On the front wall were multi-partitioned glass cubicles containing individual quarters for tarantulas and various sizes of scorpions, including the large emperor scorpions. All compartments were connected by small glass tubes with glass doors that could block or allow travel by the ants between compartments. Apparently they were the ultimate cleanup crew for this hellish construction. Each compartment also had a shoot that opened from the bottom to allow the scorpions and tarantulas to make their way down to a miniature arena. In the arena were the assorted detritus remains of grasshoppers, crickets, cockroaches, beetles, caterpillars, and leg parts of tarantulas and scorpions. David undoubtedly came there to watch gladiatorial combats between the scorpions and the tarantulas, and likely fights between members of the same species.
Apparently the spiders and scorpions also dined there on the lesser insects. There were little tabs of paper taped to the compartments of some of the residents. Upon closer inspection, they had numbers on them, ranging from one to three. David ranked his gladiators and, presumably, the insects that lost their ranking in combat or got crippled were sacrificed as feed for the stronger combatants.
Sparrow took pictures of all that she saw, then she and Blade slipped away into the night. She was shaken by what she’d witnessed and documented. It required many gulps of fresh outdoor air to rid the scent memory of David’s dungeon of death from her lungs. Stunned and sobered, Barbara and Blade drove away from David’s as she realized the urgency of her task. The warden of this insect penitentiary must surely self-identify as one of these lowly creatures. David had to be without soul or feeling for others, devoid of any moral compass, dedicated to ruthless victimizing, devouring his prey without any sense of humanity or remorse. David was anything but a normal caring, feeling human. He was a calculating sadistic killer. She shuddered at the thought of seeing him each day and needing to wait, as Chief had counseled her.
At her own apartment, Barbara reconfigured her copies from Debbie’s secret files into categorical duplicate files of her own. Into the insect file, Barbara added the developed photos of the decomposing body parts with their ant and silverfish scrubbers, and the cockroaches, centipedes, flea and lice swarms, beetles, spiders, scorpions, and other assorted insects she’d photographed. These wretched lowly animals and their lives and deaths were apparently David’s preferred amusement. File by file, Barbara assembled a composite of the president of UGGA.
The second file, a rather large one, was a record of David’s drug dealings. There were records of supplies costs for lighting and electricity and seedlings for growing marijuana plants in the basements of several employees in the firm’s accounting department, including Debbie Wasserman. Apparently, Judith had recently joined the drug ring. There were records of cash transaction ledgers of monies owed to a Mexican drug cartel’s local operator for supplies of cocaine and heroin delivered and cash owed. Both David and the local drug contact countersigned each invoice.
This was not some word-of-mouth, dependent upon whom you know and trust street operation with people always looking over each other’s shoulders. It was a ‘higher up the drug food chain’ business model, and it was conducted in gentlemanly, businesslike fashion. No guns, no hookers, no second-guessing and double-dealing were apparent. It looked like a long-standing arrangement where both parties needed the other. David received huge amounts of cash, which he laundered by making cash deposits on real estate investments and loan sharking deals. He was repaid with legitimate checks from buyers of real estate from his growing property inventory and from checks received from his loan paybacks. Running a mutual fund deflected any suspicion that anything nefarious was going on.
The third file was mundane record of people whom David loaned monies to, and copies of their promissory notes and evidence of their collateral. It contained first and second mortgages, along with promises of personal property collateral put-up, complete with photographs of the collateral, such as guns, jewels, and even three thoroughbred horses. David also kept a loan-to-value sheet on each borrower’s sub file. Barbara noted he never went below collateral values that were twenty percent greater than his loan amount, even if the borrower needed to put up, in one case, a written guarantee of his dental office furniture, chair, and gold supply for tooth fillings.
The fourth file was a record of rents received on houses that were used by human traffickers to house underage girls from Central America, Mexico, Cambodia, and Thailand. David owned seven such houses in Plaintown and two in Springs. Each produced rents of ten to fifteen times normal market value. David made sure that the operators who leased the houses from him were never bothered by the authorities, the local police and judges receiving routine monies from him disguised as donations to various causes, or outright cash payments. Business was very good, and police and judges were welcome complimentary guests. Their visits were compensated by the house operator and deducted from David’s rents.
The fifth file was an eye-popper. It was a Xeroxed copy of Marvin’s last will and testament. Here was proof that Marvin’s bequest to David was conditional upon David leaving the companies to Israel upon his death. The provision to keep Susan as the owner of the servicing company was also there, including the perpetual right for her company to administer all the regulatory and accounting functions. Clearly David was stuck with Susan.
The most chilling file was the sixth. It contained a list of rival drug gang members and prostitutes who were murdered. Apparently, girls who got out of line at the syndicate-operated brothels were executed and their bodies brought to David’s for disposal. Each murder victim had a page with a photograph of the body along with a photograph of Donna, Judith’s assistant, handing a wax-sealed envelope to an unknown man dressed in a hoodie and baggy clothes. The man receiving the envelope wore a mask. On each sheet there was an odd-shaped notation mark, apparently made by the same hand.
A money transfer took place and the mark signified that the person on David’s end saw the cash placed in the envelope and sealed. David’s role was to facilitate the payment to the killers and keep them anonymous; he arranged the hits and took in the money. Part of his compensation was earned by disposing of the bodies in his ‘barnyard to insects processing plant.’ Those contracting David’s services had no way of knowing who did the job. Those doing the job had no way of knowing who hired them. It was impossible to tell if the hoodie man was the actual killer or if there was another step where the hoodie man turned the money over to the final provider of the service. The prices of the hits ranged from ten thousand to twenty thousand dollars each. Barbara was astounded at the genius of the arrangement and the cheapness of life in Plaintown.
A seventh file held records of regular cash payments made by various businessmen, along with photographs of them in compromising positions with women or other men in one or another of the seven high-rent houses David leased to friendly operators. It was small money per businessman extorted, only three-to-five hundred per month, but significant money, ranging from ten thousand to twenty thousand dollars per month per house. Barbara recognized some of the men photographed. They were substantial businessmen, and the cash payments for sex were pocket change for them. Apparently David didn’t want to be an obnoxious taker; his extortions were not so large that his victims would retaliate and make trouble for him, but when cumulated, they added up. There was also a record of Bob, photographs of him and Rita at some bar. Obviously David wanted evidence that Bob was with some bar whore, completely unsuitable demeanor for an executive of UGGA.
Barbara created her own eighth file, which contained her developed photos of David’s private altar, his holy storage compartment and Torah scrolls, and the green room with its insects and spiders and death offerings. Then she called Chief. The following weekend, she went to the airport with her files and boarded a private jet.
OLD GRAVEL THROAT
Redemptions, that predictable leakage from a fund’s asset base by investors needing cash money, erupted into a crisis. Some brokers encoura
ged their clients who needed money to take it from the UGGA Universal Growth Fund. There was no trailing commission paid to brokers for keeping the money there, so it was a natural fund to target for client cash needs. David reviewed the fund’s redemption reports daily. Each report contained the name of the client, the amount of money withdrawn, the amount of money remaining, the name of the salesman who’d sold the fund shares to the client, and the name of the salesman’s brokerage firm.
Each shareholder redeeming shares for cash received a phone call from an elderly gentleman in fund shareholder services. The caller had a distinctive, authoritative, gravelly voice. The voice first told the shareholder he was taking a survey and asked why the shareholder needed the money. If the shareholder replied it was to remodel a house or a kitchen, or put an addition onto a house, the voice reacted with a gasp. Then the voice cleared its throat and told the shareholder that what he or she was about to do was a crazy idea; that people just weren’t doing that any longer; that if the shareholder would wait a couple of years the costs of materials and labor would drop significantly and they’d be able to do the remodel cheaper, based on a top secret report the fund had, and based upon the fund’s in-house economic survey. Of course, UGGA had no secret report and did no in-house economic surveys, but often as not, this approach worked. The investor changed his mind and the redemption request was canceled. The fund kept the money and the fees it earned on the money, often for many years thereafter.
If the redemption request was for a medical procedure such as triple bypass surgery or a double mastectomy for breast cancer, the gravelly voice would sound suddenly engaged and interested.
“Oh my God!” the voice would shout in alarm. “I’m glad I called you. I almost didn’t call, but I see you’ve been a loyal shareholder to us for a long time.” Any investor who’d been with the fund for more than six months qualified for the ‘long time’ pitch. “We really care about our long-term investors. Before you do anything, we have a firm expert on our staff who is very knowledgeable in your particular medical area. She’s very familiar with your type of illness and she can do a lot for you. If you’ll just hold the line a minute, I’ll put her on the line. Her name is Jean.” The phone was then handed to Debbie, who sat next to Old Gravel Throat for redemption calls.
“Hi there, this is Jean,” she chimed. “Old Bill told me all about your condition and you can rest assured you have nothing to worry about. We know all about these no-good scamming doctors. They just want to carve you up so they can take all your money. Listen, we have a staff medical doctor who will read your medical reports for free. He’ll talk to you about the procedure your doctor is recommending. Then he’ll check out your doctor’s complaint history on our secret in-house criminal complaint database and he’ll get back to you. So just call your doctor and your hospital right now and tell them you need to put off the procedure for another six months to think it over. Don’t tell them you’re having us check them out. We don’t want them to get suspicious. We like to hit them when they least expect it.”
In about half these cases, the investor cancels the redemption. They send their medical records to the fund where they are placed in a drawer until the next time the shareholder calls, asking why he or she hasn’t yet heard from the fund’s staff specialist doctor. The investor is told that the review takes time because it has to do with his doctor. After a few more weeks when the investor calls a third time, he’s told the staff doctor will likely get back to him within a week. Then, just at the one-week mark, the investor gets a call from Man Child, the mail clerk.
“Hello there. This is Dr. Johnson on the staff here. I’ve looked at your case carefully and checked out your doctor as well. Our opinion here is that you can wait at least five more years before you have that procedure and it will actually be more successful if you decide to wait. The problem will be better defined and there’s a good chance it will simply go away by itself. I am sending your records back to you.” About half these people die during the five-year wait period. Some survive as long as ten years with their untreated conditions, but UGGA got to keep their money.
Yet a third type of redemption is one caused by a salesman who is moving monies from the fund to some other product. The redemption reports will show a pattern of this that is easily discernable. For these situations, David makes a call to the salesman directly.
“Hi there, I’ve noticed you’re pulling money out of the UGGA General Universal Growth Fund. How come?” Pause, listening. “Oh I see, you’re doing this on the basis of short-term performance after you sold it as a long-term investment,” or, “Oh, it’s something more to the client’s needs, huh? Well, listen up, you no-good slime. We keep records on these shareholders and on you. They are our shareholders and they are documented for long-term growth, and growth is what we give them here at UGGA General Universal.”
There usually follows a long pause where the broker vents his frustration.
“What’s that you say? Five years of bad performance is long-term enough? You listen to me and stop talking back. You’re just a no-good little shithead and I’m a portfolio manager, see? I know what long term is and you don’t. Here at UGGA, long term is twenty years, nothing less. You just sold the fund to churn it later to get another commission, didn’t you? Don’t mouth off to me, you little bastard. I’m going to ruin your life if you try pulling this shit one more time.
“Now you pay attention, slime ball. We’ve got friends at the Securities and Exchange Commission and in your state regulator’s office. We’re watching your activity and we’re getting ready to turn you in. I’m giving you just this one chance, and then I’m going to tear your wretched hide off and destroy your miserable fucked-up little life. You call those shareholders of ours and you make them put that money back. They get thirty days where they can do that without paying another commission to you. You do that and you also put one additional shareholder with us and I’ll leave you alone. If you don’t do it, I’m going to get you busted out of the industry for churning your clients. You’re just a no-good dirty filthy little cocksucker. I’ve dealt with creeps like you before. I’ll get you busted down so badly you’ll be selling used cars and sweeping floors. We at UGGA have an extremely high standard of ethics. The regulators all know that, and when they hear from us about your activities you’ll get fucked right up the ass. Can you hear me, buddy?”
David shouts into the phone. “One week, you little prick! One week!” Then he slams the phone down. About half of all stockbrokers buckled under this intimidation tactic. Their sales redemptions stopped and some even sent the fund a new shareholder as a peace offering. David had a knack for being creative and thinking outside the box, an uncanny ability to find a way to blame someone or something else on a condition, to lay the solution to his problem into the lap of an innocent third party.
He was largely successful at staunching the outflows for home improvements, medical expenses, and the like, but one area of perpetual vexation was the shareholder group that actually sought to live off their investments. These people typically withdrew a fixed amount of money each month. This was somewhat predictable because the sales literature showed that one could do this on a reasonable basis and likely still have assets available to hopefully grow over the years.
Still, it was an outflow, like a slow bleed, and it annoyed David to no end. Finally he hit upon a plan to staunch this particular drain on the fund’s assets. When shareholders turned seventy, and every year thereafter, they got a happy birthday call from fund shareholder services. During the call, a discreet inquiry was made as to the health of the shareholder and his spouse. If the call turned up an indication of failing health, a second follow-up call was made by Old Gravel Throat. If he determined that it was likely there would be a death in the next three years, he would make a constructive suggestion to the shareholder.
They were told the big secret, that a great way to provide for their beneficiaries would be to first stop their monthly withdrawal and pla
ce all their assets in a trust for the beneficiaries, then run up a bunch of credit card bills, getting more and more cards until the shareholder had twenty or thirty of the darn things. Then, when the shareholder died, just stiff the credit card company. If they didn’t die when their cards were maxed out and the debt service was eating all their Social Security money, then the fund would recommend a lawyer who would settle the debt for ten cents on the dollar.
This ‘plug the leaks’ program worked very well with almost a ninety-percent success ratio. People naturally hated banks and credit card companies. It was the phony money crowd trying to get their hooks into people, and most people were all too willing to fight back if someone would just show them how they could get even with the bankers. After ‘plug the leaks’ was implemented, monthly outflows dropped by sixty percent.
Shareholders died, but their money didn’t have to die with them. Often enough a dead shareholder estate administrator omitted or neglected to discover all the decedent’s assets, including mutual fund shares. The funds, however, always knew about a shareholder death because the fund’s annual and semi-annual reports were returned to the fund by the post office as undeliverable. A scan of the obituaries confirmed the investor’s death. By law, decedent assets were to be placed into state unclaimed asset accounts. David made a practice of dragging his feet on that regulatory requirement; in fact, it was just one of those things he never got around to doing. No doubt if an estate administrator or a state regulator ever traced missing estate funds to the fund, they would have been promptly remitted; however, that never happened. Dead person’s monies were held in David’s mother’s trust account for him as the beneficiary in what turned out to be the permanent disposition of dead shareholder’s former assets.
When The Butterflies Come Page 28
