Birkenfeld showed up at a French courthouse handing out free copies of his own book. An armed guard told him to stop selling. “I’m not selling them,” he said. “They’re free. Want one?” The cop hid a copy inside his body armor.
Some of the men came out of the woods covered head to toe in blood and bone fragments. Their uniforms were soaked. Their hands were shaking. And the day was not even close to being over.
So what do you do when you walk out of prison and find $104 million waiting in your bank account? If you’re Birkenfeld, you stand on a cold New Hampshire beach watching a sailboat fight the waves and think: yeah, that’s me.
A fifty-three-year-old career policeman stands before five hundred men at dawn, tears running down his face, and tells them their job today is to murder fifteen hundred people. Then he says something no one expects: if you cannot do it, you can step out. No punishment. No consequences. Just walk away.
Birkenfeld turned prison into a comedy show. This is the second half of Chapter 14 in my Lucifer’s Banker Uncensored retelling series.
Before the middle-aged policemen of Battalion 101 ever set foot in Poland, the machinery of mass murder was already grinding at full speed. Chapter 6 is not really about the battalion yet. It is about the nightmare they were walking into.
The chapter opens with a guy named Lopez sprinting out of the barracks, blowing through a fire door, and making a run for the woods. A fat guard they called Waddles wheezes after him. No chance. Lopez is gone.
These were dock workers, truck drivers, and salesmen. Guys pushing forty with bad knees and families back home. And they were about to be sent to Poland to do things none of them could have imagined a few years earlier.
Fort Lauderdale. August. Hot enough to melt your shoes. Birkenfeld walks into a federal courtroom to learn how many years he will spend in prison. The man who blew the lid off the biggest banking scandal in history is about to get sentenced like a common criminal.
Imagine filing a report about transporting a thousand people to a death camp, and your biggest complaint is that the butter went rancid.
Autumn 2008. The financial world is on fire. Barack Obama and John McCain are fighting for the presidency, and nobody in America is paying attention to the earthquake hitting Swiss banking. But Birkenfeld is watching every crack form from his ankle-monitored life in Boston.
Before the killing fields of Poland, there was Russia. And what happened there in the summer of 1941 set the template for everything that followed.
Birkenfeld was supposed to testify before the Senate. Instead, he watched the whole thing from a couch with a beer.
How does a police force built to keep order end up carrying out one of history’s worst crimes? That is the story of Chapter 2.
Birkenfeld is now a free man with an ankle monitor and no passport. The guy who handed the US government the biggest tax fraud case in history is being treated like a flight risk. Welcome to the twilight zone.
Imagine getting woken up before dawn, loaded onto a truck, and driven for two hours down a bumpy gravel road with no idea where you are going or what you are about to do. Now imagine being told, once you arrive, that your job today is to murder 1,500 people.
January 2008. Birkenfeld was back in Geneva, breathing cold Alpine air and trying to enjoy his freedom. He had given everything to the US Senate, the IRS, and the SEC. They were grateful. But the DOJ prosecutor Kevin Downing? He still wanted Birkenfeld’s head on a plate. This is Chapter 10 of my Lucifer’s Banker Uncensored retelling.
What happens when normal, everyday people are put into extraordinary circumstances? Not soldiers. Not fanatics. Just regular middle-aged guys from Hamburg with families and day jobs.
The grenade was out of the bag. This is the second half of Chapter 9 in my Lucifer’s Banker Uncensored retelling series.
The fake Jafarli letter broke something inside Birkenfeld. His own government had betrayed him. The DOJ had tailed him to Mexico, pulled his friend off a plane, stolen the guy’s identity, and used it to try to scare him into silence. He grew up believing in the Constitution and fair trials. Now he felt like a mob informant who accidentally confessed to a dirty cop.
Birkenfeld is still sitting across from DOJ prosecutors Downing and Kelly, dropping bombshell after bombshell. He tells them about a UBS client named Abbas who held $420 million in six numbered accounts. This guy made his fortune through illegal oil deals with Saddam Hussein’s regime. The single largest account holder on the American desk.
The Department of Justice did not want Bradley Birkenfeld. He showed up anyway.
Kevin Downing, a senior prosecutor in the DOJ Tax Division, had a problem. Two lawyers were calling on behalf of an anonymous Swiss banker who claimed to have the goods on the biggest tax fraud case in US history. Names of rich Americans hiding money in Swiss accounts. Names of Swiss banking officials who ran the whole scheme. Names of American politicians who knew about it.
Birkenfeld is ready to blow the whistle. But first he needs lawyers. And that turns out to be way harder than he expected.
Chapter 7 opens with a Roman emperor quote about fear, and honestly it fits perfectly. Birkenfeld just sued UBS and won his bonus. But winning money was never the point. The real fight was just starting.
After discovering the three-page memo that basically proved UBS was setting up its own bankers as fall guys, Birkenfeld doesn’t run. He fights back. This chapter is where he stops being a loyal employee and starts playing chess.
The party was still going, but the music was getting worse. This is the second half of Chapter 5 in my Lucifer’s Banker Uncensored retelling series.
By his fourth year at UBS, Birkenfeld knew the good times had an expiration date. Everything he was doing was perfectly legal in Switzerland. But back in America, the same activity was a federal crime. That gap was starting to weigh on him.
The second half of this chapter reads like a spy movie crossed with a luxury travel brochure. UBS trains its bankers to evade customs agents. Birkenfeld builds his own client pipeline. And the money just keeps rolling in.
Chapter 4 opens with Birkenfeld cruising Geneva in a candy-apple red Ferrari 365 GT Spyder. A $250,000 car. Not his money though. This was “OPM” – Other People’s Money. His overseas clients would tell him what car they wanted, he would buy it, slap on Finnish tax-free plates, and stash it in a luxury garage. When they visited, he handed them the keys. The rest of the time? He drove it himself. Nice perk.
Birkenfeld was living the dream at Barclays. First-class flights, fine dining, Russian girls entertaining clients in Geneva, cash handovers like clockwork. He was pulling in CHF 200K, running a one-man monopoly as the only Swiss private banker at Barclays doing this game.
Birkenfeld lands in Switzerland in 1995 with a busted career and a plan: get an MBA, reset, and come back swinging. He enrolls at a small American university near Lake Geneva, studies hard, parties harder, skis every mountain he can find, and meets a girl named Charlotte.
The new bosses from New York were not just arrogant. They were criminals. And Birkenfeld was about to find out just how deep the rot went at State Street.
Chapter 2 opens with Birkenfeld landing his first real job in finance. The year is 1989. The place is State Street Bank and Trust Company in Boston. And the boss is a guy straight out of a mob movie.
Chapter 1 of Lucifer’s Banker is basically a backstory episode. Before the Swiss bank accounts and the billion-dollar fraud, Bradley Birkenfeld was just a kid from Massachusetts with too much energy and a nose for making money.
The prologue of this book opens on a freezing January morning in 2010. Bradley Birkenfeld is sitting in a Lexus, being driven to federal prison by his older brother Doug. Outside, a snowstorm is pounding rural Pennsylvania. Inside the car, neither man has much to say.
What would you do if you found out your employer was helping the richest people on the planet hide billions from the IRS? Keep quiet and collect your fat paycheck? Or blow the whole thing wide open and risk everything?