Christ, what a f**king pervert I was! Even now, in the middle of my own farewell speech, my mind was double-tracking wildly. My lips were moving up and down, as I went about the process of thanking the Strattonites for five years of undying loyalty and admiration, yet I still found myself questioning whether or not I should’ve banged more of the sales assistants. What did that say about me? Did it make me weak? Or was it only natural to want to bang them all? After all, what was the point of having the power if you didn’t use it to get laid? In truth, I hadn’t exploited that aspect of the power as much as I could have, or at least not to the extent Danny had! Would I come to regret that one day? Or maybe I’d done the right thing? The mature thing! The responsible thing!
All these bizarre thoughts were roaring through my head with the ferocity of an F-5 tornado, while self-serving words of wisdom gushed out of my mouth in torrents, without the slightest bit of conscious effort. And then I realized that my mind wasn’t actually double-tracking (which it always did), but it was triple-tracking, which was truly f**king bizarre.
On track three there was an internal monologue, questioning the decadent nature of track two, which was focusing on the pros and cons of getting blown by the sales assistants. Meanwhile, track one was humming along uninterrupted, as my words to the Strattonites came tumbling from my lips like tiny pearls of self-serving wisdom, and the words were coming from…where? Perhaps from the part of the brain that works independently of conscious direction…or maybe the words were pouring out from sheer force of habit. After all, I’d given how many meetings over the last five years?…Two a day for five years…So with three hundred working days in a year, it translated into 1,500 working days, times two meetings per day, which equaled 3,000 meetings in total, minus whatever meetings Danny had given, which were probably ten percent of the total, subtracted from the gross number of 3,000 meetings, and the number 2,700 came into my mind just like that, but the tiny pearls of self-serving wisdom had continued tumbling from my lips as I did the math…
…and when I snapped back into the moment, I found myself explaining how the investment-banking firm of Stratton Oakmont was sure to survive—sure to survive!—because it was bigger than any one person and bigger than any one thing. And then I felt the urge to steal a line from FDR—who in spite of having been a Democrat, still seemed like a reasonably okay guy, although I’d recently been informed that his wife was a dyke—and I began explaining to the Strattonites how there was nothing to fear but fear itself.
It was at this point that I felt compelled to reemphasize how Danny was more than capable of running the firm, especially with someone as sharp as Wigwam at his side. But, alas, I still found myself looking at a thousand rolled eyeballs and an equal number of gravely shaking heads.
So now I felt it necessary to cross over the line of good judgment. “Listen, everyone: The fact that I’m being barred from the securities industry doesn’t stop me from giving Danny advice. I mean—really! Not only is it legal for me to give Danny advice, but I can also give advice to Andy Greene, Steve Sanders, the owners of Biltmore and Monroe Parker, and, for that matter, to anyone else in this boardroom who’s interested in hearing it. And just so you know, Danny and I have a tradition of eating breakfast and lunch together, and it’s a tradition we have no intention of breaking just because of some ridiculous settlement I was forced to make with the SEC—a settlement that I made only because I knew that it would ensure Stratton’s survival for the next hundred years!”
And with that came thunderous applause. I looked around the room. Ahhhh, such adoration! Such love for the Wolf of Wall Street! Until I locked eyes with Mad Max, who seemed to be blowing steam out of his f**king ears. What was he so f**king concerned about, anyway? Everybody else was eating this shit up! How come he couldn’t simply join in the cheer? I resisted the urge to draw the obvious conclusion that my father was reacting differently because he was the only person in the boardroom who actually gave a shit about me and he was somewhat concerned at watching his son jump off a regulatory cliff.
For the sake of Mad Max, I added, “Now, of course, this will only be advice, and by the very definition of the word it means that my suggestions don’t have to be followed!” to which Danny screamed from the side of the boardroom: “Yes, that’s true, but why on earth would anyone in their right mind not follow JB’s advice?”
Once again, thunderous applause! It spread through the boardroom like the Ebola virus, and soon the entire room was on its feet, giving the wounded Wolf his third standing ovation of the afternoon. I held up my hand for quiet, and I caught a pleasant glimpse of Carrie Chodosh, one of Stratton’s few female brokers, who also happened to be one of my favorites.
Carrie was in her mid-thirties, which at Stratton made her a virtual antique. Nevertheless, she was still a looker. She’d been one of Stratton’s first brokers—coming to me when she was flat broke, on the balls of her perfect ass. At the time, she was three months behind on her rent, and her Mercedes was being chased by a repo truck. You see, Carrie was another in a long line of beautiful women who had made the sad mistake of marrying the wrong man. After a ten-year marriage, her ex-husband refused to pay her a dime in child support.
It was a perfect segue, I thought, into Duke Securities and then into broaching the possibility of an FBI investigation. Yes, better to allude to the FBI now, to almost predict an investigation, as if the Wolf had seen it coming all along and had already prepared himself to fend off the attack.
Once more I held up my hand for quiet. “Listen, everyone—I’m not gonna lie to you here. Settling with the SEC was one of the toughest decisions I’ve ever made. But I knew that Stratton would endure no matter what. See, what makes Stratton so special, what makes it so unstoppable, is that it’s not just a place where people come to work. And it’s not just a business looking to turn a profit. Stratton is an idea! And by the very nature of being an idea it can’t be contained, nor can it be quashed by a two-year investigation at the hands of a bunch of bozo regulators, who froze to death in our conference room and thought nothing of spending millions of taxpayer dollars to embark on one of the biggest witch hunts since the Salem witch trials!
“The very idea of Stratton is that it doesn’t matter what family you were born into, or what schools you went to, or whether or not you were voted most likely to succeed in your high-school yearbook. The idea of Stratton is that when you come here and step into the boardroom for the first time, you start your life anew. The very moment you walk through the door and pledge your loyalty to the firm, you become part of the family, and you become a Strattonite.”
I took a deep breath and pointed in Carrie’s direction. “Now, everybody here knows Carrie Chodosh, right?”
The boardroom responded with hooting and howling and catcalling.
I raised my hand and smiled. “Okay, that was very nice. In case any of you weren’t aware of it, Carrie was one of Stratton’s first brokers, one of the original eight. And when we think of Carrie, we think of her the way she is today—a beautiful woman who drives a brand-new Mercedes; who lives in the finest condo complex on Long Island; who wears three-thousand-dollar Chanel suits and six-thousand-dollar Dolce and Gabbana dresses; who spends her winters vacationing in the Bahamas and her summers in the Hamptons; you know her as someone who has a bank account with God only knows how much in it”—probably nothing, if I had to guess, since that was the Stratton way—“and, of course, everyone knows Carrie as one of the highest-paid female executives on Long Island, on pace to make over $1.5 million this year!”
Then I told them the state of Carrie’s life when she came to Stratton and right on cue, the lovely Carrie responded in a loud, forthright voice: “I’ll always love you, Jordan!” at which point the boardroom went wild once more, and I received my fourth standing ovation.
I bowed my head in thanks, then after a good thirty seconds I asked for quiet. As the last of the Strattonites retook their seats, I said, “Understand that Carrie’s back was to the wall; she had a small child to worry about and a mountain of bills crashing down on her. She couldn’t allow herself to fail! Her son, Scott, who happens to be an incredible kid, will soon be attending one of the finest colleges in the country. And thanks to his mother, he won’t have to graduate owing a couple a hundred grand in student loans and then be forced to—” Oh, shit! Carrie was crying! I’d done it again! The second time in one day I’d brought a woman to tears! Where was the Duchess?
Carrie was crying so loudly that three sales assistants had surrounded her. I needed to hit my final points quickly and then end this farewell speech before someone else started crying. “Okay,” I said. “We all love Carrie, and we don’t want to see her cry.”
Carrie held up her hand and said, through gooselike snorts, “I’m—I’m fine. I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” I replied, wondering what the appropriate response was to a crying female Strattonite during a farewell speech. Did such a protocol even exist? “The point I was trying to make was that if you think the opportunity for quick advancement doesn’t exist anymore—that because Stratton is so big and so well-managed that your path to the top is somehow blocked—well, in the history of Stratton there’s never been a riper time for someone to rise through the ranks and go straight to the top. And that, my friends, is a fact!
“The simple fact is, now that I’m leaving, there’s a huge void Danny needs to fill. And where’s he gonna fill it from? From the outside? From somewhere on Wall Street? No, of course not! Stratton promotes from within. It always has! So whether you just walked in the door, or if you’ve been here for a few months and just passed your Series Seven, or if you’ve been here for a year and just made your first million, then today is your lucky day. As Stratton continues to grow, there’ll be other regulatory hurdles. And just like the SEC…we’ll overcome those too. Who knows? Maybe the next time it’ll be the NASD…or the states…or maybe even the U.S. Attorney’s Office. Who can say for sure? After all, virtually every big Wall Street firm goes through that once. But all you need to know is that at the end of the day Stratton will endure and that from out of adversity comes opportunity. Maybe next time it’ll be Danny who’s standing up here, and he’ll be passing the torch to one of you.”
I paused to let my words sink in, and then began my close. “So good luck, everyone, and continued success. I ask you for only one favor: that you follow Danny the way you followed me. Pledge your loyalty to him the way you did to me. As of this very moment, Danny is in charge. Good luck, Danny, and Godspeed! I know you’ll take things to a new level.” And with that, I lifted the mike in the air in salute to Danny and received the standing ovation of a lifetime.
After the mob finally settled down, I was presented with a going-away card. It was three feet by six feet, and on one side, in big red block letters, it read, To the World’s Greatest Boss! On either side were handwritten notes—brief accolades from each of my Strattonites—thanking me for changing their lives so dramatically.