The Wolf of Wall Street
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Now a major motion picture directed by Martin Scorsese and starring Leonardo DiCaprio
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
By day he made thousands of dollars a minute. By night he spent it as fast as he could, on drugs, sex, and international globe-trotting. From the binge that sank a 170-foot motor yacht and ran up a $700,000 hotel tab, to the wife and kids waiting at home, and the fast-talking, hard-partying young stockbrokers who called him king and did his bidding, here, in his own inimitable words, is the story of the ill-fated genius they called . . .
THE WOLF OF WALL STREET
In the 1990s Jordan Belfort, former kingpin of the notorious investment firm Stratton Oakmont, became one of the most infamous names in American finance: a brilliant, conniving stock-chopper who led his merry mob on a wild ride out of the canyons of Wall Street and into a massive office on Long Island. Now, in this astounding and hilarious tell-all autobiography, Belfort narrates a story of greed, power, and excess that no one could invent.
Reputedly the prototype for the film Boiler Room, Stratton Oakmont turned microcap investing into a wickedly lucrative game as Belfort’s hyped-up, coked-out brokers browbeat clients into stock buys that were guaranteed to earn obscene profits—for the house. But an insatiable appetite for debauchery, questionable tactics, and a fateful partnership with a breakout shoe designer named Steve Madden would land Belfort on both sides of the law and into a harrowing darkness all his own.
From the stormy relationship Belfort shared with his model-wife as they ran a madcap household that included two young children, a full-time staff of twenty-two, a pair of bodyguards, and hidden cameras everywhere—even as the SEC and FBI zeroed in on them—to the unbridled hedonism of his office life, here is the extraordinary story of an ordinary guy who went from hustling Italian ices at sixteen to making hundreds of millions. Until it all came crashing down . . .
Praise for The Wolf of Wall Street
“Raw and frequently hilarious.”—The New York Times
“A rollicking tale of [Jordan Belfort’s] rise to riches as head of the infamous boiler room Stratton Oakmont . . . proof that there are indeed second acts in American lives.”—Forbes
“A cross between Tom Wolfe’s The Bonfire of the Vanities and Scorsese’s GoodFellas . . . Belfort has the Midas touch.”—The Sunday Times (London)
“Entertaining as pulp fiction, real as a federal indictment . . . a hell of a read.”—Kirkus Reviews
From the Hardcover edition.
is a true story based on my best recollections of various events in my life. Where indicated, the names and identifying characteristics of certain people mentioned in the book have been changed in order to protect their privacy. In some instances, I rearranged and/or compressed events and time periods in service of the narrative, and I recreated dialogue to match my best recollection of those exchanges. prologue A BABE IN THE WOODS May 1, 1987 Y ou’re lower than pond scum,” said my new
you get so upset over a stupid credit-card bill. But that’s all it is, Dad: a bill! And you know you’re gonna end up paying it anyway. So what’s the point of getting all upset over it? Before the day is over we’re gonna make twenty million bucks, so who gives a shit about half a million?” At this point the Blockhead chimed in. “Max, my portion of the bill is hardly anything. So I’m on the same page as you.” I smiled inwardly, knowing the Blockhead had just made a colossal blunder. There were two
his hand in the air, as if to say, “Forget about it!” And he kept right on going. “Anyway, let me describe it to you, because this is important. Now, it was a black patentleather variation of the traditional Mary Jane, with a relatively thin ankle strap. But the key was that it had a bump toe. Some of you girls here must know exactly what I’m talking about, right? I mean—it was really a hot shoe!” He paused, obviously hoping for some positive feedback from the sales assistants, but none came—
he wanted large blocks of Stratton new issues, which were Wall Street’s hottest. He would want all these things until he could ﬁgure them out on his own. Then he would want no more. That would take six months, I ﬁgured, at which point he would turn on me. He would sell back all the stock I’d given him, which would put unnecessary pressure on the Strattonites, who would be forced to buy it. Ultimately, his selling would drive the stocks down, which would lead to customer complaints and, most
it to me. So I raced home, picked up my Porsche, and drove back and waited outside her shop to make sure she saw it when she came out!” At this point I ﬂashed Patricia an embarrassed smile. “Can you imagine? What kind of man with any T H E W O L F O F WA L L S T R E E T 171 self-conﬁdence does that? What a fucking embarrassment I was! Anyway, what’s really ironic is that since I started Stratton, every kid in America thinks it’s their fucking birthright to own a Ferrari by the age of