Wicked Greed

By Stephen Warren

When Bradford T. Young found himself at the epicenter of Florida's overheated real estate market, he plunged into the universal greed trap - a craving quest for piles of money, corrupting power and seductive women. But that was before his guilty nightmares began . . . and before Amanda "Mandy" Grant, a tabloid investigative reporter, unwittingly placed a mystical spell over him. Brad is soon forced to make a life-altering choice - slide further into an abyss of greed or pursue a fleeting opportunity to earn Mandy's love which he also covets. Brad's quandary intensifies when Mandy's investigation uncovers and exposes the illicit inner workings of the corrupt organization he now works for. As Mandy garners the wrath of a New York mobster and his evil empire, only Brad as a "company insider" can save her from the unfathomable terror that follows. In a cunning cat and mouse gambit, Brad must race to beat organized crime at its own wicked game, as David pitted against Goliath with death or love hanging in the balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491812617

Stephen Warren

Stephen Warren is associate professor of history and American Studies at the University of Iowa and was a historian for the PBS documentary "We Shall Remain," which aired in 2009.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

CRAACK!

There was a collective hush as the gavel fell, the silence as profound as a funeral about to commence.

Just moments before the Senate Chamber had reverberated with anxious chatter. The din had risen to a crescendo but halted on cue when the gavel dropped on a block of oak wood. All heads turned toward the middle chair on the top row of Senators, every ear now tuned to the opening words of the Committee Chairman.

"In the fall of 2008 . . . the Senator began, speaking softly, allowing each word to hang for optimal impact. America suffered a devastating economic assault. It left deep wounds. Millions lost their homes. Good businesses shut down. Financial markets froze. The stock market plunged . . ."

Senator Carl Levin, as Chairman of the Senate Permanent Committee on Investigations, had made many opening statements to commence a hearing. The topics were normally mundane and routine—consumer protection, trade policies or issues pertaining to federal grants. And today’s hearing sounded equally innocuous in tone and title—Wall Street and the Financial Crisis: The Role of High Risk Loans. It was a subject that only a year earlier would have elicited a big yawn.

But today was high drama for those in attendance and the Senator knew that his opening statement required a special eloquence. He leaned forward and peered over the top of his reading glasses to make eye contact with everyone in the room. "We need to understand what went wrong . . . to hold perpetrators accountable . . . to fortify our defenses to ward off another such assault in the future."

He paused after each sentence as if announcing Japan had just bombed Pearl Harbor. Indeed, it had been a Pearl Harbor assault on America’s financial markets and everyone understood the significance of this investigative hearing.

As camera flashes from the front row of photographers bounced off the Senator’s receding hairline, he blinked several times and then lowered his eyes to his notes. "To rebuild our defenses, it is critical to understand that the recent financial crisis was not a natural disaster. It was a man-made economic assault. People did it. Extreme greed was the driving force."

As he continued speaking, no one paid any attention to Amanda Mandy Grant, an attractive brunette who sat on the back row. Taking notes, she underlined the word greed, a simple yet powerful word that summed up the crisis. Being an investigative reporter for The Daily Sphere, a New York tabloid, she wasn’t as interested in the traditional who, what, when, where aspects of the story. Instead, she sought out the words that reflected raw emotions and passions. Listening carefully, she scribbled down and underlined the most vivid terms the Senator used to convey his message: toxic, fraudulent, high-risk, teasers, liar-loans, obscene compensation, and naked credit default swaps.

The corners of Mandy’s mouth turned up, revealing a slight hint of amusement. She noted that this bland topic was being described with words covering the seven deadly sins. But she was also becoming weary of the scintillating rhetoric. As the Senator droned on, she chewed on the end of her pen, wondering if she would learn anything new.

Today wasn’t her first opportunity to document the housing crisis and the nation’s financial meltdown. She had already attended sixteen of these Congressional hearings dating back to September 28, 2008. Today was April 13th, 2010 and it was just the latest effort to answer the question: What went wrong and how do we fix it?

Mandy smirked at the irony of several financial institutions being mentioned were the exact same ones named in a financial crisis investigation in 1934. And while the abyss of today’s financial greed had grown much larger she had no doubt that this investigative hearing was only another round of wasteful oratory. She shook her head with sadness as Senator Levin posed the question, Will our findings and recommendations strengthen the political will for Congress to put an end to these excesses?

Mandy knew the answer and while this was the first of four days of new hearings on the subject, she already had her story. In fact, she had been part of it—as both a witness to these excesses and as a victim. After the hearing concluded, she walked outside and searched for a quiet spot apart from the others now milling around the cavernous hallways. Leaning against a marble pillar, she closed her eyes, took a few calming breaths and tried to forget. But she couldn’t.

While almost every American citizen had been affected in some way by this national tragedy, it was much more personal for Mandy. She had experienced the most corrupt people and the worst criminal aspects of it, ultimately leading to unthinkable terrors that she never believed could happen. But they did. And her journey into this abyss would have been hopeless, except for one man, Bradford T. Young, who shared her fate. They faced the nightmare together and it was their joint destiny to find the only way to end it.

She again closed her eyes to erase the memories. But once more the story came back to her in haunting detail…

CHAPTER ONE

So what’s the big problem? Bradford T. Young asked with obvious distain.

One zero too many, said Rita, the novice payroll clerk in a screechy voice. It should have been $7,260… not $72,600. That last zero was obviously a typo.

Brad found her inquiry to be unacceptable. He felt no remorse about his monthly paycheck, especially this one now clutched between his fingers. Yes, he had only worked two weeks last month for Castle One Funding LLC with the rest of his time spent lounging at his second home, a mountain cabin in Highlands, North Carolina. But his obscene income from originating mortgages would always be there, even when he wasn’t. His assistant Brenda would make sure of that because his good fortune was always shared with her. Under the table of course.

And your commission on the McWhorter loan, Rita continued with a grumpy huff, should have been $1,200… not $12,000. Another big mistake.

While most would not blink at a movie celebrity or professional athlete making $12,000 for a few minutes of work, Brad earning that much for taking a single mortgage loan application was jaw-dropping. And the fact that Brenda handled this McWhorter loan for him while he was on the golf course made it even more amazing.

Return this check to us immediately! Rita barked, now convinced she had cornered a corporate thief.

Brad gritted his teeth, then said, Hold a minute. The irritated tone of the payroll clerk aggravated him enough to make her wait. He pulled out his HP 12c financial calculator and ran the numbers once again. As the top mortgage loan officer for the month, he had closed 18 loans with an average loan size of $227,000 for a total of $4.1 million. His company was currently paying 80 basis points, financial terminology for .8%, on the total dollar amount of loans for the specific tier of his loan production. He rapidly tapped on the calculator, confirming that to be $32,800 with the remaining $39,800 paid out in overages, a special commission for securing higher interest rates than what his loan rate sheet had called for.

Well, Miss Payroll Lady… $72,600 is right, Brad said with a smug tone. There was no doubt that Rita wasn’t accustomed to someone making more money in one month than she made in three years. And she was appalled when Brad proved to her the amount was correct.

Yes, it was outrageous, but he had done it month after month for over a year now. And while it seemed surreal there was no reason for Brad to debate the rationale for it. He figured the company, and for that matter, the entire mortgage industry must know what it’s doing with its wildly generous compensation plans.

But morally acceptable? Brad took great joy in it… but how could he really justify it? Only thirty two years old with two years of poor grades from a community college, he was making more money than anyone he knew outside of the mortgage business. That included the CEO of Magnum Tools, the company where he worked running a forklift before answering a newspaper ad for mortgage loan officers. That ad ran in July, 2004; the following month he came on board, spent two weeks in training and then took off like a rocket ship. One year later, the housing boom was in full tilt and he was at the epicenter of the action.

For those on the outside fences of the mortgage world, the reality of a loan officer’s exorbitant compensation was awe-inspiring, if not startling. It was later that morning at the Mercedes dealership when Brad encountered another round of disbelief. Bob Higgins, the bored and balding finance manager, went through his standard checklist of questions for a car loan. He began by casually asking Brad who he worked for.

Castle One Funding LLC, Brad replied, then watched Bob type the employer info into the computer. Bob then asked how much he made there. Nervously clearing his throat, Brad hesitated and then said in a soft voice, $72,000.

That’s your annual salary, right? Bob asked.

No, that’s monthly. He then saw Bob raise his eyebrows, as if that statement was a complete lie. Damn, first the payroll department and now this guy. Why doesn’t anyone believe me?

But before long, Brad and Bob were bantering back and forth about the mortgage business and the real estate market, both concurring on how lucrative it had become. Bob proudly told Brad how his own house had appreciated thirty percent in the past year. They both snickered about the insane money everyone was making, especially on their homes where everyone was getting richer by doing absolutely nothing, just going along for the ride.

Bob then pulled a credit report and made a few calls to confirm the details of his loan application. Brad had considered writing a check for the new car but his CPA advised against it noting that he needed every tax deduction possible. And while Brad was clearly aware that loan interest on a car wasn’t tax deductible, his CPA said he would find a way. A few docs were then signed, they shook hands, and Bob waved as Brad drove away in his new Mercedes Benz E350 convertible.

Now cruising down I-75, Brad wondered if it could it get any better than this and knew he would soon find out. Less than thirty minutes later, he turned into the long driveway of the Naples Ritz Carlton, eagerly looking forward to lunch with his boss, Hamilton Smith, the Ft. Myers Branch Manager of Castle One Funding LLC. Their meeting was to discuss a new satellite office in Naples. Already assuming he was Hamilton’s first choice to manage it, there was really little to negotiate. He knew the whole drill, the compensation plan and the perks that would follow. He also knew he could hire as many other loan officers as he wanted and then earn override commissions on their personal mortgage production, as well as his own.

This should be a sweet deal, he thought as he combed his sandy blond hair in the visor mirror. He then tossed his keys to the valet and strode into the restaurant to find Hamilton seated by a large window overlooking a tropical veranda.

Hamilton immediately spotted Brad weaving through the tables and waved him over. After motioning for Brad to sit, he looked him in the eyes and grinned. Not a bad month for a newbie.

Brad feigned being hurt at the harmless jab and said, I’ll try to do better next month.

After some more back and forth teasing, Hamilton ordered calamari appetizers for both of them and then laid out a short stack of Excel spreadsheets on the white tablecloth. He began cross-referencing the different reports, looked up and said. Guess you’re now in the running for Platinum Club.

Got a shot at it, Brad said, quickly calculating in his head the $80,000 bonus for the award, not including the week long recognition event at the Villa Del Palmar Resort, a five star retreat in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. If his production volume held steady and he made The Club, he would earn $864,000 for a year’s worth of work. Not too bad, he thought, for simply putting a couple hundred people in homes—even if some couldn’t afford the payments and others wouldn’t qualify if their real incomes were disclosed.

Hamilton being a twenty seven year veteran on the front lines of the Mortgage Wars was already reading Brad’s mind. With eighteen other loan officers on his team, he could always tell when they were mentally calculating their financial rewards. He knew money was their supreme motivator and that his top mortgage guys and gals had learned to run numbers in their heads without calculators.

Hamilton also knew there could be a risk in putting Brad into management, that babysitting other loan officers could negatively impact Brad’s own personal production volume. But the system was even designed to take care of that dilemma. Offering Brad a second company paid assistant would free him up to take care of his existing referral sources. And additional commission overrides on his new team of loan officers would propel him to the next level of exorbitant income.

Ready to be a million dollar man? Hamilton asked as he forked the first calamari into his gaping mouth, his appetite apparent by his two hundred and eighty pound rotund body, always amply fed with an unlimited expense account.

Outside of the red-hot mortgage industry most people would consider the possibility of earning a million dollars a year to be a joke or that potential jail time would also have to be involved. But Brad knew many others currently enjoying that stratosphere of earnings, especially those he saw highlighted in the daily production reports that worked in high-priced California markets or specialized in Las Vegas condos. It was all legal and above board and the comp plan was in place to literally write whatever paycheck you wanted.

Sure, let’s do it! Brad didn’t hesitate to take the offer he knew was coming.

He had, in fact, already made that decision on the drive over to meet Hamilton, the fresh air from his new Mercedes convertible clearing his head to work through all the benefits. He even had his second assistant waiting in the wings, a busty thirty four year old blonde with ten years of loan processing and underwriting experience. He also knew four loan officers ready to jump ship and come over to Castle One Funding LLC, two men and two women who were each pulling down $3 million plus in monthly loan production. He had been working on them for six months now, figuring this management position would soon be his for the taking. The final clincher for the new hires would be the radical loan program that came out last week—105% financing with a 720 credit score, no income or asset verification required. Florida builders were already salivating over this program and had customers lining up at their model homes, some of them having to win the opportunity to purchase a new home through a lottery system.

Considering Brad’s past achievements, this new position was definitely a no-brainer. It was just another step up the mortgage world’s food chain. He was acutely aware that a bidding war was raging for top mortgage talent and that Hamilton himself had taken new positions at three different companies in the past five years, each one with six figure signing bonuses. He also knew it was only a matter of time before another mortgage company would begin hitting on him, waving ludicrous offers to come aboard and to bring his loan officers with him. Higher incentives and even more liberal loan programs was the irresistible hook that kept the hiring doors swinging between the competitors.

Guess I’ll pass on the tiramisu, He told Hamilton as he folded his napkin and placed it on the table. That slab of Kobi beef was too much!

Hamilton glanced at his watch, a Presidential Rolex that looked dainty on his thick wrist. No problem… Gotta run anyway to another appointment. Let’s get together tomorrow after work. How about drinks at the Naples Yacht Club? He packed away his papers, then smiled broadly at his new management recruit. We need to go over that new condo conversion I was telling you about.

Splendid! Brad responded.

They stood, shook hands and walked out together to the valet stand. Hamilton handed both claim tickets and a twenty dollar bill to a valet wearing a starched white shirt. The young man raced off in the building afternoon heat of south Florida, then quickly returned with Brad’s Benz, his shirt now limp with perspiration.

Brad hopped in and spun his fresh wheels out of the parking lot, the low profile tires leaving two long patches of rubber on the sticky asphalt. On his drive back to his waterfront condo he reflected on his new deal and how he could quickly leverage it to his best advantage. Life is good, he kept repeating to himself as he pulled into his covered parking garage.

As he stepped from his car, he recalled that his assistant Brenda was taking two loan applications for him that afternoon, the opportunity allowing him to kick back at the pool and enjoy reading a Vince Flynn novel on his Kindle. Ten minutes later, he settled into a chaise and began reading the first chapter. But his mind soon began to wander. For the first time, a twinge of guilt crept into his conscience… How can this be real?

It was later that evening when he and Melanie Bissette, his twenty seven year old part time model and live-in girlfriend, toasted each other with a glass of Dom Perignon 1999 Vintage. Melanie was a Charlie Sheen goddess-type, all legs and perfectly crafted boobs, her enhancements paid for from Brad’s commission check the previous month. Melanie hadn’t entered her relationship with Brad as a gold-digger, considering that he was a ruggedly handsome six-footer with piercing blue eyes that mesmerized her. But it wasn’t long before the financial benefits were going to her head, the cushy lifestyle she enjoyed now taking precedence over her personal feelings toward him.

Melanie was actually the second goddess that Brad had reeled in this year, and the thought did enter his mind about trying to keep two of them in residence at the same time. Why let Charlie Sheen have all the fun, he thought.

After dinner of slow roasted lamb that Melanie had artfully prepared, and for desert equally artful sex, Melanie plopped a DVD into the home theatre system. She then eased herself on to the wrap-around leather sofa and curled up beside him.

So what are we watching? Brad cooed into her ear.

Your favorite… Wall Street, Melanie answered, then fast forwarded it to his favorite part, Gordon Gekko’s infamous lecture about greed. Brad stroked Melanie’s blonde hair as she laid her head in his lap.

Brad chuckled, You know… I think I can learn something from this character.

They both listened attentively at the provocative words, Greed is right! Greed clarifies! Greed cuts through! Greed is good! Brad hooted at the TV screen and raised his clenched fist in triumph. After watching a few more minutes of the movie, he felt his energy begin to drain. Having enjoyed Melanie’s sensual treats and the lucrative rewards of another day in the mortgage arena, he now felt fatigued and soon drifted off to sleep.

At first he dreamed of bigger things to come but was soon tossing like he was on a bed of hot coals. His unconscious brain was revealing his future in a progressive series of nightmares. When he awoke, the leather cushions on the sofa were damp with sweat. He sat upright, breathing heavily and feeling very anxious. Something wasn’t right; a sense of dread was clouding his mind but he couldn’t clearly remember what he had dreamed about. All he could recall was fighting with a throng of demons, all of them amorphous, hideous and screeching as they pulled him downward into some fiery pit, a dark abyss where he now seemed to be heading.

CHAPTER TWO

The torrid pace at Castle One Funding was into high gear by 11:00 AM, the hour when Brad finally strolled in. He dropped his briefcase on his desk, booted up his laptop and called out to his long-time assistant Brenda Lane. She hustled in with coffee that she had brewed four hours earlier, the black liquid now scorched and thick.

Brad never complained though when it came to Brenda. Besides being a knockout Auburn-haired, model-quality beauty that was supplied to him by the company, she could dress up a weak mortgage application better than any processor he had ever known. She also talked fast, thought even faster, and raced around the office all day like she was a Roller Derby contestant. She had a sugary sweet temperament no matter what stress she was under, but best of all, she treated Brad like the Mortgage God that he thought he was.

So what you got for me, baby? Brad never considered that calling Brenda inappropriate names might be offensive to her. Instead, he thought his snide comments were more like compliments to her lofty status with him. On a few occasions, he even thought about patting her on the ass but knew that might be taking it too far. As much as he found her tantalizingly desirable, she was far more important to him as a tireless worker who made him look good, which in turn made him piles of money.

Brenda ignored his off-handed comment and flashed a polished, toothy grin at him, then launched into a high-speed breakdown of his loan status report. Brad leaned back in his leather executive chair, pretending to listen to her. Her description of his loans in process, loans in underwriting and loans in closing typically had him yawning after a few minutes. Besides, there was no need for him to pay critical attention to the details she rattled off. He knew she never failed to deliver on his loan files and should there ever be a mistake, she’d fix it long before he would ever learn of it.

Except for today.

Got a teensy, weensy problem here… . Brenda paused to assess Brad’s mood and to make sure he had returned to listening to her. There’s going to be a random audit tomorrow. And a couple of your loan files have been pulled.

Come again. Brad sat upright in his chair and rolled it snugly to his desk. Audit you say?

Yeah, somebody in Quality Control is coming down from the home office to spend a few days digging around. The normally upturned corners of her mouth now pointed downward, her lips morphing into a pouty expression which made her appear more seductive than worried. Just a routine thing, they say… but I thought you might want to prepare for it.

Surprisingly, Mr. Mortgage Star Bradford T. Young had never been audited before by the QC folks. As the top producer he had never even given much thought to the possibility, profoundly believing that his coveted status would insulate him from such mundane procedures. But he had heard of other major producers that got badly burned by these audits—some written up, a few fired, and he even heard of one veteran loan officer who had faced criminal charges. Getting a spotlight on you was never a good thing but even the guy indicted for fraud never got more than a slap on his wrist and a forfeiture of his license. He simply brought his son into the business, got him licensed, then opened a new branch which now does more business than ever. Nothing to worry about, he thought, but the slight look of concern on his face caught Brenda’s attention.

You look a little surprised. Haven’t you ever been audited before?

Nope… Amazing, huh?

Well, no biggie… Brenda smiled to reassure him. But there were a few red flags that you’ll have to deal with.

Red flags?

Well… every loan officer closing more than $4 million a month automatically gets a red flag… But…

But what?

Do you remember the Hotchkiss loan and the one you did for the Simpsons?

Not really… Why?

I guess the underwriter was the same one for both of them. She’s kind of new around here and is trying to make a name for herself… takes a fine-toothed comb to every little detail on a loan application.

You mean that little bitch that doesn’t speak to anyone unless she’s pissed off about something, which is most of the time.

Brenda laughed but then caught herself. Yep, that would be Sally. And she really hates loan officers. She whines that you guys are overpaid pricks who ride around in expensive cars, wear gold watches and never work, at least not like the slave-dog she says that she is.

Brad had heard that complaint many times before from certain office staffers which always prompted the customary loan officer response, If you think what we do is easy, come on over and try it! He knew that usually shuts them up as these operations folks were very aware that making sales calls is not what they were wired to do.

Brenda rose from her chair and leaned forward, her customary show of cleavage in full view, but this time he noticed instead the two files she plopped on his desk—two thin blue folders; one marked Hotchkiss, Thomas and the other Simpson, Verne and Martha. She sat back in her chair, then remarked in a professional tone, Sally took exception to the information in these files, sent them to the Underwriting Manager who concurred with her as usual, then forwarded them to Corporate Quality Control. That raised their eyebrows as well… hence, the audit. Brenda watched Brad’s perennially tanned face turn an ashen gray. She could tell that he now vividly recalled both of these mortgage loan borrowers.

Jesus! Brad immediately remembered the probable issues with both loans. He also knew that in terms of misinformation, it was okay to walk up to the line and maybe peek over… but stepping over the line could invite some serious trouble. With Hotchkiss and Simpson, he had not only stepped over the line but leapt over it like an Olympic high jumper.

Suddenly, Hamilton Smith appeared at the doorway to Brad’s office. Hey, we still on for a couple drinks after work?

Brad was still in a trance trying to recollect all he could remember about these files and how he could spin his way out of this potential mess. He thought he heard Hamilton’s voice but it came across like a muted and distant sound from another place and time. His eyes remained transfixed on the file folders lying before him, his body frozen as if they were pit vipers getting ready to strike.

Earth to Brad, Hamilton said, louder this time.

Brad slowly moved his eyes toward the booming voice, confirming that it came from his boss. Oh, sorry… what did you say?

Drinks after work… Remember?

Oh yeah, sorry, Brad answered. Got something I may need to discuss with you. He saw Hamilton react with suspicion.

Not changing your mind about the Naples management job are you?

Brenda, who had been drawing circles on a yellow pad, blurted out, Naples! What management job?

Oh, crap! Brad said with sincere remorse. I was going to tell you after the pipeline review. Don’t worry, you’re coming with me and I’ll be making you an offer you can’t refuse!

Hamilton didn’t want to get involved in this conversation. See you at six, he said, then turned on his heels and left.

The instant Hamilton was gone, another figure passed by his door. She was walking very slowly and peeked in as she passed. Brad noticed she had a wry smile on her face. Yes, it was Sally, the wicked witch of the underworld of underwriting. He knew his ass was in a sling over these two files and that Sally would be his judge, jury and executioner. And yes, he did make the big bucks… but she had the real power!

Brenda noted Brad’s soulful expression, wishing she could help him sort through the mental gyrations he was going through. But she knew he was guilty of something and decided to let him come to her if needed. Can’t wait to hear about my big raise, she said, then pranced off to tackle the hundred plus loans she was managing for him.

Brad felt sequestered, adrift on a gray sea and completely isolated with his anxious thoughts… all alone except for the two files lying before him that screamed, Bend over and kiss your sweet ass goodbye! He grabbed them both, shoved them into his briefcase and slammed it shut. Maybe if they were hidden away so would be his dilemma. Out of sight, out of mind, he thought.

Forcing his mind to shift to the forty seven emails on his laptop and the twelve voicemails, he grabbed his cell phone. Responding to realtors, homebuilders and mortgage customers would consume the rest of his afternoon. He placed his briefcase under his desk, again hoping this whimsical act would relegate Hotchkiss and Simpson to a secretly impounded place. Having no appetite he worked though lunch, then smiled and dialed the rest of the day. For a salesperson, there was no more natural act than talking, something that he excelled at even though it was ten percent bullshit and ninety percent kissing ass. Tell them what they want to hear, he thought.

Between calls, his cell phone rang and he looked down at the caller’s number. It was Melanie, his goddess roommate. Making an exotic dinner for you, she purred softly. Or should I say an erotic dinner? Her syrupy voice made Brad melt into his chair. Don’t be late!

Oh, I forgot to tell you, Brad said, easily shifting from schmoozing his customers to appeasing Melanie. "The boss man wants to meet me after work and I have no way out of it. It’s a business meeting about some condo