Students from Defy’s first group are no longer taking classes and are focused on running their businesses. At the exposition, they looked for new clients among Defy’s volunteer and mentor network. Mr. Vasquez was hoping to meet someone who could help introduce him to corporate clients. Guests also offered feedback on pricing structures and presentation.

At the start of the exposition, the students, per Ms. Rohr’s instructions, greeted one another with hugs and compliments. Defy is described as an “M.B.A.-style” program, but there is as much emphasis on so-called soft skills as there is on crunching numbers. Hugging is part of the curriculum. The students’ handshakes were firm and well practiced; they dressed impeccably.

“If I wasn’t smiling, Catherine would pinch my cheeks,” said Maliki Cottrell, 24, who started a company called I-Haul-Junk. He wore a plaid blazer with leather elbow patches. He has served time for carrying a gun without a permit.

Ms. Rohr, 35, is a stickler for discipline. Tardiness, informal footwear, or talking out of turn will earn students a punishment that they call an “A.P. Style,” which means writing out a section of The Associated Press stylebook by hand. It takes, they say, four hours.

The emphasis on discipline and emotional openness has created a sense of shared responsibility. The men hire one another when possible: Jeff Ewell, who founded a branding company, designed many of his fellow students’ Web sites, and Mr. Cottrell offers work only to young men who would otherwise, he says, be selling drugs.

Later that day, there was an exercise that Ms. Rohr called “step to the line,” in which Defy students and mentors revealed information about themselves. “Step to the line if you’ve ever been in prison,” she said. Nearly every Defy student walked toward the middle of the room. “Stay on the line if you were in prison for more than five years.”

About a third of the group trickled back toward the wall. “Ten years.” By the time Ms. Rohr counted up to 25, there were only two men left on the line: Edward Quick and Kenneth Wilson, who had done 27 and 28 years, both for murder.