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thousands who invested in you and put their faith and trust in you. How do you explain what you’ve done? How do you redeem yourself for the financial toll you have taken on them and their families? How can you explain that or live with yourself?”
    Hans heard her words and nonchalantly ignored them.  Although his dealings with people were not on the scale of Bernie Madoff, still he had bilked millions in secondary derivatives that his company had packaged and sold to domestic and foreign investors. This was before the financial meltdown, and it was one of the primary reasons the US economy nearly collapsed. Hans knew he represented just one of thousands of companies in the mortgage and financial industries that had forgotten assets must have some basis of value behind them.
    All this started under the Clinton administration with the federal government pushing financial institutions into making loans to people who could not afford homes. Hell, they couldn't afford to rent much less pay a mortgage payment. But like other failed policies, the siren song of deals based on humanitarian principles and sold as being good for the downtrodden ultimately won out over common sense. The US taxpayers inherited the debt of those who could not pay.  Regardless, Hans rationalized he wasn't a crook. He was, after all, just one of many others in his position who were doing similar transactions daily. It was simply business. And that business had earned him millions. At 62, he didn't have to work another day in his life.
    He got back on point and looked at his accuser across the table. “Ms. Jenkins. Or should I call you Sarah?”
    “Sarah is fine,” she said.
    Sarah grabbed at the hair around her ear and tugged even harder. She was very nervous now. He was starting to get to her.
    Hans leaned into the table resting his chin on the palm of his hand; his elbow neatly tucked underneath and stared straight into Sarah's eyes.
    “Sarah, it’s just business!’ With this, he abruptly got up and motioned towards the door ushering both her and her camera operator out.
    “I really must be going now Sarah, I have a conference call that starts in five minutes.”
    She was dumbfounded. She never expected this. She had been given the assignment to put the spotlight on Hans Morgenstern as a representative of the lowest of the low, and here she was summarily brushed off.
    Her backbone stiffened as she stood up. “Mr. Morgenstern,” she said rather matter-of-factly. “Although the interview is over today and you’ve won this round, I'm not out of the fight yet. If you don't answer my questions about your firm's dealings, then perhaps some of your competitors will.” This veiled threat was meant to get a reaction and a possible follow-up interview.
    It was ignored. Hans merely held the door open and waited.
    The stalemate was over. She got up and walked out.
    Then the most amazing thing happened.
    Hans acquiesced.
    He turned to her and spoke. “Have my secretary look up my availability next week so we can continue this conversation then. I'd much rather have an opportunity to set the record straight myself than for you to get lies from the likes of Smith Barney or Lehman Brothers.  They would love to have the chance to torpedo me.”
    Stunned, Sarah nodded and thanked him as he shut the glass door in her face.
     

Chapter 6
     
    Charlene spotted the new Jaguar coming down West Side Highway.  It slowly passed and when she saw the occupant’s distinguished salt and pepper hair, she knew she hit pay dirt.
    Hans slowed his car and pulled up in front of Charlene’s Mercedes. As he did, Charlene texted Randy, “Game on.”
    Randy texted back “Got it on camera. Go get em!”
    Charlene got out, shook her hair out of her eyes and walked to the front of her car. Hans had already rolled down his window and gave her a perplexed look but had not said a word.
    “I don't know what happened. I was going along fine until 20 minutes ago and the darn