Chapter 30: Five Million

After a brief exchange, Jordan Belfort enthusiastically produced a bottle of champagne to host his guest.

In his company, the three things in greatest supply were alcohol, women, and flour.

"I remember now! You’re that handsome, heroic citizen from Times Square! Man, your words left such a deep impression on me. You spoke exactly what was on my mind; I’ve never agreed with anyone as much as I did with you in that moment. Fuck New York—this chaotic city has already cost me two good brothers!"

"The loss of a friend is truly a painful thing."

"Mr. Greco, thank you for helping those lazy, useless cops catch the killer. The experts from The Continental really are extraordinary... Let’s get down to business. Name your price—help me take out those FBI agents investigating me."

The man was clearly high, likely having consumed a fair amount of Quaaludes. His brain wasn't firing on all cylinders, and he had blurted out a request for Luca to kill FBI agents.

"What would be the point of killing them? During an investigation, if agents are assassinated, the FBI will only send more people to come after you. Belfort, by then, your charges won't just be stock manipulation—they’ll include the murder of government officials."

Luca took the glass Jordan handed him but didn't drink. God knows what strange substances might be in it.

Jordan rubbed his still-dizzy head. "I know how you people operate—you take the money, you do the job... So tell me, how do you plan to handle this? As long as you can resolve this FBI headache, name any price you want."

"Five million."

"..."

Jordan’s head cleared instantly. "Oh, shit! Are you crazy, or am I? Even the SEC fines don't cost five million! You want five million? Do you have any idea how much five million is? If you stacked it up, it would bury your head and suffocate you!"

"The SEC is going to take a lot more than five million. They want you out of the stock market entirely, cutting off your source of wealth for good."

Luca spread his hands. "With your talents, if you keep running the company, is earning five million really that hard? You’re the Wolf of Wall Street; you can make twenty million in three hours."

The logic held up, and that was exactly why Jordan had torn up his previous agreements—it wasn't that he couldn't afford the fine, but that he refused to step down from his company. Since the SEC was trying to cut off his livelihood, he naturally wouldn't stand for it.

However, five million was simply too much. Jordan shook his head. "No one would accept your quote, and I don't have that much liquid cash right now. My fixed assets are all under FBI surveillance. A transfer of that size would definitely be tracked."

"Don't you still have twenty million in a Swiss account?"

"!!!"

Jordan’s pupils contracted violently; he was horrified. *Shit! How does this guy know about that?*

That money had been earned through rat-trading schemes. To hide the illicit funds, he had his wife and partners find a group of Swiss relatives, smuggling the cash out in multiple trips, washing it, and depositing it into his wife’s aunt’s account. Only a few people knew about this—even the FBI was in the dark. How did this hitman know?

Jordan suddenly felt a sense of dread, as if his underwear had been seen through—though, ironically, he wasn't wearing any at the moment.

He played dumb. "What twenty million? My accounts are all under FBI supervision, all the funds are..."

"If I recall correctly, that money is sitting with your wife’s aunt. And the Swiss banker who helped you launder it is named Jean-Jacques Saurel. He was the one who suggested you open a rat-trading account in the name of a relative, and when you were moving the money..."

"Enough! Stop it!"

Jordan’s face turned ghastly. "How the hell do you know that? Did Donnie tell you? Or Naomi?" (One was his partner, the other his sexy trophy wife.)

"Or was it my two dead brothers?" Jordan stared intensely at Luca.

Luca simply placed a gold coin on the table. "Don't get excited, buddy. Do you think the information I just shared is worth five million?"

"..."

*Fine, you're the hitman, you're the boss...* A flash of fear crossed Jordan’s eyes. He took a deep breath and raised a palm. "Alright, alright, five million it is. First, tell me, how are you going to help me solve this? I want the SEC to drop their lawsuit and I want those damn FBI flies to disappear from my life forever!"

"The SEC’s lawsuit and investigation cannot be canceled."

Luca shook his head. "Your company is defrauding clients with low-priced penny stocks, manipulating prices through your friends' rat-trading accounts, and evading taxes by reporting private jets and brothel services as company costs... If I recall correctly, when Steve’s Shoe Company went for its IPO, one million shares flowed out of your rat-trading account."

With every fact Luca mentioned, Jordan grew more panicked. *Shit! How does this guy know everything?*

*Is he actually a federal agent? How could he have investigated this so thoroughly? Or can he peer into my mind? Is he a wizard?* Jordan felt an increasingly eerie sense of mystery surrounding the man.

"Your company’s list of crimes is endless," Luca continued, spreading his hands. "How could the SEC possibly let you off the hook?"

Jordan went frantic. "I don't need you to remind me of these damn things! I want a solution!"

"Calm down, man," Luca said, unhurried. "You can handle the SEC’s trouble yourself, right? They’ve been investigating for so long and haven't found a single piece of evidence. It’s only the FBI’s interference that has thrown you off balance."

The SEC was a civil agency, while the FBI investigated criminal offenses—they were on completely different levels. Luca secretly admired this abstract, trashy company of Jordan's; the SEC had been auditing their finances for ages and couldn't find a thing, only resorting to the FBI when they were backed into a corner.

"Look at all the investment banks on Wall Street," Luca said slowly. "Which one has clean hands? Goldman Sachs, Lehman Brothers, Merrill Lynch—these big firms guarantee collateralized debt obligations and hype up internet stocks. You know that’s all bullshit. They’ve committed crimes far more severe than yours. They are the real Wolves of Wall Street; you’re just a Golden Retriever."

Jordan: "..." *Not even a Golden Retriever, at least give me credit for being a German Shepherd!*

Luca continued, "But they can handle the FBI, and you can't. That’s the gap between you. I can help you with the FBI so they can't find evidence of your crimes, provided you follow my lead. As for the SEC, handle that yourself. I believe you have the capability to deal with them."

Luca didn't know much about the intricacies of high finance, so he didn't care to touch the SEC, but he knew exactly what had led to Jordan's downfall with the FBI. By cutting off those troubles and breaking the FBI’s chain of evidence in advance, he could keep Jordan out of jail for the time being. For instance, Steve’s Shoe Company would eventually betray Jordan and cause him massive trouble.

Jordan asked, half-doubting, "Can you really fix the FBI for me?"

"As long as you’re not stupid enough to confess your crimes to them, I can make those agents return empty-handed."

Luca picked up the coin, flicked it with his thumb, watched it spin in the air, and caught it in his palm. He looked at Jordan’s nervous face with an amused glint in his eyes. "Belfort, you have no choice now, because I know more about your crimes than the FBI does. You only have one option: cooperate with me."

Luca smiled and extended a hand. "I’m a man who believes in harmony and prosperity. I help you, you help me, and we all get rich. How about it? You don't want the FBI finding out about all those other things, do you?"

Jordan cursed under his breath, then smiled and shook Luca’s hand. But right now, he desperately wanted a bottle of Quaaludes and to sleep with every female employee in the office.

[Bond: Attention]

[Jordan: SR]

[Bewitchment: When delivering public speeches, your words are more persuasive, inspiring, and morale-boosting. The effectiveness of your influence on the audience is increased by 10%–30% (determined by oratorical skill). During phone communications, you are more likely to earn trust, +10% trust. When telemarketing stocks, trust is increased by an additional 20%.]

[Learning Requirements: Bond level must reach Close Friend or higher; requires 100 Skill Fragments.]

[Nerve Paralysis: Your body’s immunity to all toxins +30%.]

[Learning Requirements: Bond level must reach Friend or higher; requires 50 Skill Fragments.]

[Wolf of Wall Street: When receiving illegal income, the conversion rate of illicit funds is +50%.]

[Learning Requirements: Bond level must reach Partner or higher; requires 200 Skill Fragments.]

All three skills were excellent. The first was a god-tier skill for manipulation during speeches—every American president probably had a version of this. Though, Luca would skip the second part; he didn't want to be a stockbroker. The second skill, Nerve Paralysis, wasn't just for drugs like cocaine; it also applied to truth serums, anesthetics, and the like. "Toxins" here was a much broader concept. Luca had to admire that Jordan, a man who lived in decadence and took drugs daily, had actually developed a resistance skill.

The most critical skill was [Wolf of Wall Street]. A godly skill. Jimmy’s skill only gave a 5% conversion rate on dirty money—20% after liquidating teammates—but Jordan’s was a direct 50%. If you had a million in dirty money and lost 200k in the laundering process, Jordan’s skill would reduce that loss to just 100k. It was abstract, yet immensely powerful. It lived up to the SR card status; even though he had zero combat ability and the physical constitution of a sickly patient, he possessed such powerful skills.

It was just a shame that it required a "Partner" bond level to learn. How could one be a "partner" with this guy? By having orgies together every day?

...

After Luca left, Jordan called his closest partners into his office and relayed what had happened. Everyone was skeptical. They were all con artists themselves, which gave them an innate, sharp sense for spotting their own kind.

"That guy is a shameless scammer," said Donnie, his second-in-command—the same fat man who had been urinating earlier—cursing with righteous indignation. "Don't believe a word he says; he’s just here to extort you."

"But he knows every detail of our crimes," Jordan said helplessly. "He not only knows about our Swiss laundering, he knows who the bank manager is, and he even knows about my wife’s aunt! I suspect Robbie or someone else leaked it..."

Jordan grew more agitated. "Tell me, do I have a choice? If he tells the FBI these things, what am I supposed to do?! Huh? You guys say something! What do I do?! Fine, let’s all go down together, let’s all rot in prison. I just hope we can still buy drugs from the guards!"

Everyone looked at each other. It sounded too absurd. How could that guy possibly know? Everything they had done was so secret that even the FBI couldn't find it.

Donnie thought for a moment and asked, "Did he mention a plan to deal with the FBI? He has to prove his ability; we can't just believe whatever he says." Five million was a lot, but they could afford it, provided he could actually handle the FBI.

"Before he left, he told me to keep a close eye on Steve and his company’s stock. He said it was a gift for me." Jordan himself was confused.

Steve owned a company called "Steve’s Shoes." Jordan’s team had handled the IPO. The process, of course, hadn't been legitimate; they had engaged in a million-share rat-trading scheme, inflated the price to defraud clients, and let retail investors hold the bag at the peak to complete the asset transfer. How else would they have made 22 million in three hours?

The problem was, even though Jordan’s company and clients controlled 85% of the shares, the equity was legally in Steve’s name. If at this moment...

"Does he mean Steve is going to betray us?" Donnie asked.

"How the hell do I know? But he did give me a heads-up," Jordan said, feeling frazzled. "The FBI is investigating us. If Steve stabs us in the back now, we’ll suffer heavy losses! Donnie, Steve is your friend. You have to keep a tight leash on him. At this critical juncture, I don't want to hear a single piece of bad news! Everyone! Keep your mouths zipped shut—not a single word out of anyone!"

After saying this, Jordan buried his face in the coffee table, took a deep breath, and wore a ferocious expression.

*Motherfucker!*