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Zusatztext Praise for Catching the Wolf of Wall Street “Still a hustler! still a salesman—and also a hell of a writer.” — Kirkus Reviews “Salacious reading.”— The Star-Ledger Praise for Jordan Belfort’s The Wolf of Wall Street “More pertinent today than ever.”— USA Today “A rollicking tale.”—Forbes.com “Unvarnished and often hilarious.”— The New York Times “Compelling . . . a page-turner.”— The Roanoke Times Informationen zum Autor After graduating from American University, Jordan Belfort worked on Wall Street for ten years. He is currently living in Los Angeles with his two children. Klappentext The continuation of New York Times bestseller The Wolf of Wall Street tells the true story of Jordan Belfor's spectacular flameout and imprisonment for stock fraud. In this astounding account! Wall Street's notorious bad boy-the original million-dollar-a-week stock chopper-leads us through a drama worthy of The Sopranos! from the FBI raid on his estate to the deal he cut to rat out his oldest friends and colleagues to the conscience he eventually found. With his kingdom in ruin! not to mention his marriage! the Wolf faced his greatest challenge yet: how to navigate a gauntlet of judges and lawyers! hold on to his kids and his enraged model wife! and possibly salvage his self-respect. It wasn't going to be easy. In fact! for a man with an unprecedented appetite for excess! it was going to be hell. But the man at the center of one of the most shocking scandals in financial history soon sees the light of what matters most: his sobriety! and his future as a father and a man. Leseprobe Chapter One The Aftermath September 4, 1998 Joel Cohen, the disheveled assistant United States attorney for the Eastern District of New York, was a world-class bastard with a degenerate slouch. When I was arraigned the following day, he tried to convince the female magistrate to deny me bail on the grounds that I was a born liar, a compulsive cheater, a habitual whoremonger, a hopeless drug addict, a serial witness-tamperer, and, above all things, the greatest flight risk since Amelia Earhart. It was a helluva mouthful, although the only things that bothered me were that he had called me a drug addict and a whoremonger. After all, I had been sober for almost eighteen months now, and I had sworn off hookers accordingly. Whatever the case, the magistrate set my bail at $10 million, and within twenty-four hours my wife and my attorney had made all the necessary arrangements for my release. At this particular moment, I was walking down the courthouse steps into the loving arms of my wife. It was a sunny Friday afternoon, and she was waiting for me on the sidewalk, wearing a tiny yellow sundress and matching high-heeled sandals that made her look as fresh as a daisy. At this time of summer, in this part of Brooklyn, by four o'clock the sun was at just the right angle to bring every last drop of her into view: her shimmering blond hair, those brilliant blue eyes, her perfect cover-girl features, those surgically enhanced breasts, her glorious shanks and flanks, so succulent above the knee and so slender at the ankle. She was thirty years old now and absolutely gorgeous. The moment I reached her, I literally fell into her arms. "You're a sight for sore eyes," I said, embracing her on the sidewalk. "I missed you so much, honey." "Get the fuck away from me!" she sputtered. "I want a divorce." I felt a second-wife alarm go off in my central nervous system. "What are you talking about, honey? You're being ridiculous!" "You know exactly what I'm talking about!" And she recoiled from my embrace and started marching toward a blue Lincoln limousine parked at the edge of the curb of 225 Cadman Plaza, the main thoroughfare in the courthouse section ...
