The Southwest Counterfeiter

By Garbis Krajekian

Garbis (Gary) Krajekian had a normal boyhood growing up in the predominantly Armenian-Christian, small town of Kessab, in northwest Syria. At nineteen, he came to the United States as a medical student to continue his education, but soon found himself dealing with besetting and seemingly insuperable adversity. For the next few years, he struggled to scrape a living, and eventually, addled and abject, he placated his scruple and succumbed to the absurd idea of literally making his own money. His escapade lasted more than a decade.
An inventor by nature, Gary built his own papermaking and intaglio-printing machines, and used modern technology and centuries-old techniques to replicate the security features of three different series of genuine $100 notes. The Unites States government, in its indictment and sentencing memorandum, used terms such as “reverse-engineered” and “sophisticated counterfeit product” to describe his bills, and labeled him a “master counterfeiter.” His bills defeated most counterfeit detection methods and devices, and even made it past the banks’ counting machines and into the Federal Reserve System. They were of such high quality and became so prolific in the southwest region of the country that the Secret Service named them “Southwest Notes.”
In The Southwest Counterfeiter, Gary delves into the details of why he became a counterfeiter and how, alone, he made and passed more than 23,000 counterfeit $100 bills in malls and some banks, one at a time. He also recounts many of the eerie and sometimes wry anecdotes depicting his innumerable encounters with retailers, and the details of his few ominous brushes with the law over the years, none of which ended with his arrest. Finally, he reveals how, after a routine traffic stop, a bizarre twist of events led to his arrest more than a year later. By the government’s own admission, it was a bit fortuitous he was ever caught. The Southwest Counterfeiter is a somewhat tragic, yet gripping human story that takes the reader on a one-of-a-kind, suspenseful adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Garbis Krajekian
• Release date: Jan 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370068920

Book preview

The

Southwest

Counterfeiter

How I made and passed over $2 million

in counterfeit $100 Supernotes

A true story

By

GARBIS KRAJEKIAN

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2018 Garbis Krajekian

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a true story. The names of some characters have been changed or omitted to protect the privacy of those involved.

Contents

The seed of the caper

A trip down memory lane

Taking the plunge

The point of no return

Counterfeiting machines and mischief in the malls

The Secret Service and divine intervention

Eluding the police in a bank, an encounter with a detective, and another invention

Trouble inside a bank

The guardian angels saved me, again!

The government seized and deposited over $60,000 in the U.S.M.S. account, and no one discovered the majority were counterfeit?

One last run

End of the road

The government’s sentencing Memorandum

A stint in criminal college

Time for a fresh start

A gem cannot be polished without friction, nor a man perfected without trials.

__Anonymous

The seed of the caper

Phoenix, Arizona

March 2002

Nothing was different about that day. I arrived early for an appointment in one of the new neighborhoods that stippled the fields on the west side of town. I parked on a small street alongside a water canal and waited.

Little did I know the next half hour would change the course of my life forever.

I worked for the Kirby® Company back then. Kirby® manufactured home cleaning systems for over a century, and its distributors recruited sales representatives like me to demonstrate their products in prospective customers’ homes. The company prohibited any other form of marketing. The distributors also hired telemarketers to generate some leads, but the salesmen, who worked solely for commissions, often had to schedule their own appointments by canvassing and referrals.

The freedom and flexibility this line of work afforded me were invaluable, but I was not passionate about what I did for a living. I especially disliked soliciting, the crux of the job. Selling was easy when I had an audience. In this business it was said that the amount of rejection one endured in a single day was more than what most people experienced in a year. Even the most positive and successful individuals suffered the occasional doldrums.

I had been doing this off and on for eight years, far too long, and I was ready for a change. I had been in this situation many times before where I had moved on to other odd jobs. However, I didn’t have a college degree or any training in a specific field, so my chances of finding a steady, good-paying position were slim. I always came back to the one thing that I knew how to do well and which paid better than my other stints, my sales job.

At age twenty-seven, engaged to my fiancée Julie and planning to get married in the fall, I was overwhelmed. I didn’t have a stable carrier. I had tried my hardest at sales and worked longer hours than most with forty-hours-per-week jobs, but I wasn’t getting anywhere. I didn’t want to be a salesman for the rest of my life, nor did I want to become a distributor for Kirby®, something I probably could have done if I had aspired to do so. However, the constant stress and financial rollercoaster pushed me searching for other opportunities.

This time I was done for good. I was burnt out. And at the crossroads again.

I sat in my car, seat reclined, windows down, and a breeze soothing the hot rays of the afternoon sun. I was rapt in my thoughts remembering my past adventures and contemplating the path I should choose for the next chapter of my life. I had already done some research and put together a rough plan to start a water bottling and distribution business. As I was brainstorming about ways to procure the necessary funds, I realized if I couldn’t raise enough money for my startup I would be chasing a dream once again. Suddenly I started feeling despondent, then my optimism evaporated completely.

At that instant, I had an incongruous revelation:

I want to start a business to make money, I thought, but I need money to start a business!

I paused for a long moment and then,

Why don’t I make the money I need literally, as in print it? I thought, then I froze. I was shocked.

What’s wrong with me? Where did this come from? Is this my brilliant solution? I can’t be serious! I started questioning my sanity.

Assuming I could pull this off, I was certain I couldn’t allow myself to dare try it. Other than some traffic violations, I had never been in trouble with the law. And I was not about to start now. Just thinking of doing something illegal was terrifying.

I clambered out of the car still reeling from the shock and shaking as if I had done something wrong already. This was absolutely the dumbest idea I’ve ever come up with! I mumbled, trying to brush aside this thought and assure myself that I was fine.

It was almost time for my appointment, so I stretched, took a deep breath, and got back in the car and trundled down the street to my prospect’s home.

Throughout my demonstration, I struggled to concentrate on the task at hand and it was an utter flop. So was the rest of that evening.

No, I was not fine.

I arrived home a little late as I did most days. Evenings were considered prime time for selling Kirbys since more people were home, and there was a better chance of making a sale if a husband and wife, or a couple, were both present for a demonstration.

Usually, if I made it home at a decent time, Julie and I had dinner together and spent the evening winding down, chatting, and watching late night comedy shows before going to bed. We had been living together in our two-bedroom apartment for almost a year since we moved from California, and we managed to cover our expenses, which were reasonable for a couple at our age. However, we hardly had any extra money to save, something neither one of us knew how to prioritize. We lived paycheck to paycheck like many folks did.

Late at night, after Julie had fallen asleep, the idea from earlier in the day, printing money, occurred to me again. I tried to ignore it, but I kept tossing and turning and couldn’t fall asleep. I slipped out of bed, tiptoed to the office in the spare bedroom, and closed the door behind me. I flopped into the swivel office chair, reclined, and stared at my faint reflection on the dark computer-monitor-screen. This is just a fantasy; I will not dare do anything like this! I assured myself, closed my eyes, and drifted in my imagination.

This idea, however illegal, intrigued me. It had an element of danger. It was sinister. Yet it seemed so innocuous. After all, it was just about printing something. It’s not like I was thinking about robbing a bank or hurting anyone, so I allowed myself to indulge in a little fantasy. I hoped I would get tired and fall asleep and by morning, wake up having forgotten all about it.

I made it to bed in the wee hours of the morning.

After a night of fitful sleep, I opened my eyes ready to start another day. But within minutes the idea was back. It popped up on the forefront of my mind like a yellow sticky-note beckoning my attention. I suppressed it by sheer will and managed to get through the day, but late at night it was back again.

For the next few weeks I played a game of whack-a-mole with this idea, but each night it lingered a little longer. Soon it got the better of me and I began staying up at nights ruminating over it.

Even if I dared try this, was it doable? I knew nothing about how money was printed. I had worked with computers and scanned and printed documents, but it took only a cursory glance at a dollar bill to realize that money wasn’t printed with an ordinary printer, nor was it printed on regular paper. And what about the ethical and legal consequences of such an act? I thought one night. Is it worth spending more time on this stupid idea?

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get it out of my head. Finally, one night I decided if I investigated the actual process of making money, maybe then I would recognize how difficult or impossible it was, and that should help me put this idea to rest for good.

I started searching the Internet and one night of reading led to another and yet another until this became my late night routine. A passion. An obsession. To learn all there is to learn about money. What is money? What is the history of money? How is it made? Questions I had never asked myself before!

My internet searches produced many interesting topics and led me to a sea of articles and books about these subjects:

I enjoyed reading about how societies throughout the world evolved from barter systems to using gold and silver coins. These two metals had always filtered themselves as the media of exchange because historically money was supposed to be something of intrinsic value, or at least represent an article of value, and act as a store of value for future use. Gold and silver always met this standard, which made them the metals of choice to be used as money.

I learned how rulers of any form (emperors, kings, lords, etc.) created instant wealth for themselves, throughout history, by recalling existing gold and silver coins in circulation and diluting them with cheaper metals, thus debasing money and robbing people of the fruits of their hard work.

Before long, I was studying the banking system, the history of fractional reserve banking, and most extensively the Federal Reserve System. This private institution (rather public-private partnership) was established by the Congressional Federal Reserve Act of 1913, after a deal that was hatched in secrecy by the money kings (wealthy financiers and banking cartel members) on the Jekyll Island off the coast of Georgia. It acts as the central bank of the United States and controls the supply of U.S. currency in the form of Federal Reserve Notes (F.R.N.s). The name ‘Federal Reserve System’ was carefully chosen at the time of its inception to conjure the image of the federal government, and to this day, many people think it is a government institution because of its name.

I also found general information about how the Bureau of Engraving and Printing (B.E.P.) made F.R.N.s. This was the first time I learned of the security features in F.R.N.s, as I had never paid any attention to them before. For me a bill was just a piece of paper that the government printed with numbers that indicated its value. I never once thought that the paper-money I accepted and paid with could be counterfeit. I simply deposited my paychecks in the bank and used my ATM card or went to a branch when I needed cash.

The more I read, the more I believed the monetary system was flawed and even worse, it was rigged to benefit the entities that print their own money. Money no longer possessed intrinsic value, it didn’t represent anything of value, and it was not a store of value anymore because of continued devaluation through inflation.

Until the late sixties, F.R.N.s were still partially backed by gold, and in the not too distant past, each bill carried the following inscription: This note is legal tender for all debts, public and private, and is redeemable in lawful money at the United States treasury, or at any Federal Reserve Bank. This alluded to gold, which was lawful money according to the constitution of the United States.

In the 1930s the domestic redeemability of U.S. and other national currencies was abrogated and in August 1971, President Nixon declared that the dollar would no longer be redeemable in gold internationally, severing the last tenuous tie between gold and the U.S. dollar. Presently, only a remnant of that inscription remains on F.R.N.s as a decree.

Here is what the Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis openly says about the current monetary system:

Modern monetary systems have a fiat base—literally money by decree—with depository institutions, acting as fiduciaries, creating obligations against themselves with the fiat base acting in part as reserves. The decree appears on the currency notes: This note is legal tender for all debts public and private. While no individual could refuse to accept such money for debt repayment, exchange contracts could easily be composed to thwart its use in everyday commerce. However, a forceful explanation as to why money is accepted is that the federal government requires it as payment for tax liabilities. Anticipation of the need to clear this debt creates a demand for the pure fiat dollar [1].

No longer are F.R.N.s redeemable for anything.

At present, all governments of the world issue fiat currencies through their central banks. To fathom the magnitude of this global swindle, all one has to do is read the following paragraph about the mechanism which the Federal Reserve Bank uses to create money out of thin air:

The entire function of this machine is to convert debt into money. It’s that simple. First the Fed takes all the government bonds which the public does not buy and writes a check to congress in exchange for them. (It acquires other debt obligations as well, but government bonds comprise most of its inventory). There is no money to back up this check. These fiat dollars are created on the spot for that purpose. By calling those bonds reserves, the Fed then uses them as the base for creating 9 additional dollars for every dollar created for the bonds themselves. The money created for the bonds is spent by the government, whereas the money created on top of those bonds is the source of all bank loans made to the nation’s businesses and individuals. The result of the process is the same as creating money on a printing press, but the illusion is based on an accounting trick rather than a printing trick. The bottom line is that congress and the banking cartel have entered into a partnership in which the cartel has the privilege of collecting interest on money which it creates out of nothing, a perpetual override on every American dollar that exists in the world. Congress, on the other hand, has access to unlimited funding without having to tell the voters their taxes are being raised through the process of inflation. If you understand this paragraph, you understand the Federal Reserve System [2].

The machination doesn’t stop here; Griffin expounds on the commercial banking system:

Under a fractional-reserve banking system, a bank can create new money merely by issuing a loan. The amount it creates is limited by the reserve ratio or fraction it is required to maintain to cover its cash-flow needs. If the reserve ratio is 10%, then each $10 it lends includes $9 that never existed before [3].

When I started reading about money, I hoped to rid myself of this idea about printing it. Instead, as I plowed through the colossal volume of detailed, cogent, and incontrovertible information exposing the greatest bunco ever that the banks were perpetrating in collusion with and the acquiescence of the government, I began to believe, at least morally, there would be nothing wrong with printing my own bills—why should the government and banks have a monopoly on creating money out of thin air? I became convinced that if I made my bills as good as the originals, then no one would know they were not real or, rather, official counterfeits printed by the government. Consequently, no one would lose any money and eventually my bills would make it through the banking system and get shredded by the Federal Reserve machines.

I experienced financial hardship throughout my adult life but I never resorted to or even thought of committing an illegal act before. Could reading about these topics have been miasmic, making me feel like a fool for playing by the rules and eventually upending my belief system and pushing me over the edge, or was I looking for a justification? Was there anything else in my background that could have made me susceptible to veer onto this path? Just how did I end up at that fateful moment at the crossroads of life?

A trip down memory lane

I was born in 1975 to an Armenian family in the small town of Kessab—currently about 2,000 residents—located in the northwest corner of Syria. Kessab is nestled in a picturesque, mountainous region within a short drive to the Mediterranean’s most pristine and secluded beaches. It is also one of the last remaining frontiers of ancient Cilicia and, to this day, it is occupied predominantly by Armenian-Christians who are survivors of the Armenian Genocide of 1915 [4].

As the youngest of five siblings, my childhood was pretty normal for someone of my family’s social