“Yes, Mr. Jenkins, your IRA is doing quite well. As I told you before, I take your money personally. I only invest in the sorts of things I, myself, am involved in.” Pete Smithers shifts his phone from one ear to the other as he hands the boarding agent his ticket.
“Enjoy the Caymans,” the agent says with a smile, already looking to the next in line.
“No, Mr. Jenkins,” Pete continues, as he walks down the jet way. “It’s common for the SEC and other regulatory agencies to audit financial firms, even mine. It’s what keeps us honest. I wouldn’t waste any time worrying about that story on CNN.” Pete nods to the stewardess as he steps onto the plane, then turns down the aisle. With his focus on the first class seat numbers, he catches his wheelie carry-on against the divider. “Shoot!”
“No, no, that wasn’t directed at you, Mr. Jenkins. I’m about to step into a real important meeting - another great opportunity for your money – so I have to go. I promise I’ll call you later to—“
Pete stops, as two men in dark suits stand in his way. The closest, a tall young man, a serious look upon his face, holds a cell phone to his ear with one hand, and a badge emblazoned with the FBI logo and the agent’s name in the other.
“You promise you’ll call me later, Mr. Smithers?” Special Agent Jenkins says into the phone.
“Enjoy the Caymans,” the agent says with a smile, already looking to the next in line.
“No, Mr. Jenkins,” Pete continues, as he walks down the jet way. “It’s common for the SEC and other regulatory agencies to audit financial firms, even mine. It’s what keeps us honest. I wouldn’t waste any time worrying about that story on CNN.” Pete nods to the stewardess as he steps onto the plane, then turns down the aisle. With his focus on the first class seat numbers, he catches his wheelie carry-on against the divider. “Shoot!”
“No, no, that wasn’t directed at you, Mr. Jenkins. I’m about to step into a real important meeting - another great opportunity for your money – so I have to go. I promise I’ll call you later to—“
Pete stops, as two men in dark suits stand in his way. The closest, a tall young man, a serious look upon his face, holds a cell phone to his ear with one hand, and a badge emblazoned with the FBI logo and the agent’s name in the other.
“You promise you’ll call me later, Mr. Smithers?” Special Agent Jenkins says into the phone.
