Free Born to Steal: When the Mafia Hit Wall Street by Gary R. Weiss Page A

is not a sales call, you tell him right
     away, or they would hang up the phone,” said Louis.
    It was easy. All he was doing was feeling people out, prepping them for the brokers. But Louis was paying attention. He was
     listening. He heard the way the brokers were pitching stock. He could do that.
    But Chris Girodet didn’t want him to do that. He just wanted Louis to qualify leads. He didn’t give a shit about schooling
     him, what the rest of the Street would call mentoring. Louis knew that he wasn’t going to get a Stealth and an apartment,
     not as a cold-caller. He had to move up.
    Fortunately, Roy took a liking to Louis. After a while he introduced him to the best broker at the firm, Chris Wolf, and one
     day he had Louis hang out in the office with Chris and his partner Rocco Basile. Louis listened to them pitch for an hour
     or two.
    Louis was in the presence of genius.
    “Man, he was good. Definitely one of the best salesmen I’ve seen. Chris is about five feet four or five. Long, pushed-back
     hair. Good-looking kid. Real name’s not Wolf. It’s Italian. He’s an Italian kid. Changed his name to Wolf for his Series 7
     broker license. That’s the name he chose to do business. Great name, Chris Wolf. Jewish much better than Italian last name,”
     said Louis.
    “So I listened to him, and he had this thing that he did when he opened accounts. Somebody would say I’m not interested, blah
     blah blah. Chris would say, ‘Okay, take care.’ Then Chris would call them back thirty seconds later and he’d say, ‘You know,
     Bob, I just gave you that investment opportunity and I’d be an asshole to let you off the phone. It’s an outstanding situation.
     All I’m looking is for you to buy one share or a thousand shares—it don’t matter. It’s not the dollar amount. Give me a chance
     to show you percentage gains. Because you know and I know that if I show you forty percent on paper, I’m going to be the broker
     you’re going to be doing business with year-round.’ Blah blah blah. So you beat him up till he buys the stock.”
    Louis paid attention. The next morning he called one of his leads and pitched him. He used the whole spiel, and after the
     guy hung up he did a callback and talked about being an asshole to let him off the phone. Blah blah blah.
    It worked. The guy bought a thousand shares.
    “I get off the phone and I’m screaming, ‘A thousand shares! I opened a thousand shares!’ And then Chris Girodet came over
     and he’s mad I used his name and opened an account. I went to Roy. I said, ‘Roy, I opened an account. I took the pitch, I
     pitched the account, I opened it.’ And Roy comes out of his office and says to Chris, ‘If this kid wants to open accounts,
     he opens accounts. This is my protÉgÉ.’
    “He cut my tie—that’s what they do when you open your first account. They cut your tie. It’s like a traditional thing. So
     I’m walking around with no tie. It’s great. I opened my first account. And I opened an account every day since then.”
    At this point Louis hadn’t passed the Series 7, which is the test, administered by the National Association of Securities
     Dealers, or NASD, that gives brokers the solemn right to sell stocks to the public. He also wasn’t supposed to be using Chris
     Girodet’s name. During his pitch he guaranteed profits, which was another no-no. But at Hanover Sterling, all this fell under
     the category of “big fucking deal.”
    After that, Louis became a pitching fiend. Pitching to everybody. Pitching to himself in the mirror. Pitching to Stefanie,
     to his father.
    Louis was a natural at getting people to do things. He had been manipulating people since he was a kid. He had the knack,
     the instinct.
    “How are they going to say no to me? ‘Grab a pen. Grab a pen.’ I’d say it sixty times. ‘Grab a pen. Grab a pen.’ And that
     would be it. They would grab a pen, and then I would rip them to shreds. And then they’d be