in an airport restaurant, watching your ex-boyfriend on CNN. But that’s exactly what I was doing around noon the next day.
The sound on the TV was low, and I got the waiter to turn it up so I could hear what they were saying over the looped footage of Ian, with two FBI agents behind him. He was handcuffed, and they were walking him from his office building to a waiting car, through a scrum of aggressive reporters and camera operators.
I watched, transfixe d, as the images played out above the words on the bottom of the screen: BREAKING NEWS: NYC INVESTMENT FIRM RAIDED.
I listened to the anchor explain the story . The firm wasn’t exactly raided. It was a planned search warrant execution that coincided with Ian turning himself in to the authorities. Details were sketchy, but the gist of it was that the FBI had been investigating Ian and his associates at Baker Capital—named after Ian the CEO himself—for six months.
God, I was still with him for two of those…
The charges against Ian included securities fraud, investment advisor fraud, money laundering, filing false documents with the Securities and Exchange Commission, and multiple counts of making false statements to investigators. All very serious charges, any one of which would bring serious jail-time if he were to be convicted.
In all, the reporter said, there were as many as 500 people who fell victim to Ian’s scheme. They ended the story by comparing him to Bernie Madoff, one of the most notorious investment Ponzi schemers of the last decade.
I was so nervous I could hardly hold my phone when trying to call Rachel.
She answered: “Hey, I’ m on the subway, so if I lose you—”
“ Ian’s been arrested,” I interrupted.
She almost shouted her response. “ No! For what?”
I told her what I’d been watching on CNN, including the part about him being investigated while we were still together.
“This is crazy,” she said. “I’m not sure whether to laugh at him or cry for you.”
“I know you really hated him, but this sucks.”
“You’re right. Sorry. I’m really just worried about you. Are you okay?”
Tears welled up in my eyes. I picked up a napkin to dab them away. “I’m shaking. And I have to get on an airplane in about thirty minutes.”
“I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”
I wished there was, too. She was my best friend, and I needed her by my side to keep me from flipping out.
“ Call me if you need to talk. I have a meeting with a potential client, and I’d normally turn my phone off but I’ll keep it on just in case.”
I had to take my eyes off the screen. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
“Call me if you need to. I’ll only be with these people for an hour or so.”
I wished she didn’t have to go, but work was work. “I will.”
“Love you.”
“You too. Talk to you soon.”
The waiter stopped at my table. I made a point of not looking up. I didn’t want him to see my eyes.
“You can take this,” I said, pushing my plate toward the edge of the table.
“Was something wrong with it?”
I’d barely eaten any of the salad, so the plate was almost full. “It’s not the food. I’m just not as hungry as I thought.”
He picked it up. “Can I refill your diet Sprite?”
“That’d be great.” I handed him my glass, but then reconsidered, figuring I definitely could use something stronger right about now. “Actually, I’ll take a martini instead.”
I wasn’t getting on that plane without the calming assistance of a little alcohol.
. . . . .
Sam and I had made no firm plans for Phoenix, other than letting each other know when we arrived. I knew my plane would land hours before his, but I texted him on the way from the airport to the store to let him know I had made it without incident.
He wrote back: First game is tomorrow night. What time will you be done today?
I texted: 6 at the latest.
Sam : You have a date tonight.
Me: No.
Sam : That
The sound on the TV was low, and I got the waiter to turn it up so I could hear what they were saying over the looped footage of Ian, with two FBI agents behind him. He was handcuffed, and they were walking him from his office building to a waiting car, through a scrum of aggressive reporters and camera operators.
I watched, transfixe d, as the images played out above the words on the bottom of the screen: BREAKING NEWS: NYC INVESTMENT FIRM RAIDED.
I listened to the anchor explain the story . The firm wasn’t exactly raided. It was a planned search warrant execution that coincided with Ian turning himself in to the authorities. Details were sketchy, but the gist of it was that the FBI had been investigating Ian and his associates at Baker Capital—named after Ian the CEO himself—for six months.
God, I was still with him for two of those…
The charges against Ian included securities fraud, investment advisor fraud, money laundering, filing false documents with the Securities and Exchange Commission, and multiple counts of making false statements to investigators. All very serious charges, any one of which would bring serious jail-time if he were to be convicted.
In all, the reporter said, there were as many as 500 people who fell victim to Ian’s scheme. They ended the story by comparing him to Bernie Madoff, one of the most notorious investment Ponzi schemers of the last decade.
I was so nervous I could hardly hold my phone when trying to call Rachel.
She answered: “Hey, I’ m on the subway, so if I lose you—”
“ Ian’s been arrested,” I interrupted.
She almost shouted her response. “ No! For what?”
I told her what I’d been watching on CNN, including the part about him being investigated while we were still together.
“This is crazy,” she said. “I’m not sure whether to laugh at him or cry for you.”
“I know you really hated him, but this sucks.”
“You’re right. Sorry. I’m really just worried about you. Are you okay?”
Tears welled up in my eyes. I picked up a napkin to dab them away. “I’m shaking. And I have to get on an airplane in about thirty minutes.”
“I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”
I wished there was, too. She was my best friend, and I needed her by my side to keep me from flipping out.
“ Call me if you need to talk. I have a meeting with a potential client, and I’d normally turn my phone off but I’ll keep it on just in case.”
I had to take my eyes off the screen. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
“Call me if you need to. I’ll only be with these people for an hour or so.”
I wished she didn’t have to go, but work was work. “I will.”
“Love you.”
“You too. Talk to you soon.”
The waiter stopped at my table. I made a point of not looking up. I didn’t want him to see my eyes.
“You can take this,” I said, pushing my plate toward the edge of the table.
“Was something wrong with it?”
I’d barely eaten any of the salad, so the plate was almost full. “It’s not the food. I’m just not as hungry as I thought.”
He picked it up. “Can I refill your diet Sprite?”
“That’d be great.” I handed him my glass, but then reconsidered, figuring I definitely could use something stronger right about now. “Actually, I’ll take a martini instead.”
I wasn’t getting on that plane without the calming assistance of a little alcohol.
. . . . .
Sam and I had made no firm plans for Phoenix, other than letting each other know when we arrived. I knew my plane would land hours before his, but I texted him on the way from the airport to the store to let him know I had made it without incident.
He wrote back: First game is tomorrow night. What time will you be done today?
I texted: 6 at the latest.
Sam : You have a date tonight.
Me: No.
Sam : That
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