The Wolf Of Wall Street Part 38

Danny was also indicted; and he also cooperated, as did the boys from Biltmore and Monroe Parker. Danny ended up serving twenty months, while the rest of the boys got probation. The Depraved Chinaman was indicted next. He cooperated, too, and was sentenced to eight years. Then came Steve Madden, the Cutthroat Cobbler, and Elliot Lavigne, the World-Cla.s.s Degenerate, both of whom pleaded guilty. Elliot got three years; Steve, three and a half. And, finally, came Dennis Gaito, the Jersey Chef. He went to trial and was found guilty. Alas, the judge gave him ten years.

Andy Greene, aka Wigwam, got away with it; and Kenny Greene, aka the Blockhead, also also got away with it, although he couldn't seem to keep his hand out of the cookie jar. He was indicted many years later, a stock-fraud case having nothing to do with Stratton. Like the rest of the clan, he also cooperated, and he served one year. got away with it, although he couldn't seem to keep his hand out of the cookie jar. He was indicted many years later, a stock-fraud case having nothing to do with Stratton. Like the rest of the clan, he also cooperated, and he served one year.

Along the way, the d.u.c.h.ess and I fell in love again; the only problem was that it was with other people. I went as far as getting engaged, but broke it off at the last second. She, however, got married, and remains married to this day. She lives in California, just a few miles from me. After a few rocky years, the d.u.c.h.ess and I finally buried the hatchet. We get along terrific now-partly because she happens to be a great lady, and partly because her new husband happens to be a great man. We share custody of the kids, and I see them almost every day.

Ironically, it would be more than five years from the time I was indicted until I actually went to jail-serving twenty-two months in a federal prison camp. What I would have never guessed, though-not in a million years, in fact-was that those last five years would be as insane as the ones before them.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Countless thanks to my literary agent, Joel Gotler, who after reading three pages of a very rough ma.n.u.script told me to drop everything I was doing and become a full-time writer. He's been a coach, an advisor, a psychiatrist, and, above all, a true friend. Without him, this book would have never been written. (So, if your name is in it, blame him, not me!) I'd also like to thank my publisher, Irwyn Applebaum, who believed in me from the very beginning. It was his vote of confidence that made the difference.

Immeasurable thanks to my editor, Danielle Perez, who did the work of three editors-turning a 1,200-page ma.n.u.script into a 500-page book. She's an amazing lady, with a style and grace all her own. Over the last nine months her favorite nine words to me were: "I'd hate to see what your liver looks like!"

Many thanks to Alexandra Milchan, my one-woman army. If every author were lucky enough to have an Alexandra Milchan, there would be a lot less starving authors in the world. She's tough, kind, brilliant, and as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. She's definitely her father's daughter.

And many thanks to my good friends Scott Lambert, Kris Mesner, Johnnie Marine, Michael Peragine, Kira Randazzo, Marc Glazier, Faye Greene, Beth Gotler, John Macaluso, and to all the waiters and waitresses at the restaurants and coffeehouses I wrote this book in-the girls at Chaya and Skybar and Coffee Bean, and Joe at Il Boccaccio.

And, lastly, I thank my ex-wife, the d.u.c.h.ess of Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. She's still the best, despite the fact that she orders me around as if I were still married to her.