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The Wolf of Wall Street

Cover of The Wolf of Wall Street

The Wolf of Wall Street

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Soon to be a major motion picture directed by Martin Scorsese and starring Leonardo DiCaprioNEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLERBy day he made thousands of dollars a minute. By night he spent it as fast as he ...More
Soon to be a major motion picture directed by Martin Scorsese and starring Leonardo DiCaprioNEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLERBy day he made thousands of dollars a minute. By night he spent it as fast as he ...More
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Description-
  • Soon to be 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.

Excerpts-
  • From the book

    Prologue A Babe in the Woods

    May 1, 1987

    You're lower than pond scum," said my new boss, leading me through the boardroom of LF Rothschild for the first time.

    "You got a problem with that, Jordan?"

    "No," I replied, "no problem."

    "Good," snapped my boss, and he kept right on walking.

    We were walking through a maze of brown mahogany desks and black telephone wire on the twenty-third floor of a glass-andaluminum tower that rose up forty-one stories above Manhattan's fabled Fifth Avenue. The boardroom was a vast space, perhaps fifty by seventy feet. It was an oppressive space, loaded with desks, telephones, computer monitors, and some very obnoxious yuppies, seventy of them in all. They had their suit jackets off, and at this hour of morning--9:20 a.m.--they were leaning back in their seats, reading their Wall Street Journals, and congratulating themselves on being young Masters of the Universe.

    Being a Master of the Universe; it seemed like a noble pursuit, and as I walked past the Masters, in my cheap blue suit and clodhopper shoes, I found myself wishing I were one of them. But my new boss was quick to remind me that I wasn't. "Your job"--he looked at the plastic nametag on my cheap blue lapel--"Jordan Belfort, is a connector, which means you'll be dialing the phone five hundred times a day, trying to get past secretaries. You're not trying to sell anything or recommend anything or create anything. You' re just trying to get business owners on the phone." He paused for a brief instant, then spewed out more venom. "And when you do get one on the phone, all you'll say is: 'Hello, Mr. So and So, I have Scott holding for you,' and then you pass the phone to me and start dialing again. Think you can handle that, or is that too complicated for you?"

    "No, I can handle it," I said confidently, as a wave of panic overtook me like a killer tsunami. The LF Rothschild training program was six months long. They would be tough months, grueling months, during which I would be at the very mercy of assholes like Scott, the yuppie scumbag who seemed to have bubbled up from the fiery depths of yuppie hell.

    Sneaking peaks at him out of the corner of my eye, I came to the quick conclusion that Scott looked like a goldfish. He was bald and pale, and what little hair he did have left was a muddy orange. He was in his early thirties, on the tall side, and he had a narrow skull and pink, puffy lips. He wore a bow tie, which made him look ridiculous. Over his bulging brown eyeballs he wore a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles, which made him look fishy--in the goldfish sense of the word.

    "Good," said the scumbag goldfish. "Now, here are the ground rules: There are no breaks, no personal calls, no sick days, no coming in late, and no loafing off. You get thirty minutes for lunch"--he paused for effect--"and you better be back on time, because there are fifty people waiting to take your desk if you fuck up." He kept walking and talking as I followed one step behind, mesmerized by the thousands of orange diode stock quotes that came skidding across gray-colored computer monitors. At the front of the room, a wall of plate glass looked out over midtown Manhattan. Up ahead I could see the Empire State Building. It towered above everything, seeming to rise up to the heavens and scrape the sky. It was a sight to behold, a sight worthy of a young Master of the Universe. And, right now, that goal seemed further and further away.

    "To tell you the truth," sputtered Scott, "I don't think you're cut out for this job. You look like a kid, and...

About the Author-
  • After graduating from American University, Jordan Belfort worked on Wall Street for ten years. He is currently living in Los Angeles with his two children.


    From the Hardcover edition.
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    Random House Publishing Group
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  • Copyright Protection (DRM) required by the Publisher may be applied to this title to limit or prohibit printing or copying. File sharing or redistribution is prohibited. Your rights to access this material expire at the end of the lending period. Please see Important Notice about Copyrighted Materials for terms applicable to this content.

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