I nodded slowly, sensing daylight. “So he's pro-defense?”
“No,” replied Magnum, bursting my bubble. “He's not pro-defense, and he's not pro-government. He's straight down the middle. He pretty much dances to his own tune. He's one of the smartest judges in the Eastern District, so no one's gonna pull the wool over his eyes, not you orthe U.S. attorney. But that's a positive, because if you do the right thing, John will be fair with you. That much I can promise.
“By the way, don't call him John in the courtroom, unless you want to be held in contempt.” He smiled and winked. “Just call him Your Honor, and you'll be fine.”
Now the Yale-man chimed in: “Greg knows John as well as anybody. They used to work together at the U.S. Attorney's Office. They're friends.”
Wait a second. Did he just say friends? My lawyer is friends with the judge!It was music to my ears.
It all made sense now. I had always known that Magnum was the perfect lawyer for me. I'd even looked past the fact that standing next to him made me feel like a shrimp. And in the end, look how well things had worked out! By sheer coincidence, my lawyer was friends with the judge, which meant he would wink at the judge ever so subtlyjust as the judge was about to announce my sentence, at which point the judge would nod back at Magnum just as subtlyand then say, “Jordan Belfort, in spite of the fact that you stole a hundred million bucks and corrupted an entire generation of young Americans, I'm sentencing you to twelve months’ probation and a one-hundred-dollar fine.”
Meanwhile, the Duchess would be sitting in the courtroom-dressed to the nines and counting her lucky stars that she had decided to abandon her search for a new gold mine. After all, the Wolf's gold mine was about to reopen for ore extraction, simply because his lawyer was friends with the judge!
I smiled warmly at Magnum and said, “Well, this is some pretty good news, Greg.” I shook my head slowly, breathing a sigh of relief. “Why didn't you say you were friends with the judge in the first place? It's a terrific development. Reallyterrific, if you catch my drift!” I winked at Magnum conspiratorially and rubbed my thumb and first two fingers together, as if to say, “Just tell me how much cash you need to pay off the judge!” Then I winked again.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” exclaimed Magnum, in a tone deep enough to wake the dead. “John is not like that! He's completely legitimate. He's the kind of judge who might end up on the Supreme Court one day. Or at least the Court of Appeals. Either way, he won't do anything improper.”
Fucking killjoy! I thought. My own lawyer won't go to bat for me. Instead, he's trying to take the wind out of my sails. I resisted the urge to tell him to go fuck himself, and I said, “Well, I wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardize anyone's career aspirations. Anyway, I don't think I'd make a very good cooperating witness, so it's a moot point.”
Magnum seemed taken aback. “Why do you say that?”
“Yeah!” added a stunned Yale-man. “I couldn't disagree with you more. You'd make an excellent cooperating witness. Why would you think otherwise?”
I let out a deep sigh. “For a lot of reasons, Nick, not the least of which is that I'm at the very top of the food chain. Anybody I cooperate against will be a lesser figure than me. Not to mention the fact that most of the people the government would be interested in are my best friends. So, tell me, how the fuck am I supposed to rat out my best friends and maintain even one ounce of self-respect? I wouldn't be able to walk around Long Island with my head up. I'd be a leper.” I paused, shaking my head in despair. “And if I decide to cooperate, I have to come clean about all my crimes, tell them everything, right?”
They both nodded.
I said, “That's what I thought. So, basically, I'll be pleading guilty to the whole ball of wax, which means my fine is gonna be enormous. I'll be totally wiped out”—which would mean bye-bye, Duchess—”starting from scratch again. I don't think I could handle that right now. I've got a wife and kids to think about. I mean, what's better: spending four years in jail, while my family lives in the lap of luxury, or spending a year in jail, while my family wonders where their next meal's coming from?”
“It's not so cut-and-dry,” replied Magnum. “I mean, yes, you'd definitely be pleading guilty to everything. That's the way it works when you cooperate. But, no, you won't be wiped out. The government would leave you with something to live on—maybe a million bucks or so. But everything else would go: the houses, the cars, the bank accounts, the stock portfolios—everything.”
There were a few moments of silence. Then Nick said with great warmth: “You're a young guy, Jordan. And you're also one of the smartest guys I've ever met.” He smiled sadly. “You'll rebuild. Mark my words: You will rebuild your fortune. One day you'll be back on top again, and nobody in their right mind would bet against you.”
“He's right,” added Greg. “If you think this is the end for you, you're seriously mistaken. This is the beginning. It's time to start your life anew. You're a winner. Don't ever forget that.” He paused for a brief instant. “Yeah, you've made some mistakes along the way, some big mistakes. But that doesn't take away from the fact that you're a winner. Next time you'll do things right. You'll be older and wiser, and you'll build your foundation on stone instead of sand. And then no one will be able to take it away from you. Nobody.”
He nodded his head slowly, sagely. “And as far as ratting out your friends goes, I wouldn't be so concerned with it. If the shoe were on the other foot, every last one of them would turn on you. Right now you gotta do what's right for you and your family. That's all that matters. Forget the rest of the world, because they would certainly forget about you.” Now he changed his tone to one of nostalgia. “You know, we used to have a saying in the U.S. Attorney's Office: The Italians sing on Mulberry Street, and the Jews sing on Court Street. In other words, people in the Mafia don't cooperate, they don't ‘sing’ on other mobsters. But it's all a load of crap now. With RICO, the sentences start at twenty years and they go up from there. So the mobsters sing too. The Jews sing, the Italians sing, the Irish sing. Everyone sings.”
He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Anyway, the bigger problem I see with cooperating is Joel Cohen, the assistant U.S. attorney—the AUSA—on your case.” Magnum let out a great sigh. Then, in staccato-like beats, he said, “Joel—Cohen—can—not—be—trusted. I repeat: He—can—not—be—trusted. He—is—a—bad—egg.”
Then Nick chimed in: “Greg's right about that. We've had some bad experiences with Joel in the past. See, the way it works when you cooperate is, the AUSA is supposed to write a letter to the judge, saying how helpful you've been and what a great witness you've been, and so on. Now, Joel, by law, will have to write the letter, but here's where it gets tricky. You see, what he actually writes is up to him. If he wants to stick it to you, he can color the letter in a negative way. Then you're up shit's creek.”
“Well, fuck that!” I muttered. “That's a disaster in the making, Nick.” I shook my head in amazement. “And, no offense, but I don't need the two of you to tell me that Joel Cohen is an asshole. I could tell that just by looking at him. I mean, did you hear that scumbag at my bail hearing? If it were up to him they would nail me to a crucifix.”
“But it's not up to him,” argued Magnum. “In fact, it probably won't even be Joel who writes your letter when the time comes. See, if you cooperate, it'll drag on for four or five years, and you won't get sentenced until after your cooperation is through. There's an excellent possibility Joel will have already left the office by then—joining the ranks of us humble defense attorneys.”