Meet... THE Oddsmaker

By Ted Hasson

From the boardrooms, courtrooms and bedrooms of Houston's rich and infamous, to Lake Powell's majestic canyons and the pristine beaches of Hawaii, Meet...THE OddsMaker is a riveting, fast-paced exposé certain to captivate audiences everywhere. The story has been reported on by credible sources more like “Fake News” than the spectacular ruse it was. At the epicenter stood Ted Hasson, a trusted “financial facilitator” who reveals what can happen when you make enemies of the powerful with an agenda. However, an unexpected reward comes from facing off against the likes of certain iniquitous factions of the life insurance industry, the injustice system, a psychotic billionaire lawyer and Enron's “Lucky Lou” Pai. “Teflon Lou” was anything but – who, with his nefarious pole dancing paramour and treacherous wife, hoarded millions of dollars and secrets that the clueless press helped keep hidden, until now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ted Hasson
• Release date: Jan 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463431290

Ted Hasson

Over the years, Ted Hasson has been a serial entrepreneur, financial products manager, licensed insurance agent and a professional business consultant and contract negotiator. He has owned a cable TV company, a gravel pit operations business, a trucking and storage company, a self-service car wash, a condominium and luxury home construction and management company and an energy and mobile phone network organization. And is the inventor of Elbow Room 2 Go, a nifty, multi-functional device that millions of airline passengers and automobile drivers around the world will be using and enjoying in the months and years ahead. Ted has underwritten almost one billion dollars’ worth of life insurance and personally spent seven million dollars “in” the legal system. Then he used the pain and suffering it paid him to help people fight successfully – out of court – both the insurance and legal industries, and receive the millions of dollars that were owed them. Ted was once sued for “UPL” (unauthorized practice of law), and won by proving everyone else guilty of it! Then later, he found himself vindicated and freed from a life sentence in debtor’s prison for not paying a lawyer. The grit needed to endure, persevere and now share his epic ordeal so others may benefit from it dates back to his days as a Cadet and collegiate wrestler for the United States Military Academy at West Point. Today as a dedicated father of three, Pop Pop to 12 grands and husband to his loving wife Terry, Ted endeavors to honor his faith, family and country. The wild ride depicted in this gripping true story wouldn’t be believable if it weren’t for the fact that truth is often stranger than fiction. Every reader of the nonfiction novel, Meet...The OddsMaker, will find a myriad of incredible, valuable and unforgettable life-enhancing truths that will leave you wondrous and wanting for more!

Book preview

2nd Edition

Meet…THE OddsMaker

"And Live Without Fear!"

by

Ted Hasson

with Tim Black

Cover by Barbara Moody

Levi Hobson

Copyrighted © by Ted Hasson 2019

SmashWords Edition

* * * *

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

The Married Executive and His Paramour

CHAPTER TWO

Palaces of Business and Home

CHAPTER THREE

The Not-So-Fine Line Between Love and Hate

CHAPTER FOUR

Calm Sea and Inner Turmoil

CHAPTER FIVE

Getting Ready for the Trenches

CHAPTER SIX

The Lurid Trappings of Money and Scandal

CHAPTER SEVEN

A Slightly Smiling Abyss Looking Back

CHAPTER EIGHT

Swimming for Balance and Ballast

CHAPTER NINE

Getting What You Want is Never Careful

CHAPTER TEN

Paradise Found and Lost

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Ascent That is Not Always Upward

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Spoils of Fortune and Divorce

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A Beautiful Calm Before an Ugly Storm

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Actions Speak Louder Than Words

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Plot Thickens and Sickens

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Hole Gets Bigger, the Fat Cats Get Fatter

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Big That Fall Not with a Bang but a Whimper

CHAPTER EIGHTEEEN

Removing Expensive Annoyances

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Visiting Shangri-La in Disguise

CHAPTER TWENTY

Getting the Hang of Things and Not Hanged

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Justice Grinds on and Sometimes Prevails

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Cheerful, Celebratory World of Kudos

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Moving Forward in a New Old Direction

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Changing Horses at Mid-Race

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

What Happens When David Takes on Goliath

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Answering to Another Higher Calling

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

He Who Laughs Last Not Always Laughs Best

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The One Who Makes the Odds

EPILOGUE

Back to Top

* * * *

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to:

Anyone who could benefit from a truthful

word of encouragement and fun.

Anyone who may ever consider making

an oral agreement of any kind.

Anyone who has or may have to face off

with a bully in the justice system.

Anyone who ever buys life insurance or

might be someone’s beneficiary.

Anyone who may buy any kind of an

errors and omissions liability policy.

Anyone who has ever been asked or may

be asked to serve on a jury.

Anyone who has ever or may someday read

a major media publication.

And anyone who might benefit

from renewed hope!

* * * *

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First, to my Eve, my buddy and my love

for forty-three years...

Terry

And thanks to the apples that fell

closest to the tree...

Chablis, Sean and Tara

This labor of love was written with the

eternal prayer that the Truths

revealed will Bless ALL, but was mostly

inspired to influence the generation that will

reach the twenty-second century

Isabella, Elijah, Evaleta, Judah, Micah, Cameron,

Ava, Tatum, Phoebe, Harper,

Luke and Holly

A big thanks to friends Trey Williams, Jeff Barrett,

Mark Collins and France Shelton

who greatly affected this story and its production:

along with contributing editor/marketing manager

Patrick (the Poet) P. Stafford

A special thank you to Tim Black, whose

contribution to the initial cowriting and final

coediting was critical to getting the

"Meet…TOM" project off the ground and completed

Also, a big debt of gratitude to

Jack Tompkins and Jeff Rems,

whose support and belief in Meet...

THE OddsMaker, made it happen

And finally, to the focus of this true story…

The OddsMaker Himself!

* * * *

CHAPTER ONE

The Married Executive and His Paramour

One is easily fooled by that which one loves.

~ Jean Baptiste Poquelin Moliere

The stage manager at Rick’s Cabaret leaned into the dancers’ dressing room where scantily clad young ladies prepared for their next tease. A veteran of the strip club business, he saw only faces. He spotted Melanie Fuel’s reflection in her dressing mirror just as she glanced in his direction. She’d been expecting his call. He touched his watch with his index finger, knowing she’d be ready. Melanie Fuel was a pro. She nodded calmly then slathered another layer of mascara on her long lashes. Mascara, a basic tool of the trade, was to be scrubbed off and rinsed down the drain after leading another raucous crowd on a fantasy tour through their own imaginations. However, in a few minutes, Houston’s premier showgirl would be wearing more eyelash ink than anything else.

She wondered if he’d be there tonight.

Melanie’s cell phone rang. Caller ID said Shane. Great timing, she thought. Par for the course. The two men in her life seemed to continually compete for her time. Sometimes she didn’t know if being so well-endowed was an asset or a liability. Either way, Melanie Fuel knew how to use her bodily blessings to weaken the knees of even the strongest men.

She let the phone ring a few times while double-checking herself in the mirror. She felt hot – sensually hot – for her favorite customer and angry hot at Shane. For now, she needed them both.

Mrs. Fuel flipped her phone open. Can’t talk, I’m up next, she said.

Is he there?

Haven’t seen him.

Let me know. I need to confirm with Craig for tomorrow.

Okay. Gotta go. She flipped the phone closed without waiting for his goodbye.

Outside in Rick’s parking lot, a black Mercedes with dark tinted windows braked to a stop at the valet parking stand. The driver’s door opened and a well-dressed, slightly built Asian man in wire-rimmed glasses emerged.

Good evening, sir, greeted the valet attendant. He would park the classy sedan nearby. He thought this guy really knew how to tip. Inside at Rick’s, most customers always remained nameless, but the attendant had once heard someone call the Mercedes man Mr. Pai.

Apparently, he was some big shot at a new, booming Houston company called Enron. Whoever he was, he always carried a pocketful of cash for the girls.

Lou Pai wasted no time escaping the suffocating August Houston heat into the cool, dark air of Rick’s Cabaret. His eyes adjusted as he scanned the showroom for Melanie. He didn’t have to look far. Melanie’s favorite performing song, Night Moves, began to play, and she glided onto stage.

Lou’s heart skipped.

The mostly male crowd went crazy.

Melanie grabbed the pole and went to work. She swirled her jet-black hair as if daring to be tamed. In the middle of a turn, she stole a glance toward Lou’s favorite table. Her heart sank when she saw it empty. She didn’t care about the rest of the crowd. She wanted Lou there, in his chair.

She played to the other side of the stage then took three more spins around the pole. She looked again. There he was, calmly settled in as if he’d been seated there all night. This time it was Melanie’s heart that skipped a beat. This was a special night. Melanie Fuel wanted to give Lou Pai the performance of her life. She slithered directly toward him and teased him with her eyes. He loved it when she looked into his eyes. So, she wouldn’t. Not much, anyway. Just enough to drive him crazy.

Dances on Rick’s stage and tables were, of course, for immediate tips. But when it came to Lou Pai, Melanie’s stage had expanded to the real-world theatre. Payday would come later. She could afford to be patient.

Pai was unaware that Melanie had long ago morphed her strip dancing for him into a well-choreographed waltz. She had deftly taken the lead in this seductive glide with the mysterious man with cash, the same way she worked the frenzied crowd from stage for minutes at a time. There was one major difference: in this camouflaged dance with Lou, Melanie would not be the one who got stripped.

Two hours later, Melanie returned to the dressing room and changed into a pair of jeans and T-shirt. She had satisfied Lou for tonight, yet left him hungry for more. Tomorrow she would resume the waltz.

Sometimes, if she hurried, Melanie could kiss her kids goodnight if they stayed up late. She slid behind the wheel of her Mustang and called Shane as she turned onto Richmond Avenue.

We’re on for tomorrow.

What time? Shane asked.

Six fifteen. Whistler’s Walk.

Are you coming home tonight? Shane never knew.

Yes, Melanie said flatly. She headed the familiar route home, but realizing her kids were likely asleep, didn’t bother to hurry.

* * *

Melanie arrived early the following afternoon at the Hyatt Regency, in downtown Houston. For a professional performer, she felt a bit edgy. What if something happened? What if Lou discovered her plan? But how could he? This should be easy. Just relax and act natural, Melanie thought. Once again, she resorted to her eye-catching prowess for confidence. She knew she was an eye magnet. Since her junior high school days, Melanie sensed the male population’s lustful pining and prolonged head-to-toe gazes her way. Her lush black hair and full bosomy hourglass figure never failed to have its effect on men. Today, Lou would be mesmerized by her microscopic skirt and plunging neckline before falling headlong into her huge dark brown eyes.

Several blocks away, Lou Pai exited the Enron elevator and entered the underground tunnel connecting Houston’s downtown office buildings. A bland structure in and of itself, the tunnel would spring to life each workday morning as thousands of office workers fueled up with their favorite latte, then returned for lunch or shopping later in the day. Most workers had gone home for the evening, and Lou’s lone footsteps on the tunnel tile echoed that of a man on a mission.

Through the underground maze of angles and intersections, one could easily lose direction. But Lou Pai could negotiate this route in his sleep. This was not his first trip to the Melanie Fuel afternoon or evening delight rodeo. He and Mrs. Fuel had history. Delicious history.

Years ago, as Pai nurtured his well-known penchant for Houston’s infamous strip club dancers, he had been smitten the moment he first saw Melanie cavorting on stage at Rick’s. Standing a full head taller than Pai, the statuesque brunette seemed an unlikely object of affection for a man of Pai’s modest stature. But this was just entertainment, right? It’s not like he was looking for a wife. Simply business mixed with pleasure, to be left at the dance table with Pai’s massive tips. Besides, he already had a wife. Surely, he could fantasize, then scurry home to Lanna and their two children.

It wasn’t that easy. Repeated trips and tips later, Pai was hooked. He passionately pursued Melanie Fuel with a steady, ever-growing flow of adoration and cash.

Pai turned at the fitness center, about halfway to the Hyatt. He wondered what surprise Melanie would have for him today. The thought quickened his steps and soon he stepped onto the escalator that traveled a short flight up to the Hyatt lobby. Reaching street level, he acknowledged the familiar face of the shoeshine man. He then glanced upward as he ventured into the expansive, plush Hyatt lobby. The Hyatt’s atrium balconies stretched thirty stories high, stacking layers of light from floor to roof. Behind one of those balcony doors awaited today’s return trip to heaven.

Pai shot a quick look toward the center of the atrium lobby, where a large sunken area seated hotel guests and local visitors at small tables. Patrons chatted while sipping margaritas and iced tea. Potted plants and verdant trees lined this area’s perimeter, partially concealing the guests from view. Pai scanned it quickly, spotting no one from Enron. Not that it was any of their business if they saw him with Melanie.

What he did not see was the young man with the video camera.

Craig Brady, positioned at the perfect angle between two plants, pressed his thumb on the record button. Pai had no clue that he was the star of a production in the making, an exposé being produced and directed by Shane and Melanie Fuel. He continued to Whistler’s Walk, the corner restaurant in the Hyatt lobby, next to the lobby bar. He confidently thought he had arrived unrecognized, much less the object of anyone’s focus.

Melanie smiled as he approached their corner table. She stood to hug Lou and they briefly kissed.

You look stunning.

Thank you. Melanie smiled and rewarded him with another kiss. Not so bad yourself. Conversation was simple. The ‘96 Astros had lost to the St. Louis Cardinals the night before. Enron was working a deal to sell gas to Russia through a pipeline that would cross three countries, including Afghanistan. Enron donated one hundred thousand dollars earlier that day to the Democratic Party because President Clinton was expected to announce his bid for reelection later that week. Pay to play. They were typical topics of discussion for any businessman with his personal paramour.

Tonight, the starry-eyed couple would enjoy dessert before making their way to their room. Key lime pie was Melanie’s cue for Craig Brady to set up the next scene. He had hopes that his skills as a stealthy private investigator would someday help him become the Deputy Sheriff of Fort Bend County. Maybe even Sheriff! Deep down, he didn’t know how, but he thought this job might one way or another make that happen sooner than later.

After dinner Lou and Melanie strolled to the elevator lobby, oblivious to the world around them. As the elevator doors opened on the top floor, they lingered in a passionate kiss. Melanie lavished unusual public affection on Lou as they walked the long atrium balcony hall. She nestled close, resting her head on his shoulder. He instinctively traced her svelte backside with his hand, stopping to kiss again.

Finally, they reached their suite and disappeared behind closed doors.

Across the atrium, a window curtain that had been propped slightly open fell shut and Craig Brady turned his camera off.

This segment of the waltz was in the can.

Back to Top

* * * *

CHAPTER TWO

Palaces of Business and of Home

The company is doing extremely well.

~ Kenneth Lay, CEO of Enron

From his top story perch in Enron Building North, Ken Lay surveyed the Houston horizon. We’ve come so far, he thought. Here we are, at the turn of the century. Since the early nineties, there seemed to be no limits for this money-multiplying pipeline called Enron. It seemed that only a catastrophe like Y2K could threaten this river of cash from flowing.

Despite the energy produced from today’s bottom line, Lay’s trademark calm demeanor belied a nervousness rising from his gut. He didn’t like the feeling. In fact, he resented it. It seemed like an intruder; he felt violated. His stoic face stood firm, though, with thin, straight lips that were neither prone to smile nor willing to frown. Image was key to Lay’s success, steadiness his ticket to shareholder confidence. Ken Lay didn’t need to put his game face on in the morning. He slept in it.

Lay had just left the Enron Board of Directors meeting with this foreign, yet undeniable, twinge. In an unusual vote, the board had elected to waive normal conflict of interest rules for Enron. The waiver enabled recently promoted Chief Financial Officer Andrew Fastow to run private companies to conduct business with Enron. LJM, named for Fastow’s wife and children, had been formed just a year before as a special purpose entity to support Enron’s stock prices. Its function, among other things, was to absorb Enron debt, thereby keeping the glitter sprinkled on Enron’s image. Perhaps it was meant to be a temporary measure. Perhaps not. In conjunction with the waiver vote, LJM2 was formed. Fastow would be at the helm of both LJM companies, despite his role as Enron CFO.

The trend didn’t feel right to Lay, and for good reason. A different kind of storm was brewing. Not from the surrounding Texas skies, but from selected cubicles within Enron’s own headquarters. A few number-savvy accountant types had begun to notice that the Enron math didn’t add up. Not quite sure of what they were finding, they determined to quietly trace the source of their consternation. Their discoveries would soon launch glares and whispers from Houston’s elite, and from neighbors, friends and strangers alike. Nameless shareholders would soon scowl at the sight of Ken Lay’s image on the six o’clock news.

Something was out of balance at Enron, and the world would soon shake from the vibration. The approaching turbulence was about to send a countrywide cloud of dust flying when Enron’s stock hit the floor. Hopes and dreams would melt into puddles of grief and despair. Planned retirements would vanish from view.

For now, though, things were calm. Except for that pesky twinge in Ken Lay’s stomach. Ever the optimist, Lay mentally shelved tomorrow’s probable for today’s possible. He turned his gaze to the forty-story Enron South office building under construction diagonally across Smith Street. It was his new image builder, his crown jewel of vision and grandeur. Cranes and cables carefully lifted structural components into place. Brilliant blue glass, accented by white aluminum, already framed the lower floors of the curved edifice. A gleaming circular walkway linked Enron North with Enron South just above the traffic lights. It was magnificent, glorious. It was the future. At Enron, the future was always now.

Smooth curves and angles styled both Enron buildings, perhaps a reflection of the company’s modus operandi. Enron North was shaped like an oval racetrack. Its lobby boasted an accented granite walkway, as if to carve the boundaries of a runner’s lane. Boundaries were few in Enron’s wheeling-dealing environment. In the floors above, a continual race was on as Lay’s ambitious competitors jockeyed for success, pushing the front lines of business creativity to new horizons. Never mind the inevitable cliff that lurked just beyond the next clever contract.

As Houston’s reigning business tycoon, Ken Lay was a mover and shaker of a quiet sort. For a man who cherished privacy, he embraced limelight with ease. His leadership skills had landed his city a new Houston Astros baseball stadium, aptly named Enron Field. It, too, was under construction, on the opposite side of downtown, to be unveiled the following spring, in March of 2000.

Turning toward his executive rest room, Lay’s eyes caught the glance of fellow exec Lou Pai through his open office door. Pai’s gaze locked onto Lay’s, but only for an instant. It was one of those brief, wordless moments when gigabytes of understanding are exchanged. One moment was enough. Lou Pai never had much to say anyway, or a good reason to look people in the eye. Born in Nanjing, China, fifty-five years prior, Pai had risen to corporate stardom by not saying much. A mathematics whiz, he helped engineer Enron’s meteoric rise to world prominence. Some Enron employees called Pai the Invisible CEO. In the frenetic world of corporate barbarism, those who knew Pai best, described him privately with more descriptive nicknames.

Though Ken Lay would absorb the brunt of the impending media frenzy, his was not the only story in town. Not by a far sight.

* * *

Lou Pai continued through the reception area to the elevator lobby. Passing Enron employees pretended to be preoccupied. They knew of little reason to speak to Lou Pai. For someone on the inside, he was very much the outsider. At office parties, he would likely be the quiet one in the corner and among the first to leave.

Other high-profile execs consistently excluded Pai from their regular four-wheeler adventures. Despite his thick skin, this peer-to-peer slight apparently cut deep. Pai decided to buy an all-terrain vehicle and familiarize himself with it, hoping they might include him for their next outing. But Lou Pai was not destined to be part of this ATV elite. On his ranch, deep in Texas hill country, Pai crashed hard and flew off his new toy. Embarrassed, black and blue, he took a week off so he wouldn’t have to answer any questions. His ATV found a junkyard.

Today Lou Pai had softer things on his mind. Melanie was again waiting for him at the Hyatt Regency. He followed the familiar tunnel route to the Hyatt, nodded to the same shoeshine man, and strode briskly through the lobby, calloused to his surroundings.

The elevator ride to the top floor seemed like an eternity. It had been a long day at Enron. It was time for stress relief. Finally, he reached their suite and knocked. Melanie opened the door.

Wow, was all Pai could say. The skimpy whatever-it-was she wore left him breathless. Melanie’s magic melted all reason and stoked the fire of passion yet again. Lou Pai was still smitten, or so it seemed. This math whiz entertained little in life without at least some calculation.

* * *

Several miles to the west, near Houston’s famous Galleria, the Pai family friend Ted Hasson battled it out on the racquetball court. For a man of fifty, Hasson’s heart spewed more grit than even his aging, bone-scraping knees. Hasson despised losing, regardless the arena. If he entered the ring, he would be on his feet at the final bell. No matter what.

Sweat poured from his five-foot, eight-inch frame as he limped into position to receive the serve. Ted had been down by fifteen in this game to twenty-one, but surged back to tie it up. As usual, there was simply no quit in this dog. Then, soon: game point!

Hasson’s opponent Tim Black locked Ted into the back-left corner with a volley of perfect ceiling shots. Ted fired back mirrored shots to the right-back corner. Who would blink first? Three more ceiling shots. Enough of this, Ted thought, then acted like he would keep the volley going. At the last possible second, he sprang a quick step sideways, pivoted and killed the ball off the back wall with his deadly backhand. Game!

Ah-ha! Hasson’s trademark laugh shook the walls. He caught his breath while analyzing his friend’s reaction. Tim stood in silence, amused.

Again, Ah-ha! Only Ted Hasson could laugh so loud, or dared to. He lived to win, and when Ted Hasson won, the world would hear his victory laugh. It was ebullient, never gloating.

How’d ya like that?

Tim shook his head in amazement. Great shot, Ted. Then wryly: Lucky, but great.

Ah-ha! Ted loved it when people could tease back. He saw it as strength.

They each grabbed a towel, wiped their faces and necks, and sat down on the bench outside their court.

Are you going to the banquet tonight? Tim asked.

I don’t know, should I? Ted liked to test those around him; sometimes for fun, sometimes to get a real opinion.

You’re the main attraction. It would be kinda nice if you showed up.

Ya think?

For the fifth year in a row, Ted was the national sales leader for Western Reserve Life, the prestigious financial services company. J. R. Kenney, President and CEO of WRL, planned to lavish Ted with praise and present him with yet another award. Kenney had already lauded Hasson in insurance circles as a leader in the industry.

I suppose I’ll go see what they’re serving. Just so it ain’t baloney! Ah-ha! Where’s the beef?

Tim laughed. He loved this crazy guy.

Two players paused in their play on the adjacent court. Hey, Ted! How you doin’? one of them suddenly asked. Ted knew a lot of people in this part of town. People with money. Lots of money. And people with money were glad they knew Ted, because he helped them make even more. He liked big numbers and big plans. When it came to dollars and people, Ted Hasson could make things happen. He liked to make kill shots with chunks of cash.

Who won? Ted ignored the pleasantries.

Tiebreaker comin’ up, one of them answered.

All right! Ted loved a good fight, even someone else’s. Intensity was in his DNA and fueled a crazy competitive spirit that earned him the nickname of Banzai on the racquetball court. Ted would similarly embrace the pushback of life’s challenges with an overcoming spirit that lifted others. He found deep satisfaction in professionally