The Very Rich Are Very Different From You And Me- With Richard Gere’s Arbitrage In Mind

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

Scotty Fitzgerald, the king hell king writer of the American Jazz Age back in the 1920s, once famously said that the very rich (not just the average rich who could just be junk car dealers from Bronx or something) are different, well no, are very different from you and me. And you know he was right, right like he was on a lot of things, Jay Ganz Great Gatsby things, Tender is the Night things, This Side of Paradise things, since he wrote about that group that he had more than a passing acquaintance with in his time. The main thing, the main concern of this sketch anyway, is that the very rich are untouched by things that you and I would take the fall for in a n instance and wind up doing some hard time, some Sing Sing, Shawshank, you name the joint time. That brings us up to super-rich Wall Street financier Robert Ludlow and the way he skated clear, clear as day from more felony charges that the King’s County D.A.’s office had space for. Yah, he walked, walked like some connected mafia don right out onto the street and never missed a beat. Never.

You don’t know Robert Ludlow, Robert Ludlow the big Wall Street holy- roller, mumbo-jumbo man who has taken over (and gotten rid of ) more companies that you can shake a stick selling off the assets at huge profits? Yes, that Robert Ludlow from Ludlow Enterprises (or whatever corporate shell name he is using just now). Yah, you probably don’t know him now that I think about it. Not the specific name but you do know the wreaking havoc with your mortgage, your retirement savings, and your credit card too. That you know. He and his Wall Street crony crowd, and maybe that is all you have to know to follow along. Some other names are bigger, better known in the prints but he was thick as thieves with them. So, yes, I agree with you they all should be hanging off some lampposts somewhere but Robert’s story is a little bit quirkier so let’s focus on him.

When dough is around, big dough, people, people with some ideas, maybe good ideas, maybe bad ideas, but ideas gravitate to that pole of attraction. It was no different in Robert’s case except he had fatal thing for arty type women, beautiful arty type women looking for a little help, and willing to give a little something in return. (Come on now you knew a woman was involved, don’t be naïve.) And Arlette, fresh dewy Arlette straight off the plane from some Paris art gallery, dropped right into his lap one night at an opening. Of course he helped her since like I said he was also fatally attracted to having affairs with those arty type women. He once said something about looking for his inner soul- mate, his opposite, some foolish ying and yang thing. But we know it was sex, and nothing but sex that drove him. And yes he had a very nice but very not young wife and kids and all that but that was all for public relations. What Robert was really was just an old fashion alley cat. And made no apologizes for it.

But alley- catting around and wheeler-dealing can sometimes get complicated, very complicated even for guys like Robert Ludlow. See like a lot of guy on the street Wall Street or Jump Street he tried to squeeze every deal for what it was worth. Some you win, some you lose. Same with Robert. Except lately he had been on a losing streak, a few bad deals, a couple of guys who couldn’t be bought, troubles in the global market. Enough bad stuff so that he had to bail out, sell his company. Of course nobody, nobody on this good green earth wants a company, even Ludlow Enterprises, with cash flow problems except at a deep, deep discount so he had his people cook the books. Cook the books big time. That part wasn’t so unusual he had done it before on a smaller scale, although not to one of his own companies. So he was down for ten to twenty easy over in Danbury on the various white collar felony counts.

Here’s where it gets complicated though. Naturally a guy flying on a trapeze without a net is going to be tense, going to need a little time away with his honey (no, not the wife, Arlette) while things take their course. So he and Arlette headed upcountry, headed out of the city in her car. But like I say Robert was tired, tense, maybe a few too many scotches, and while he was driving he dozed off and went off the road into skid and roll-over. Poor Arlette was killed instantly. Of course Robert took some injuries too but he was mainly concerned about what the publicity would do to his company sell-off. So he left scene, left Arlette there without remorse.

Naturally the first thing he did was his lawyer, no, not some dink corporate lawyer who while great at mergers would get him sent to the chair if he represent Robert him but a solid criminal lawyer he had on retainer like any good businessman. And between them they put on the squeeze play. That criminal lawyer went the next day to the D.A.s office to make a deal. No publicity, no charges, Robert takes care of the funeral and family, a big, uh, donation and that is that. Or else. The or else being that Robert would no longer contribute to the D.A.s campaigns. And if that didn’t work then he would expose the several very interesting facts he knew about the D.A. and the mob, the local drug cartel (Robert had arranged the financing for a huge cartel drug buy that the D.A. closed his eyes to), and that blond he had stashed away over in Brooklyn on the county payroll. So you know now why you never heard about Robert and any accident. Nada. And the deal for his company? A big international bank, United International, bought the company and Robert walked away with a couple of hundred million for himself. Walked clear away and started making the next deal (and finding the next arty protégé). Yah, the very rich are very different from you and me.