Authority

My mothersent me a message recently in where she told me that people she knew were asking her about her son’s past. Because as I’ve chosen to write in my first novel about the Italian Mafia and Mexican drug cartel, people are curious to know what authenticates me as someone who can write on these topics. I presume the questions they want to ask—but are too polite to do so—whether or not I was a part of these organizations. My moter, being the sweetheart that she is, has never really asked to many questions about my past. When I told her in 2001 that I was moving to Mexico she was sad but supportive, and has continued to be so throughout the last ten years.

I was never a member of these organizations. However, in 1999 I worked as a financial advisor for a Wall Street firm. In such capacity I managed investment portfolios for any number of individuals and nonprofit organizations. Every broker/advisor has to choose a niche for his clients base, and I took a less orthodox path than most. As a financial advisor I followed the money in a different way than my colleagues. Like them I had corporate executive and entreprenuerial-clients, but one of my best friend’s father was a real live wiseguy from the Italaina Mafia. I had been introduced to the man before, and being as the man had alot of legitimate businesses and associates he was able to do wonders for my career. But this association did more than just provide me with referrals and increase my assets under management, it opened my eyes to the hypoerisy of “legitimate business.”

Two years later I decided to rtake my career to the urban metropolis of Mexico City. As a financial advisor with Wall Street experience I believed I would be successful in a societal climate where I wouldn’t be seen as a racial minority. Never had I imagined how difficult it would be to make professional acquantances amongst a population of twenty-plus million people. Competition in Mexico’s financial sector was fierce, and brokers bankers and advisors, much as myself, treated their clients like family. These were not bonds easily broken, being from Wall Street or Mars didn’t impress anyone. I was on the brink of failure when it occured to me that I needed to go back to the basics—follow the money. Instead of the multigenerational wealthy families that every other advisor was after I followed the illicit money. Andsurprisingly the contacts weren’t that difficult to make.

The country was teaming with multi-millionares who had made their money from illicit means. People who had legitimate businesses and alot of money to invest. As I had done in New York, I had found my niche.

These relationships, through professional in nature, opened my eyes to the realities not taught in textbooks. I began to ask myself all sorts of questions—one of which, what is a criminal?—and the answers I arrived at surprised me. If a criminal is someone who commits crime, and crime is something deemed illegal, and illegal is something determined by whoever has the power—given or taken—from the people, then I wasn’t so sure that the right people were going to prison. If Wall Street had taught me anything it was that wealth was a synonym for righteousness. Everyday I either saw, heard, or sensed something unethical or illegal—by any civilized standards—taking place around me. Presidents of publicly traded companies would whisper tips to their golf buddies—insider trading—who would then contact their brokers to capitalize on the tip. As brokers we said nothing; ultimately, were we not there to make money? Having changed my country code hadn’t altered this reality one bit.