That changes how you build.
Here's the part owners don't expect. When you finally see all your data in one place, you find out what the old tools were quietly getting wrong:
A payment webhook overwrote the tax already charged at checkout. Fourteen orders had money collected that the books never recorded. Nobody had typed anything wrong — the system was losing it on its own.
Twenty-two orders marked settled with no matching record of the money arriving. The dashboard looked perfect. The reconciliation was impossible.
The calendar offered clients appointment times, then rejected them at the last step. Twenty-five percent of attempted bookings failed silently. Those are people who just gave up and went elsewhere.
We'd been pricing off a number nobody had recalculated in years. Once the system could actually measure it, the whole service menu changed.
Nothing up front. A share of what it earns. Nothing at all if it doesn’t.
I don’t get paid until you do.
Same skill, two ways to buy it. Some owners want the thing handed over working. Others want to stop paying anyone — including me — and run it themselves.
Partnership A small number of businesses at a time. That’s the whole model
I build the system.
Custom software shaped to how you actually work, instead of a subscription you bend yourself around. Usually it starts by replacing one spreadsheet, not the whole stack.
- Replace the spreadsheet that runs a critical process
- Connect tools that don't talk, so nothing is typed twice
- Booking, invoicing, inventory, scheduling, client records
- The report your current software refuses to produce
- Automations that do the Monday-morning export for good
- You own the code and the data. No seats, no per-user pricing.
I teach you to build it.
Everyone already has the AI. What almost nobody has is a way to get past the generic output it gives you by default. I sit with you and your team in your real tools, on your real problems, until it sounds and works like you.
- Find the tasks in your week AI should actually be doing
- Get past the generic answer — make the output sound like you
- Working sessions in your business, not a generic course
- Get your team past “I tried it once and it was wrong”
- Build small internal tools yourselves, safely
- Rules for what AI must never touch — client data, money, medical
- Written playbooks, so it survives the person who leaves
For a small number of businesses a year, I don't invoice for the build at all. I build your system, I keep improving it, and I take a share of the new revenue it brings in. If it brings in nothing, it costs you nothing.
This isn't generosity. It's the only arrangement where my incentive and yours point the same direction — I can't win by shipping something impressive that doesn't move your numbers.
A share of revenue, not profit — deliberately. Profit depends on how you run your books, what you pay yourself, and when you buy a truck. Revenue is a number we can both point at and neither of us can argue about.
The whole thing. No invoice.
- The custom system, built around how you actually work
- Coaching for you and your team on using AI properly
- Every change and improvement as we learn what works
- You own the code and the data, same as any client
A share of the new revenue.
- An agreed percentage of revenue above an agreed baseline
- The baseline is what you're already doing, set before I start
- Revenue, not profit — your costs and your books stay yours
- For a fixed period, written down before either of us commits
Because I carry the risk, I'm careful about who I take on. I'm looking for four things, and I'll tell you quickly if they're not there:
A real business, already trading. Existing customers, existing revenue. I can accelerate something that works; I can't invent demand that isn't there.
Something measurable I can move. Missed calls, lost quotes, capacity you can't reach, margin leaking somewhere. A number we can both watch.
An owner who'll actually use it. The best system in the world does nothing if it sits unopened. I need someone who'll change how they work.
Willingness to show me the revenue. Not your whole books — just the top line, so we can both see the baseline and what happens to it. This is the one people hesitate on, and that's fine: the paid route is still there.
“Write our welcome email.”
“Write our welcome email.”
“Write our welcome email.”
Same tool, same prompt, same email — until the third one was built to know what makes that business different.
Everything. The code, the data, the accounts — and it keeps running if we stop working together.
What you own when we’re done.
Terms Written here because these are the questions owners ask last and worry about first
- The code
- Yours. Handed over in your own repository, in your account, with the documentation to hand to any other developer.
- The data
- Yours, in a standard database you control, exportable any day of the week. Nothing is held hostage to keep you paying.
- The accounts
- Set up in your name and billed to your card — hosting, payments, texting. I get access; I don't get the keys.
- The pricing
- Priced per project, not per seat. Adding your fifth employee doesn't raise the bill.
- The partnership
- No fee for the build. I'm paid out of revenue the system creates, on terms shaped around your situation rather than a standard rate card. Revenue, not profit — how you run your costs stays your business. All of it in writing before either of us starts.
- The exit
- If you stop working with me, everything keeps running. That's the test of whether it was built properly.
I'm not technical. Is that a problem?
No. You know your business better than any developer will, and that's the hard part. I don't need you to understand databases. I need you to tell me what happens on a Tuesday when a client cancels.
What if I just need my existing tools to talk to each other?
Then that's the whole job and it's a small one. Plenty of businesses don't need new software — they need the four things they already pay for to stop requiring a human copy-and-paste in the middle.
What happens if you get hit by a bus?
Fair question, and the reason ownership is written down above. Everything is built on standard, common tools — not a private framework only I understand — in your repository, documented, so another developer can pick it up. I'd rather be replaceable than indispensable.
Will AI put client data somewhere it shouldn't be?
Not if it's built right, and this is worth being blunt about. I work in a clinic, so I build to the assumption that some data must never leave the building. Part of the coaching is deciding — in writing — what AI is allowed to touch and what it isn't.
How small is too small?
One person with one spreadsheet that's ruining their Sundays is a real project. If it's too small to be worth paying for, I'll tell you on the teardown call and point you at the tool that already does it.
Fifteen minutes on the phone. No pitch. You get the good half of the job back, or a straight no with a reason.
Pick a time. I call you.
You describe the thing that eats your week. I tell you whether software fixes it, roughly what it would take, and whether I’m the right person to build it. If I’m not, I’ll say so.
Start here Fifteen minutes. No pitch deck. You keep the map either way
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The call — free, fifteen minutes
You walk me through a normal week. I tell you where the hours go, where the money leaks, and whether software fixes it. You leave with a written map of it, whether we go further or not.
We agree the terms — in writing
Which number we're trying to move, how we'll both know it moved, and what my share looks like if it does. Shaped around your business rather than pulled off a shelf. Nobody signs anything until both of us can read it back in plain English.
I build, you use it
Starting with the single worst workaround, in the real business, with your real staff. Things get found. I fix them. No invoice arrives at any point in this step.
We both get paid, or neither of us does
I'm paid out of what the system produces. If it produces nothing, you owe nothing and you keep the code. That's the deal, and it's why I only take a few.