Текст книги "The Wolf of Wall Street "

Автор книги: Jordan Belfort

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 39 страниц)

The Master Forger kept going on and on, talking about how young and wonderful I was, but I found it hard to follow him. I was too busy trying to follow his enormous jowls, which seemed to be swaying back and forth like a sailboat on a rough ocean. Roland had intelligent brown eyes, a low forehead, and a fat nose. His skin was very white, and his head seemed to sit directly upon his chest without the benefit of a neck. His hair was dark brown, almost black, and he wore it combed straight back over his round skull. And my first impression had been right: There was a certain inner warmth that this man exuded, a joie de vivreof someone completely comfortable in his own skin, despite the fact that there was enough of it to carpet Switzerland.

“…and so, my friend, that is the long and short of it. After all, appearances are what make the difference in things. Or as you would say, it is about the dotting of the i’s and the crossing of the t’s, no?” asked the Master Forger with a smile.

In spite of catching only the tail end of what he’d said, the gist of it was clear: The paper trail was everything. Speaking more woodenly than usual, I replied, “I couldn’t agree with you more, Roland. I have always prided myself on being a careful man, a man who is realistic about the world in which he operates. After all, men such as ourselves can’t afford to be careless. That is a luxury of women and children.” My tone dripped with sagacity, but deep down I was hoping he had never seen The Godfather.I felt a bit guilty over stealing some of Don Corleone’s thunder, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. The movie was packed with such terrific dialogue that plagiarizing it only seemed natural. In a way, I lived my life very much like Don Corleone—didn’t I? I never talked on the phone; I kept my circle of confidants to a handful of old and trusted friends; I paid off politicians and police officers; I had Biltmore and Monroe Parker paying me monthly tributes…and countless other things too. But, unlike me, Don Corleone didn’t have a rip-roaring drug habit, nor could he be so easily manipulated by a gorgeous blonde. Well, those were my Achilles’ heels, and no man could be perfect.

Apparently not picking up on my plagiarism, he replied, “That is a most wonderful insight for a man your age. And I couldn’t agree with you more. Carelessness is a luxury no serious man can afford. And today that shall be something we pay great attention to. As you will see, my friend, I can serve many functions for you and wear many hats. Of course, my more mundane functions—such as keeping track of paperwork and filling out corporate forms—I trust you are already familiar with. So we will move past those. The question is: Where shall we start? What is on your mind, my young friend? Please tell me, and I will help you.”

I smiled and said, “I was told by Jean Jacques that you are a man who can be trusted completely, that you are the best at what you do. So rather than beat around the bush, I will operate under the assumption that you and I will be doing business together for many years to come.”

I paused for a brief moment, waiting for Roland’s obligatory nod and smile in response to my patronizing statement. And while I was never a great advocate of patronizing statements…since this was the first time I’d ever been face-to-face with a true Master Forger…well, it just seemed like the appropriate thing to do.

As expected, Roland turned up the corners of his mouth and nodded deferentially. Then he took another enormous pull from his cigarette and started blowing perfectly round smoke rings. How beautiful!I thought. They were flawless circles of light-gray smoke, about two inches in diameter, and they seemed to float effortlessly through the air.

I smiled and said, “Those are very fine smoke rings, Roland. Maybe you can shed some light on why Swiss people love smoking so much. I mean—don’t get me wrong—I’m all for smoking if that’s what turns you on. In fact, my father is one of the all-time great smokers, so I respect it. But the Swiss seem to take it to a different level. Why is that?”

Roland shrugged and said, “Thirty years ago it was the same in America. But your government feels compelled to stick its nose in places where it does not belong—even into the right of an individual to partake in a simple manly pleasure. They have instituted a propaganda war against smoking, which, thankfully, has not spread to this side of the Atlantic. How bizarre it is for a government to decide what and what not a man might put into his own body. What will be next, I wonder, food?” He smiled broadly and laughed, then patted his fat stomach with great relish. “If that day comes, my friend, I will surely put a pistol in my mouth and pull the trigger!”

I let out a gentle laugh and shook my head and waved my hand in the air, as if to say, “Oh, come on! You’re not really that fat!” Then I said, “Well, you’ve answered my question, and what you say makes a lot of sense. The United States government is overly intrusive in all aspects of life, which is the exact reason I’m sitting here today. But I still have many concerns about doing business in Switzerland, most of them stemming from my lack of knowledge about your world—meaning overseas banking—and that makes me extremely nervous. I’m a firm believer, Roland, that knowledge is power and that in a situation like this, where the stakes are so incredibly high, a lack of knowledge is a recipe for disaster.

“So I must become more knowledgeable. Everyone, at some point, needs a mentor, and I look to you for just that. I have no idea how I’m supposed to operate within your jurisdiction. For example, what things are considered taboo? Where is the line of good judgment? What is considered recklessness and what is considered prudence? These are things that are very important for me to know, Roland, things I must know if I’m to steer clear of trouble. I need to understand all your banking laws down to the very letter. If possible, I would like to look at past indictments, to see what other people have gotten in trouble for and what mistakes they’ve made, and then to make sure I don’t repeat them. I’m a student of history, Roland, and I’m a firm believer that he who doesn’t study the mistakes of the past is doomed to repeat them.” This was something I had done—looking through old indictments—when I started Stratton, and it had been invaluable.

Roland said, “That is another wonderful insight, my young friend, and I will be more than happy to gather some information for you. But perhaps I can shed some light on things for you right now. You see, virtually all problems Americans run into with Swiss banking have little to do with what happens on this side of the Atlantic. Once your money is safely here, I will disappear it into a dozen different corporations without raising any red flags, outside the prying eyes of your government. I understand from Jean Jacques that Mrs. Mellor was at the bank this morning, yes?”

I nodded. “Yes, and she’s already on her way back to England. But I have a copy of her passport if you need it.” I tapped my hand over my left suit-jacket pocket, to let him know it was on my person.

“That is excellent,” said Roland, “quite excellent. If you would be kind enough to provide me with it, I will keep it on file with each corporation we form. On a separate note, please understand that Jean Jacques shares information with me only under the authorization you granted him. Otherwise, he would have never mentioned a word about Mrs. Mellor presenting herself at the bank. And I would like to add that my relationship with Jean Jacques is one-way. I will tell him nothing of our business unless you instruct me to.

“You see, I would strongly recommend that you do not put all your eggs in one basket. Do not misunderstand me, though: Union Bancaire is a fine institution, and I recommend that you keep the bulk of your money there. But there are banks in other countries as well—Luxembourg and Liechtenstein, just to name two—that will serve a useful purpose to us. Layering your transactions in many different countries will create a web so tangled it would be nearly impossible for any single government to untangle it.

“Each country has its own set of laws. So what might be penal in Switzerland might very well be legal in Liechtenstein. Depending on what sort of transaction you are contemplating, we would form separate corporate entities for each part of the transaction, doing only what is legal in each particular country. But I am painting broad strokes here. The possibilities are much greater than that.”

Incredible! I thought. A true Master Forger! After a few moments of silence I said, “Perhaps you can give me a brief education on the ins and outs of things. I can’t begin to tell you how much more comfortable that would make me. I mean, there are obvious benefits to doing business in a corporate name—whether it be in the United States or Switzerland—but what I’m interested in are the less obvious benefits.” I smiled and leaned back deeper in my seat and crossed my legs. It was the sort of posture that so much as said, “Take your time in telling me; I’m in no rush.”

“Of course, my friend; now we are getting to the heart of matters. Each of those corporations is a bearer corporation, meaning that there is no actual paperwork stating who the owner is. In theory, whoever possesses the actual stock certificates—the so-called bearer—is deemed the rightful owner. There are two ways to secure your ownership in a corporation such as this. The first is take personal possession of the stock certificates—to be the physical bearer of them. In that case, it would be yourresponsibility to find a safe place to keep them, perhaps in a safe-deposit box in the United States or something like that. The second way would be to open a numbered safe-deposit box in Switzerland and keep the certificates there. You alone would have access to this box. And unlike a Swiss bank account, a safe-deposit box is truly numbered; there will be no name attached to it.

“If you choose that route, then I would suggest that you lease a box for a term of fifty years and pay the entire fee up front. Under those circumstances there would be no way for any government to gain access to that box. Only you—and perhaps your wife, if you so desire—would be aware of its existence. And if I could offer you a piece of advice, I would recommend that you do not inform your wife. Instead, provide me with instructions on how to contact her—heaven forbid anything should ever happen to you. You have my express word that she will be notified immediately.

“But, please, my friend, do not take my statement as any indication that I question your wife’s trustworthiness. I’m sure she is a fine young lady, and from what I hear, very beautiful as well. It’s just that it would not be the first time a disgruntled wife led an eager IRS agent to a place he were better not led.”

I took a moment to consider his statement, and it sounded awfully reminiscent of the ghosts of six million slaughtered Jews roaming the streets of Zurich and Geneva, trying to find their Swiss bankers. Although, I had to admit, Roland seemed to be the sort who would stand up and do the right thing. But how could I be sure of that? As the ultimate Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing, who should know better than me that appearances could be deceiving? Perhaps I would tell my father or, better still, hand him a sealed envelope with the explicit instructions that it should be opened only in case of my untimely demise—which, given my penchant for flying stoned and scuba diving during blackouts, seemed like a distinct possibility.

I chose to keep all those stray thoughts to myself. “I prefer the second option—for many different reasons. And in spite of the fact that I’ve never received a subpoena from the Justice Department, it still makes sense to keep all my documents outside their jurisdiction. As you’re probably aware, all my legal problems are civil in nature, not criminal, which is exactly the way it should be. I’m a legitimate businessman, Roland. I want you to know that. First and foremost, I always try to do things right. But hard as I try, the simple fact is that many of the U.S. securities laws are entirely ambiguous, with no absolute right or absolute wrong. I tell you the truth, Roland: In many cases—most cases, actually—what violates the law is more a matter of opinion than anything else.” What a crock of shit!But it sounded awfully good. “So, occasionally, something that I thought was perfectly legal ended up biting me in the butt. It’s kind of unfair, but that’s the way it is. Anyway, I would say that most of my problems are directly related to poorly written securities laws, laws that are designed for selective enforcement against individuals the government feels like persecuting.”

Roland laughed raucously. “Oh, my friend, you are too much! What a wonderful way to look at things. I don’t think I have ever heard someone state their outlook in such a compelling manner. Most excellent that was—most excellent!”

I chuckled and said, “Well, from a man like you I take that as a great compliment. I won’t deny that from time to time, like any businessman, I step over the line and take a risk or two. But they’re always calculated risks—heavily calculated, I might add. And every risk I take is always supported by an airtight paper trail, which supports a notion of plausible deniability. You’re familiar with the term, I assume?”

Roland nodded his head slowly, obviously enthralled with my ability to rationalize the breaking of every securities law ever invented. What he wasn’t aware of was that the SEC was in the process of inventing new ones to try to stop me.

I soldiered on: “I figured you’d be. Anyway, when I opened up my brokerage firm five years ago, a very smart man gave me some very smart advice. He said, ‘If you want to survive in this crazy business of ours, then you have to operate under the assumption that every one of your transactions will eventually be scrutinized by a three-lettered government agency. And when that day comes, you’d better be damn sure that you have an explanation as to why the transaction doesn’t violate any securities laws or, for that matter, any laws.’

“Now, that being said, Roland, I’ll tell you that ninety-nine percent of what I do is on the up and up. The only problem is that the other one percent kills you every time. Perhaps it would be wise to put as much distance between myself and that one percent as humanly possible. I assume you’d be the trustee of each of these corporations, correct?”

“Yes, my friend. Pursuant to Swiss law, I will be empowered to sign documents on the corporation’s behalf and to enter into any contracts that I believe are in the best interest of the corporation or its beneficiaries. Of course, the only transactions that I will deem appropriate will be the ones you recommend. For example, if you were to tell me that you thought I should invest my money in a certain new issue or in a parcel of real estate—or anything, for that matter—then I would be obliged to follow your advice.

“And this is where my services will become most valuable to you. You see, with each investment we make, I will put together a file filled with research documents and correspondence—coming from various securities analysts or real estate experts or whoever else need be—so I have an independent basis for making my investment. Sometimes I might retain the services of an outside auditor, whose job it would be to furnish me with a report stating that the investment is a sound one. Of course, this auditor will always come to the appropriate conclusion, but not until he has issued a fancy report with bar charts and colored graphs. In the end, it is these things that truly support a notion of plausible deniability. If someone should ever raise a question as to why I made a particular investment, I would simply point to a two-inch-thick file and shrug my shoulders.

“Again, my friend, we are only scratching the surface here. There are many strategies I will share with you that will allow you to go about your business behind a cloak of invisibility. In addition, if there should ever come a time when you wish to repatriate any of this money—to bring it back into the United States, without so much as a trace—this is another area where I can be most helpful.”

Interesting, I thought. This was what I was having the most trouble getting my arms around. I moved forward to the edge of the couch, closing the distance between us to less than three feet. Then I lowered my voice and said, “That’s something I’m very much interested in, Roland. I tell you the truth—I was less than impressed with the scenarios Jean Jacques laid out for me; he outlined two different options, and, to my way of thinking, they were amateurish at best and suicidal at worst.”

“Well,” replied Roland, with a shrug of his shoulders, “that doesn’t really surprise me. Jean Jacques is a banker; his expertise lies in the marshaling of assets, not in the juggling of them. He is an excellent banker, I might add, and he will manage your account well, with the utmost discretion. But he is not well versed in the creation of documents that allow money to flow back and forth between countries without raising eyebrows. That is the function of a trustee”—a Master Forger!—“such as myself. In fact, you will find that Union Bancaire will heavily discourage the movement of money out of the account. Of course, you will always be able to do with your money as you please; they will not actually try to stop you. But do not be surprised if Jean Jacques tries to dissuade you from moving money out of the account, perhaps using the excuse that moving money raises red flags. But this is not something to be held against Jean Jacques. All Swiss bankers operate in that fashion, and it is a self-serving one, I might add. The simple fact, my friend, is that with three trillion dollars a day flowing in and out of the Swiss banking system, there is no amount of activity in your account that could possibly raise a red flag. As smart a man as you can easily see the bank’s motivation for wanting to keep their account balances as elevated as possible.

“Out of curiosity, though, what ways did Jean Jacques suggest to you? I am interested to hear the bank’s latest rhetoric in this area.” With that, Roland leaned back and interlaced his fingers over his belly.

Mirroring his body language, I slid back from the edge of the couch and said, “Well, the first way he recommended was through a debit card. That seemed fucking outlandish to me, if you’ll pardon my fucking French. I mean, running around town with a debit card tied to a foreign account leaves a paper trail a mile wide!” I shook my head and rolled my eyes, to drive my point home.

“And his second recommendation was equally ridiculous: I would use my overseas money to take out a mortgage on my own home, in the United States. Anyway, I trust that none of this will be repeated to Saurel, but I have to admit I was extremely disappointed with this part of his presentation. So tell me, Roland—what am I missing here?”

Roland smiled confidently. “There are many ways to do this, all of which leave no paper trail whatsoever. Or, to be more accurate, they leave a very wide paper trail, but it’s just the sort of trail you would like to see, the sort that supports a position of complete innocence and will stand up to the most intense scrutiny, on both sides of the Atlantic. Are you familiar with the practice of transfer pricing?”

Transfer pricing? Yes, I knew what it was, but how would—all at once a thousand nefarious strategies went flashing through my brain. The possibilities were…limitless! I smiled broadly at my Master Forger and said, “Actually, I do, Master For—I mean, Roland, and it’s a brilliant idea.”

He seemed shocked that I knew about the little-known art of transfer pricing, which was a financial shell game where you would engage a transaction, either underpaying or overpaying for a particular product, depending on which way you wanted your money to flow. The rub lied in the fact that you were actually on both sides of the transaction: You were both the buyer and the seller. Transfer pricing was used mostly as a tax dodge, a strategy employed by billion-dollar multinational corporations—whereby they would alter their internal pricing strategies when selling from one wholly owned subsidiary to another—which resulted in the transferof profits from countries with heavy corporate income-tax burdens to countries with none. I had read something about it in an obscure economics magazine—an article about Honda Motors, which was overcharging its U.S. factories for automotive parts, thereby minimizing its U.S. profits. For obvious reasons, the IRS was in an uproar.

Roland said, “I am surprised you know about transfer pricing. It is not a widely known practice, especially in the United States.”

I shrugged. “I can see a thousand ways to use it, to move money back and forth without raising any eyebrows. All we have to do is form a bearer corporation and interposition it in some sort of transaction with one of my U.S. companies. Right off the top of my head I’m thinking about a company called Dollar Time. They’re sitting on a couple of million dollars of worthless clothing inventory that I couldn’t sell even for one dollar, just like the name says.

“But what we coulddo is form a bearer corporation and give it a name that sounds clothing-related, like Wholesale Clothing Inc. or something along those lines. Then I can have Dollar Time enter into a transaction with my overseas company, which would buy the worthless inventory, moving my money from Switzerland back into the United States. And the only paper trail would be a purchase order and an invoice.”

Roland nodded and said, “Yes, my friend. And I have the ability to print up all sorts of invoices and bills of sale and anything else that might be needed. I can even print brokerage confirmations and date them back as of a year ago. In other words, we can go back to last year’s newspaper and pick a stock that has gone up tremendously, then create records that indicate a certain trade was made. But I am getting ahead of myself here. It would take me many months to teach you everything.

“On a separate note, I can also make arrangements to have large amounts of cash available to you in many foreign countries, simply by forming bearer corporations and then creating documentation for purchases and sales for nonexistent commodities. At the end of the day, the profit will end up in the country of your choosing, where you may retrieve the cash. And all that will be left is an airtight paper trail that points to the legitimacy of the transaction. In fact, I have already formed two companies on your behalf. Come, my boy, and I will show you.” With that, my Master Forger raised his enormous bulk from his black leather club chair, led me to the wall of corporate books, and removed two of them. “Here,” he said. “The first is called United Overseas Investments, and the second is called Far East Ventures. They are both chartered in the British Virgin Islands, where there will be no taxes to pay and no regulation to speak of. All I need is a copy of Patricia’s passport and then I will handle the rest.”

“No problem,” I said, smiling, and I reached into my inside suit-jacket pocket and handed the copy of Patricia’s passport to my wonderful Master Forger. I would learn everything I could from this man. I would learn all the ins and outs of the Swiss banking world. I would learn how to hide all my transactions within an impenetrable web of foreign bearer corporations. And if the going ever got rough, the very paper trail I would create would be my salvation.

Yes—it all made sense now. As different as Jean Jacques Saurel and Roland Franks were, they were both men of power, and they were both men who could be trusted. And this was the land of Switzerland, the glorious land of secrets, where neither of them would have any reason to betray me.

Alas, I would be wrong about one of them.