After a brief exchange, Jordan Belfort warmly offered his guest a bottle of champagne. The company lacked only three things: alcohol, women, and cocaine.
"I remember now—you're that handsome, helpful citizen from Times Square! Man, what you said really resonated with me. You spoke exactly what I was thinking. I've never connected with anyone like that before. Fuck New York—this chaotic city cost me two good friends!"
"The loss of a close friend is truly heartbreaking."
"Mr. Greco, thank you for helping those incompetent cops catch the killer. The professionals at the Continental Hotel are extraordinary. Let's get down to business. Name your price and help me take out the FBI agents investigating me."
This guy was clearly carried away and probably loaded up on sleeping pills; his head wasn't functioning properly. He jumped straight to asking Luca to eliminate the FBI agents.
"What's the point of killing them? If agents are assassinated during an investigation, the FBI will only send more people after you. Belfort, then your charges won't just be stock manipulation, but also the murder of federal officials."
Luca took the drink Jordan offered but didn't touch it; who knew what might be mixed into it?
Jordan rubbed his still slightly dizzy head. "I know your rules. You get paid to handle problems, so tell me how you plan to help. As long as you can make the FBI disappear from my life, name your price."
"Five millions."
"…"
Jordan sobered instantly. "Are you insane—or am I? The SEC fine won't even reach five million, and you want five million? Do you even understand how much that is? Stack it up and it could bury you alive!"
"The Securities and Exchange Commission will take more than five million dollars from you. They'll also force you out of the market, completely cutting off your income."
Luca spread his hands. "With your talent, if you keep running the company, is it hard to make five million? You're the Wolf of Wall Street—you made twenty-two million in three hours."
That was exactly why Jordan had broken the agreement. It wasn't that he couldn't afford the fine; he simply refused to leave the company. The SEC wanted to sever his income stream entirely, and he wasn't willing to accept that.
But five million was still astronomical.
Jordan shook his head. "No one would agree to that. And I don't have that kind of liquidity. All my assets are under FBI surveillance. If that much money moves through my accounts, they'll trace it immediately."
"Don't you have 20 million stashed in Switzerland?"
"!!!"
Jordan's pupils contracted sharply, fear flashing in his eyes.
How does he know that?
That money came from insider trading and stock manipulation. To conceal the illegal gains, he had his wife and business partner arrange for relatives in Switzerland to move the cash overseas. After multiple transfers, it was cleaned and deposited into his wife's aunt's account. Only a handful of people knew—not even the FBI.
So how did this assassin know?
A chill crept down Jordan's spine, as though he were completely exposed.
He feigned ignorance. "What 20 million? My accounts are all under FBI watch; every dollar is—"
"If I recall correctly, the money is parked with your wife's aunt. And the Swiss banker who helped you structure the transfers was named Jean-Jacques Sorel. He suggested opening a front-running setup in Switzerland under a relative's name, and during the transfers—"
"That's enough! Stop talking!" Jordan said grimly. "How the hell do you know that? Did Donnie tell you? Or Naomi?"
One was his business partner, the other his stunning wife.
"Or maybe my two dead friends?"
Jordan stared intently at Luca.
Luca calmly placed the gold coin on the table. "Relax. Do you think the information I just shared is worth five million?"
"…"
Fine. You're the assassin. You set the terms.
Fear flickered in Jordan's eyes. He took a deep breath and raised a hand. "Okay. Five million. But first tell me—how exactly are you getting me out of this? I want the SEC to drop the charges and those FBI flies out of my life permanently."
"The SEC's accusations and investigation won't disappear."
Luca shook his head. "Your firm defrauded clients with penny stocks, manipulated prices through insider trades, and wrote off private jets and escort services as business expenses. If I remember correctly, one million shares of Steve Shoes' IPO were tied to your insider trading."
With every detail Luca recited, Jordan grew more unsettled.
How does he know all this? Is he a federal agent? A mind reader? Some kind of sorcerer?
The man in front of him radiated an unsettling aura.
Luca continued, "Your company committed countless violations. Why would the SEC let that slide?"
Jordan slammed his hand down. "I don't need a lecture—I need a solution!"
"Calm down. You can manage the SEC, can't you? They've been digging for months and still haven't nailed you. It's the FBI's involvement that's throwing you off balance."
The SEC handles civil enforcement. The FBI investigates criminal offenses—completely different stakes.
Luca genuinely admired Belfort's outrageous but effective operation. The SEC couldn't bring them down, so in the end they had to involve the FBI.
"Tell me," Luca said slowly, "which major investment bank on Wall Street has clean hands? Goldman Sachs, Lehman Brothers, Merrill Lynch—these giants packaged junk debt and hyped internet bubbles. You know it's all smoke and mirrors. What they've done is far worse than you. They're the real wolves of Wall Street. You? You're more like a golden retriever."
Jordan: "…"
At least make it a German Shepherd.
"But they can handle the FBI. You can't. That's the difference. I can solve your FBI problem and prevent them from securing evidence—if you follow my instructions. As for the SEC, you deal with them yourself. I believe you can."
Luca wasn't interested in the complex mechanics of finance. What he understood was why Jordan had eventually been arrested. Cut off the FBI's chain of evidence ahead of time, and Belfort could stay afloat longer.
For instance, Steve Shoes would later betray Jordan and cause enormous trouble.
Jordan eyed him skeptically. "You can really handle the FBI?"
"As long as you're not foolish enough to confess, I can make those agents walk away empty-handed."
Luca flicked the coin into the air. It spun once and landed neatly in his palm. He studied Jordan's tense face with playful calm.
"Belfort, you don't have a choice. I know more about your crimes than the FBI does. You either work with me—or you don't."
Luca extended his hand.
"I believe in profitable cooperation. I value peace. I help you, you help me, and we both get rich. Sounds fair? You don't want the FBI hearing any of this, do you?"
Jordan mentally repeated "Screw you" a thousand times, but forced a smile and shook Luca's hand.
Right now, though, he'd rather down a bottle of sleeping pills and forget the world.
__________________________________________________________________________
Character Card: Jordan Belfort – Rank SR
Source: The Wolf of Wall Street
Skill 1: Persuasive
– +10% trust when communicating by phone
– +20% additional trust when promoting stocks by phone
– +10%–30% audience persuasion when delivering public speeches (based on speaking ability)
Learning Requirement: Close Friend Bond + 100 Fragments
Skill 2: Nerve Paralysis
– +30% immunity to toxins
Learning Requirement: Friend Bond + 50 Fragments
Skill 3: The Wolf of Wall Street
– +50% retention rate when obtaining illicit profits
Learning Requirement: Partner Bond + 200 Fragments
Bond: Attention
__________________________________________________________________________
All three skills were excellent.
The first reflected his extraordinary persuasive talent—nearly every U.S. president understands the power of that skill. The stock-promotion aspect, however, wasn't useful to Luca; he had no intention of becoming a broker.
The second skill, Nerve Paralysis, wasn't limited to narcotics—it extended to substances such as truth serums and anesthetics. The term "toxin" covered a broad range. Luca couldn't help but admire Belfort: through reckless indulgence and drug use, the man had inadvertently built resistance.
But the most valuable was The Wolf of Wall Street.
A truly extraordinary ability.
Jimmy's skill yielded only a 5% retention rate on illicit funds—20% after clearing out teammates. Jordan's reached 50%.
For example, out of 100 million dollars in illegal income, laundering inevitably caused loss. If twenty million vanished during the process, Jordan's skill could reduce that loss to ten.
Luca sighed in appreciation. Abstract. Absurd. Powerful.
As expected of an SR card. No combat strength, physically frail—yet possessing such formidable abilities.
Unfortunately, learning it required Partner-level bonding.
How exactly does one become partners with this lunatic? Host decadent parties every day?
After Luca left, Jordan summoned several trusted associates and relayed the entire conversation.
They were stunned.
As professional swindlers, they possessed keen instincts for spotting their own kind.
"That guy's a shameless fraud," Donnie—the second-in-command and the same man who had urinated into the trash can earlier—snapped. "Don't fall for it. He's extorting you."
"But he knew everything," Jordan said. "Not just the Swiss transfers—he knew the banker's name, my wife's aunt—everything. I think Rugrat and his people leaked it."
He grew increasingly agitated.
"Do I even have a choice? What happens if he goes to the FBI? What am I supposed to do? Fine—let's all go down together. We'll all land in prison and hope we can still bribe the guards for drugs!"
The room fell silent.
It sounded outrageous. Yet the details Luca knew were impossible to dismiss.
After a pause, Donnie asked, "Did he explain how he plans to deal with the FBI? He needs to prove he can actually do it. We can't just take his word."
Five million was massive—but not unattainable, provided he truly could neutralize the FBI threat.
"Before leaving, he told me to watch Steve and his company's stock closely. Said it was a 'gift.'"
Jordan looked baffled.
Steve owned Steve Shoes, previously taken public by Jordan's firm. The IPO process had been anything but clean. Through insider trading of one million shares, they inflated prices, dumped stock onto retail investors, and cleared twenty-two million in three hours.
The issue was ownership. Though Jordan's firm controlled 85% of the shares, the equity was legally in Steve's name.
"If Steve flips on us now…" Donnie muttered.
"Is that what he's warning?" Donnie pressed.
"How should I know? But he definitely hinted at it."
Jordan paced.
"The FBI's already investigating. If Steve betrays us now, we're finished."
"Donnie, Steve is your friend. Keep a close eye on him. At this stage, I don't want a single negative headline. Everyone—watch what you say. Not one careless word."
He collapsed forward onto the coffee table, breathing hard. When he lifted his head again, his face was feral.
Motherfucker—.
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Btw, i'm on leave at Sunday, so no chapters.