• Rick Nott has used AI to save himself a lot of tedious work as a wealth advisor.
• He said new AI products may help other advisors save time too, but they won't replace humans.
• Nott spoke to Business Insider about how he uses the technology to save him time now.

Rick Nott is a senior managing director and private wealth advisor at Santa Monica, California-based Angeles Wealth Management. He spoke to Business Insider about how he uses AI, and why he's excited and afraid when looking at AI-native financial planning platforms. The conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

When Claude first rolled out its solution for financial advisors, I felt fear and excitement. How complicated will it be? How will it work?

I'm not a software developer, but I have some basic tech skills. LLMs have allowed me to dig into coding, which I'd been avoiding learning because it's a lot of work. I know enough to know what I want, how it should look, and how to check the outputs, and now I can automate more of my process. AI has become the glue between the various systems we use and the different workflows we have.

I've shown some colleagues how I operate. One told me that I basically have another full-time employee's worth of output through the technology, by automating data collection processes and making it easier to analyze my clients' portfolios.

What AI unlocks

I started my career while still in college in the late 2000s doing data reporting work for a wealth firm. Between all of the software advisors use, there's a lot of manual work, typically done in Excel, to connect it together.

Previously, I could only provide balance sheet reporting for clients with more than $100 million because it took so much manual work. Now I can do it with someone with significantly less.

As a family's net worth grows, so does complexity. For many, understanding their overall financial system is their biggest pain point.

Banks and brokerage accounts are the easy part, but trusts, business ownership structures, and private investments, which all report differently and require cash on hand to make capital calls, can take huge amounts of manual work to analyze.

Imagine a wealth advisory business serving 30 families, each holding about 10 private investments. Each investment generates about 10 documents a year, including quarterly reports, capital calls, distribution notices, and tax documents. Each of these 3,000 documents takes a skilled analyst 15 to 30 minutes to analyze and distill into our reports.

That's 750 to 1,500 hours a year, most of it crammed into the few weeks after each quarter closes. With AI, that data is extracted and mapped as it arrives, and one analyst reviews the work instead of a team racing against a deadline.

Our goal is to create a one-page document or report on their phone that's as close to real-time as possible.

There's a lot you can do with all of your data in one place. For example, a two- or three-sentence prompt could expand into a full email to a client, with all relevant and accurate information already populated. You can then personalize that to fit the right tone for your client.

How AI changes the job

AI tools like Claude for financial advisors will be disruptive, and others will gain access to the same connectivity I've built.

I think of it as part of a dynamic that's been going on for years in my industry. Vanguard, ETFs, lower costs, and robo-advisors have all put a squeeze on financial advisors.

But if you believe a lawyer's only job is writing contracts, or a financial advisor's only job is putting together a portfolio, there's a fundamental kind of misunderstanding of what the actual job is.

As long as investing involves human judgment, financial advisors will have a job. AI doesn't improve investment decisions or results.

I tell my clients that my role is to be the architect of their financial operating system, and, as with an actual operating system, a centralized source of data is essential.

When you have a big-picture view of what your family's mission is, you can avoid getting distracted by market noise and news. From there, you can go a layer down to make strategic plans and ask if we're moving in the right direction, and what opportunities we may have. Another layer down, we work with a CPA to save money on taxes.

A full picture of a balance sheet makes it possible to actually know what liquidity you have available. Now I can spend more time developing relationships, the thing that runs our business. I get to know anything and everything about the clients I'm working with and those I'd like to work with.

The future of financial advisors and AI

I have a natural excitement around tech, and watching the Anthropic webinar was incredible. My main concern is that it's not a subscription-based plan; it's token-based, which could lead to surprise bills for users who don't yet know how to manage their token usage.

At small RIAs without the expertise, people will be uploading 100-page PDF documents just to ask basic questions, like the ages of kids in a trust. That will rip through tokens.

We priced it out internally, and we would have to pay significantly more for a token-based plan instead of the subscription-based licenses we have now. Maybe eventually everyone will have to pay for tokens that way, and the cost of tokens is going down.

We learn to do things faster and at lower cost, but in this industry, we do that for a particular reason: to spend more time with the people we serve.

The primary way that our clients give us information is still by talking. There's a significant amount of nuance. You may be able to understand something and infer what's really being said. But note-taking software is still wrong all the time. You have to review it.

Money is emotional, and I seriously question whether AI can replace our need to connect with another human being.

Do I see someone sitting across the table from AI on a speakerphone? Probably not.

• Kate McNeil opened All the Tropes, a romance bookstore, six weeks after quitting her job.
• Despite concerns about market saturation, All the Tropes thrives as a niche community destination.
• Passion, perseverance, and local support helped McNeil launch her business.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Kate McNeil, a 41-year-old small-business owner based in Atlanta. It's been edited for length and clarity.

The idea to open a romance bookstore started during COVID.

I joined an online group of fellow romantasy readers, looking to connect with other people who also enjoyed my favorite form of escapism. That group had over 2,000 members, and it was difficult to feel a sense of community. Eventually, it broke off into local chapters.

After COVID, I didn't know of any dedicated space for these same readers to meet in Atlanta. That's how I started the journey to opening the first romance bookstore in my neighborhood. In the two years since I opened, more romance bookstores have opened up, including one less than two miles away.

I thought I'd retire from my teaching job

When I launched All the Tropes bookstore, I was working a job I thought I'd retire from. I taught theater at Decatur High School for six years. My students always came first. I didn't want those kids to feel like I wasn't present or that they didn't have my undivided attention, so the bookstore was a back-burner idea for a few years.

I'd get home from rehearsal at 11 p.m., conduct business research until 2 a.m., then get up at 6 a.m. and go to work the next day and teach.

I took my time to gain a full understanding of the market, but there were still challenges

I learned about dealing with publishing companies and book distributors, connected with local artists to showcase their work, and reached out to local authors. One of the biggest challenges was finding a place for the store.

I knew that I wanted to stay on the east side of Atlanta because I lived in Kirkwood and felt very connected to the community.

In 2024, I found a location a four-minute walk from my home, and I knew it was time to make my idea a reality. In May of that year, I quit my teaching job and prepared to open the bookstore by the end of summer on Romance Bookstore Day.

I had 6 weeks to get the store ready for opening day

I received the keys to the bookstore six weeks before the day I planned to open. The timeline I had for opening day came with a lot of risks. I had cashed in my retirement fund, quit my job, and had a large preorder of "Onyx Storm" before there were bookshelves in the store.

There were many times my friends and I didn't leave the store until 4 a.m. A local artist painted the shop; I printed my merchandise at a local shop in Kirkwood; and I created the fabric wall. There were many nights I had doubts that All the Tropes would come to fruition.

I was a mom with two young kids opening a niche business that, to my knowledge, would be the first in the state, but I was prepared. I had my accounts with publishers, and my branding was complete. Perseverance, my husband, my village of friends, and an invested community got me to opening day.

All the Tropes opened August 17, 2024, on Romance Bookstore Day. In the span of a few months, I went from a passionate high school teacher to the owner and operator of a romance bookstore.

An increase in niche romance bookstores in the city concerns me

Even in a city like Atlanta with several thriving independent bookstores, I wonder about the percentage of residents who read for fun and, more specifically, read romance. While becoming a general indie bookstore would allow me to sell so many other things, I still believe All the Tropes can continue to thrive in a niche market, despite oversaturation.

Unlike a large book retailer, All the Tropes is a destination spot people can come from out of town to visit. Our social presence and promotion of local writers and artists also offer something unique to readers.

All the Tropes could pivot to general fiction, but so far, more stores opening has not impacted store traffic or sales.

4 Things helped me turn my business idea into a reality

All the Tropes continues to thrive because of my original vision of creating a community space for romance book lovers to connect. We now have eight active book clubs and continue to see consistent revenue.

Passion, trusting my gut, therapy, and a supportive group of friends are the reason I was able to turn an idea I brainstormed late at night into a successful niche business ready to grow.

We are now ready for a larger space and to expand our three-person team.

Do you have a unique small business story to share? Email the editor, Manseen Logan, at mlogan@businessinsider.com.

• Nikita Chernetskii moved to New York City from rural Moldova when he was 18.
• He joined the Army and worked as a combat medic, which gave him a sense of purpose.
• He was worried about affording med school and starting a family.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Nikita Chernetskii, a medical school student at New York University's Grossman School of Medicine. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I've wanted to be a doctor since I was a little boy. In Moldova, where I was born and raised, you apply to medical school right after finishing high school. As I was applying for medical schools, my parents won the green card lottery, giving our family the chance to come to the US.

Suddenly, I had a huge choice in front of me. Do I take the chance to go to the US, or keep pursuing my dream? I'd always been raised on the idea that the American dream was alive and well. I was also young and naive: I thought I could just apply to medical school once I got there.

I'll never forget landing at JFK in August with my parents and sister, who was in fourth grade at the time. I'd never seen a building taller than nine stories, and suddenly I was looking at the Manhattan skyline. It was surreal. I can still remember the smell as we left the airport, of hot asphalt and summer in the city.

I felt like I was in limbo, seeing my friends chase their dreams

Living in the US was a shock, to put it mildly. New York was so, so different from the rural area of Moldova where we'd lived. I'd gone to an English-speaking high school, but it was set up according to old Soviet standards. Once I was in the US, I realized that I'd been taught English for people who would never speak English: my grammar was excellent, but my vocabulary was very limited.

I knew life wouldn't wait for my dreams. My dad and I started working as porters, making about $500 a week. Part of the job was taking out the trash to the dumpster, but I was pretty happy doing that. The pay was more than I would ever make in Moldova.

I realized that going to med school in the US wasn't realistic. I didn't have the money and didn't understand how college worked here. That sent me into a period of limbo. I would work and save money just to go visit friends in Moldova. I saw them moving toward their goals, while my life stayed the same. Psychologically, it wasn't the greatest time for me.

Joining the military reaffirmed my desire to be a paramedic

On one of those trips home, a friend suggested I join the military. Within a month, I was marching in basic training. My poor English meant I couldn't always understand the directions. I just ran where the other recruits ran, and hoped it was right.

I scored well enough on my aptitude test to become a medic. The work was so fulfilling to me, and helped me cope with the rushed decision to join the military in what was still a foreign country to me.

I was deployed in Germany when the pandemic hit. I'd work 24-hour shifts, sleep for four hours, and get back to it. That's when others started telling me I should become a doctor. I realized that desire was still burning inside me, and I wouldn't be able to sleep well if I didn't at least try.

I leaned on every connection I had to help get into med school

I used the GI bill to pay for college. While I was there, I was accepted into the New York University internship program that pairs aspiring doctors with faculty. I worked with a trauma surgeon at Bellevue Hospital and knew I wanted to spend my life doing what he did.

When it came time for me to apply to medical schools, I knew I needed to be at NYU. I shook all the trees I could. I had no shame and asked anyone for help. The whole process was so stressful that it was almost a blur to me.

The idea of taking on half a million dollars in debt for medical school was frightening. I think I would have done it, but it would have meant delaying other goals, like having children with my wife.

This year, when I was accepted to NYU's Grossman School of Medicine's three-year, tuition-free medical program, it was surreal. When I dreamed of practicing medicine as a boy, I thought I'd be making $300 a month doing old Soviet techniques. Now, I'm learning cutting-edge science that feels like it's plucked from a sci-fi movie. I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life, and I'm well on my way to my American dream.

• Matthew Kelson, now 43, grew up in Michigan and opened his first cinema in his 20s.
• He went on to work for Netflix in Los Angeles before getting transferred to Japan in 2020.
• After leaving his job at Netflix in 2024, he renovated a kindergarten and founded a cinema in Japan.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Matthew Kelson, now 43, who was transferred by Netflix from Los Angeles to Tokyo and is now the founder of CineYama, an independent cinema in Uenohara, Yamanashi Prefecture, Japan. His words have been edited for length and clarity.

Japan isn't new to me. In middle school, I spent two weeks living with a host family as part of an exchange program. I returned a couple of times as an adult.

I was working at Netflix in Los Angeles when the company relocated me to Japan in 2020. I was based in Tokyo for two years before moving to Uenohara, a small town about an hour and a half by train from Tokyo. I still spent time in the capital for occasional meetings and traveled extensively across Asia for screenings. Otherwise, I worked remotely from home. After a company restructuring, I left Netflix in 2024.

I wanted to stay in Japan. My daughter was six months old when my wife and I moved, and my son was born three years later. We thought it was a great place for them to grow up. I started thinking about how I could utilize my expertise in cinema and give back to the community.

While scouting for locations, I came across an abandoned kindergarten. In 2024, I started plans to turn the old school into a cinema. And in December, I got my permanent residency in Japan through the highly skilled professional fast-track program. A year later, I formed my company and spent another year renovating before opening a cinema in March.

Building my career in film

I spent most of my childhood in Michigan, in the Detroit area. My father was a professor of international business. He traveled for work often. It got me curious about the world around me.

At 23, I came across the Detroit Film Center and took a filmmaking course. A year later, I became a teacher and worked as a projectionist there. Through that, I started working at an independent art theater in the Detroit suburbs. I started as an usher, then became the theater manager.

Within the two years of working there, I fell in love with the film world. At 25, I renovated an old school's auditorium into a theater in Michigan using my savings. The theater ran for two years, but after disputes with the landlord, it closed.

I was looking for a fresh start, so in 2011, I moved to Los Angeles. At first, I knocked on the doors of all the film distributors I'd worked with until I met some people at an independent film distribution company. I joined as an intern and worked my way up. I landed a job on Netflix's creative team two years later.

The journey to opening a cinema in Japan

Getting the permit to renovate the abandoned kindergarten was a long process. I had to negotiate with officials at city hall and the residents about how I'd use the building, establish the company, deal with fire and health regulations, and construction in a language I don't speak fluently.

I learned that pushing harder is not necessarily what gets things done in Japan. It was about patience, building trust, and showing people that I was serious and that the project wasn't going to disappear in six months.

There were days when I wondered why I had chosen to make my life so difficult. But every milestone, from getting the building, the inspection, installing the projector, and finally opening the doors, made me more determined.

When the cinema first opened, the elderly residents seemed cautious. After a preview, they told me they were impressed to see the place cleaned up and put back into use. It's important for me to have screenings that kids and families can come to and enjoy the space.

Tickets cost 1,500 Japanese yen, or about $9.50. We offer a discount to seniors and residents. I stick with showing content that is harder to find elsewhere, so that it gives viewers a perspective on other ways of life and culture.

It's mostly family-run. I manage the operations, and my wife helps out sometimes. My kids stamp the tickets when they're around.

Living up to the challenge

Opening the theater in the US was different from doing it in Japan. I was in my 20s, had little money, and was just figuring things out in Detroit. The one in Japan came after 15 years of working in film distribution, creative production, and international screenings.

It's been exciting living over here, having the cinema, and meeting people from all over the world. While life in the US would've been much easier, I like the challenges in Japan. That's why I was at Netflix for so long, because it wasn't an easy job either. I learned life in hard mode.

• After a friend told Lau Wen Loong about Hyrox, he signed up for a race and trained for six weeks.
• It's now been two years since he got started, and he's already competed in 21 races in 11 cities.
• These three host cities have been his favorites.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Lau Wen Loong, 37, who, over the past two years, has competed in 21 Hyrox races in 11 cities around the world. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I hadn't exercised regularly in two years when a friend said to me, "I think you'll be interested in this." He was taking part in Hyrox, an endurance race that combines running with fitness stations. You can race individually, as doubles, or in a relay, and there are both amateur and professional racers. He asked if I wanted to race with him.

My friend ended up doing the race with his wife, so I decided to do it on my own. "Don't be crazy," he told me. But I signed up six weeks before the event and completed my first race in Singapore in August 2024. My final timing was just under 73 minutes. I was a cross-country runner in high school, but for the first time in my life, I understood why some people hate running.

After finishing one race, I started asking myself what I wanted to do next. I'd put so much time into training for that first race, and I didn't want to lose that momentum.

The competitions come with demands

It's been two years since I got started in Hyrox, and I've completed 21 races in 11 cities, including Chengdu, Bangkok, and Mumbai. I have seven more lined up for this year. I'm in between jobs at the moment and working on an AI startup with my brother.

Each race costs about $150, while flights and other expenses can add up to $1,500. In terms of race prep, I recently bought a yearlong membership at a gym in Seoul, where I'm currently based, for about $55 a month. I've become an ambassador for several Hyrox-related brands, and they help cover some of my costs.

Hyrox is a good mix of running and weights. I think I may be the fittest I've ever been. I never imagined I could be faster than my younger self.

So far, these have been my three favorite host cities:

1. Osaka, Japan: January 2026

Every Hyrox venue is different. Similar to F1 tracks, the setup is tweaked, and the runs between stations are never the same for each race. It was my first winter Hyrox, and I hit a personal best of 61:51.

The winter part was interesting, because the race was held between two halls in a small venue. You ran in one hall, crossed to the other side to do the workout, and crossed back to run again, getting a blast of fresh air in the process.

I spent seven days in Osaka, most of it around the race area, but I managed to do a bit of shopping in the Dotonbori district. I had dinner at a famous crab restaurant with my father, who sometimes comes to support me at my races, depending on his schedule and whether he likes the city.

2. Incheon, South Korea: May 2026

It was my friend's first Hyrox. He raced before me, and I got to see it. Not only that, but I also came in first in my age group and did a personal best

Like many Hyrox races, the Incheon edition was held in a major convention center. The layout provided for a very smooth race, unlike at other races, which can sometimes disrupt your rhythm

I'm based in Seoul, so I went there daily. It was one hour each way. On the first day of the race, when I hitched a ride back with a friend, I got to try out the hyugaeso, or rest stops along the highway. They are like mini shopping malls, and the one I went to had three floors and lots of small stalls.

In the course of my races, I have made a lot of friends, like my doubles partner Ian, and Yvonne, a Singaporean working mom who has done 55 races. A couple on the plane from Seoul to Singapore also noticed my Hyrox bag, and we started chatting and became friends.

3. Jakarta, Indonesia: June 2026

The race venue was in a beautiful part of Indonesia I'd never been to — I hope to return.

It was the very first Hyrox race in Indonesia, so it was new for everyone. It was held in a convention center in one of Jakarta's green spaces, which is very scenic.

It was my first time doing two doubles races, and I didn't even know the guy I was racing with until I met him on the day. We were introduced through a mutual friend, and we only trained together once.

The drive to finish and win

I was competing in separate races at the September 2026 Hyrox event in Beijing, where Joanna Wietrzyk soiled herself. I saw her from afar, but didn't see what happened firsthand.

I've tried to put myself in her shoes and wondered if I would continue. I don't think I would or could. I do hope that she'll bounce back from it.

I've seen a lot of people crying at Hyrox. Whether it be tears of joy or tears of frustration, it still surprises me. Hyrox is a bit like therapy, as you are processing through your body. I intend to continue racing for at least another year.

I think the biggest benefit is that it enables you to be more self-aware.