Happy Father’s Day.

While I wasn’t a father when I served time in federal prison, I was thankful my dad visited me on Father’s Day in 2008. He made the long drive, and when I sat down to see him in visitation, he had already bought a bunch of items from the vending machines inside the visitation room.

“Quite the cuisine you chose, Dad. Snickers, cheesecake, Coca-Cola, and bottled water.” There was no bottled water in prison, and small things like that stood out. Prison helps you appreciate the small things.

My dad did his best to stay upbeat, but he looked exhausted. I could see it in his eyes, it was super hard for him to be there, and it was hard for me too. He didn’t need to say it. I felt it.

I was grateful this would be our only Father’s Day visit while I was in prison. During our visit, I reminded him I would keep building something alongside Michael, something my dad could be proud of.

“Dad, I assure you. I will not ruin your retirement. I will get it together.”

“I know. I know,” is all he said.

To this day, there’s nothing better than getting a text from him that says, “I’m proud of you, son. I always have been. I’m thankful you’re my son.”

Today is not easy if you’re serving time as a father or watching someone you love go through it. I won’t offer slogans like “It is what it is” or “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” I heard them all in prison, and none of them helped. They just made people feel like they had to pretend everything was fine.

Instead, I want to write about a book that challenged me to confront my excuses, sharpen my thinking, and become a better father. A book that helped me ask: What am I building? Who am I becoming? What example am I setting for the people who still believe in me?

That book is Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand.

Why This Book? And Why Now?

Last week’s newsletter referenced The Prince and Atlas Shrugged. Several people replied. Some had never heard of Atlas Shrugged. Others asked why I focused on two characters: James Taggart and John Galt.

I chose them because they represent opposing responses to responsibility, effort, and truth, issues every person in crisis eventually faces.

This newsletter is not a book summary. It’s an attempt to make sense of what the book offers when you’re trying to overcome all of the collateral consequences of a criminal conviction.

What Atlas Shrugged Actually Covers

The novel takes place in an America on the brink. The people who solve problems, entrepreneurs, inventors, and engineers, are being overregulated, taxed, and publicly condemned. Each time a law is passed “to protect the public,” the country sinks deeper into dysfunction.

At the center is Dagny Taggart, a railroad executive holding her family’s company together. Her brother James holds the title of president but contributes nothing. He speaks in abstractions about social justice and fairness, but never delivers. When something fails, he blames others. When something works, he takes credit.

As the country deteriorates, the most competent people begin disappearing. They aren’t running from problems; they’re rejecting a system that exploits their work and punishes their integrity. The man behind these disappearances is John Galt, a once-brilliant engineer who walked away from a company that tried to seize his ideas for the “public good.”

One by one, Galt persuades others to withdraw their contributions. He isn’t preaching revolution. He’s asking: Why keep creating for people who punish you for doing it well?

Rand’s message: When the productive retreat from a culture that vilifies them, collapse isn’t sabotage, it’s a consequence.

What Most People Miss, Especially in Prison

When I was in prison, Atlas Shrugged was a popular book. I met more than a few men who saw themselves in John Galt. One man said, “The government came after me because I couldn’t be controlled.” Another said he’d written a 400-page sequel in which Galt returns to rebuild the world.

But here’s what none of them said: 

I broke the law.

I’m not saying they all deserved to be in prison. I’m saying too many of them used Rand’s book to romanticize their own decisions. They weren’t creators being punished for excellence. They were men who, like me, had crossed a line (knowingly or through neglect) and refused to own it.

They mistook rebellion for principle.

Galt didn’t lie. He didn’t deflect. He made a conscious decision to leave a system he believed was immoral. He accepted the cost of that decision. That’s not the same as someone who committed fraud and now quotes Rand to justify the consequences.

Groupthink, Cowardice, and Avoidance

I know how groupthink can destroy you. I lived it. At UBS, I made decisions I never would’ve made alone. But I didn’t stand up. I didn’t ask the hard questions. I saw what was happening and said nothing.

Why? Because I didn’t want to be the problem. I didn’t want to seem difficult, disloyal, or naïve. I convinced myself I was protecting my career. But what I was really protecting was my comfort. That failure to take a stand contributed more to my downfall than anything else.

That’s what Atlas Shrugged helped me see more clearly. Rand doesn’t write about characters who blend in. She writes about people who act. Galt and Dagny both face criticism, sabotage, and threats, but they keep building. They don’t wait to be understood or liked. They don’t soften their convictions to avoid conflict. They move forward anyway.

You can reject Rand’s politics. You can question her worldview. I do. But I respect the courage she built into those characters. Especially now, as a father. Because my daughter won’t remember whether I gave the perfect explanation for why I went to prison, she’ll remember what I did after.

This matters when you’re under investigation or serving time. It matters when you’re writing a release plan or building a record of progress. It matters when you’re trying to set an example, one that your kids, spouse, or parents can point to and say; 

He didn’t hide. He showed up.

Most people don’t fail because they made a decision. They fail because they avoided one. They waited for someone else to fix the situation. That’s James Taggart. You can’t be him, not if you want your record, your legacy, or your sentencing outcome to reflect anything you believe in.

Rand’s Contradictions

Rand wrote about integrity, courage, and personal accountability, but her own life didn’t always reflect those values. By most accounts, she was unfaithful in her marriage. She demanded loyalty from others while creating public and personal fractures with nearly every close collaborator. She built her philosophy around rational self-interest but often reacted emotionally and vindictively toward anyone who questioned her.

That’s not a smear. It’s a reminder. Even our boldest thinkers carry contradictions. Why? Because they’re human. Because we all are.

In our recent newsletter on How to Live by Sarah Bakewell, we explored this through Montaigne. He didn’t try to resolve every inconsistency in his life. He examined them. He accepted that contradiction is part of being human and wrote his way through the discomfort. “We are all patchwork,” he admitted. “And so shapeless and diverse in composition that each bit, each moment, plays its own game.”

That insight applies here. You don’t need your role models to be perfect. And you don’t need to be perfect to live by stronger values today.

I don’t excuse Rand’s behavior. I accept the limits of the messenger. She was a better thinker on paper than she was in life. Her “ideal man” wasn’t realistic, but it gave me something to aim toward. Not someone flawless. Someone deliberate.

And that’s what matters when you’re in the middle of a government investigation or preparing for sentencing. You don’t need to be perfect. But you do need to be specific. You need to document who you are and what you’re building. You need to show why your values now carry weight.

Because I’ve seen what happens when people don’t. They stop thinking for themselves. They defer. They coast. They show up to sentencing hoping someone else will explain their value because they haven’t done the work to explain it themselves.

What Judges Actually See

As we discussed in our webinar earlier this week, Judges are not persuaded by how you see yourself. They care about what you’ve done. That includes the people you’ve harmed, the work you’ve put in since, and whether your values are now reflected in your habits, not just your words.

You can quote Galt all you want, but if your calendar is empty, your record is stale. Your narrative avoids the hard truth: you’re no different from James Taggart, talking in circles, avoiding accountability, and blaming others.

Two Final Questions

If you’re a father, or someone your family still looks to for strength, what are you doing today to prove worthy of that trust?

When your children, your spouse, or your parents look back on this chapter, will they see someone who used the time to build a legacy, or someone who waited for it to pass?

If you’re ready to start building a record that reflects your values, we host a live webinar every Tuesday at 11am Pacific / 2pm Eastern. I hope you’ll join us.

Justin Paperny | White Collar Advice