A Look Behind The Story

About thirty years ago, someone asked me if I would be interested in training to become a stockbroker. I told them, "No way! A stockbroker is a car salesman wearing an expensive suit," I quipped.

In 1999, a 12-year career on Wall Street came to an abrupt end. I had served hundreds of investors and enjoyed a fairly exemplary reputation for being a "cut above" in my field. A small number of clients thought I had wings. The time flew by quickly as I attempted to compete for larger accounts in an environment that rewarded tenacity.

My business plan worked a little too well. I wanted to reach a certain status in 10 years. It didn't really take that long. My market grew from being confined to the New York City area to a definable range between Rochester and Fort Lauderdale.

In the latter months of my tenure in the investment world, I fell into a trap that has been publicized too often in the news media. Competition for money and prestige took my mind into the evil cravasses of lust and self-aggrandisement. My vision was distorted by several distractions, including acceptance in a new, upscale community. My sense of morality gave way to an insatiable desire to acquire wealth. The fraud and deceit that I commited seemed miniscule, compared to the prize that I construed to be sufficient justification.

Eventually my tumultuous lifestyle came to an uncomfortable halt the day I was sent off to a state facility to ponder my misdeeds. That day marked the beginning of my recovery from a warped, myopic view of the value of money.

I began with a diary, at first, because I knew I wanted to write a book about my experience.