Our Tax Dollars at Work in Defense of Russian Oligarchs

Federal prosecutors complain that they are pressed for time, pressed for money, pressed for resources. They bemoan their inability to muster the funding necessary to go up against well-paid private legal teams representing rich defendants. They say they are forced to carefully pick and choose their cases, deciding which ones are the most “winnable”, which ones serve some precedent or deterrent value, which crimes are particularly heinous or violate the public trust, which victims are particularly deserving of justice.  With those considerations in mind, with so many potentially worthwhile cases out there to prosecute, with so many victims to protect, my prosecution struck me as particularly interesting.

Now, my innocence is not in question. I readily admitted, early in the process, to my role in stealing money from the oligarch, a Russian billionaire by the name of Oleg Deripaska. Given that, my case was perhaps an easy win for the prosecutor, an irresistible opportunity to meet his quota. But when you look down into the specifics of the case, you come to realize that our intrepid federal prosecutors were working hand-in-glove with this man to further his interests in U.S. federal court.

This oligarch, my victim, is no ordinary victim. According to numerous credible news reports in the Wall Street Journal and elsewhere, he was refused visas to the U.S. and Canada on numerous occasions due to alleged ties with organized crime. He gained his fortune through a long-running and bloody battle called the "aluminum wars" in which hundreds of people died. He is also the subject of a decade-long FBI investigation. Sympathetic victim? Not really. 

On the one hand, a crime is a crime regardless of who was hurt. But if you look at the vast majority of federal "white collar" prosecutions, they tend to focus on crimes that harm society as a whole or hurt particularly vulnerable segments of the population. The recently concluded Bell prosecution, in which the city administrator was convicted of bilking his poor, working class community of millions of dollars, is a prime example of that. The Madoff case, in which thousands of American investors were hurt, is another. Rightly or wrongly, public outrage is an important consideration of federal prosecutors: if you steal from a widower or a pensioner you're more likely to face a harsh sentence.

 

Despite my self-interest, I don't really see the "public outrage" factor at work in my case. What I did was stupid and wrong, but in the end the only person hurt by my actions (other than me and my family) was a criminal hardly deserving of sympathy. He and I had also reached a comprehensive settlement pursuant to which I gave back his money. 

If my prosecution had consisted only of charging me with a crime, I may have come to the conclusion that the prosecutors were out to punish a wrongdoer or get an easy win, nothing more.  The laws are the laws, after all, and I broke them. But in this case the prosecutors went so much further than necessary in direct support of the oligarch, that I can't help but come to the unfortunate conclusion that some hidden agenda was at play. 

I don't make these accusations lightly. However, it was apparent throughout the process that the overriding aim of the prosecutors was not only to indict and prosecute me, as necessary to uphold the law, but rather to convince the court to grant the oligarch a windfall in restitution in an amount far in excess of what I took from him in the first place. For whatever reasons, they went far beyond what was necessary for justice to be served in order to directly support their new friend. Thankfully, in the end, the court saw through the prosecutor's overzealous support for the oligarch and refused the request. 

How to explain the prosecutors' approach in terms related to justice and punishment? I can't. The approach is one I would have expected in Russia, where officials are eminently bribable. It's not what I expected in the U.S. I'm not accusing the prosecutors of taking bribes or of unethical motivations, just trying to make sense of their overzealous support for a man not ordinarily deserving of such support.

What I know for a fact is that the prosecutors recognized that their support of the oligarch would be viewed as somehow unseemly. This is evident in their blatant attempt to hide the true nature of the victim.  Not once, in all the thousands of words in all the prosecutors' filings, will you see the name "Oleg Deripaska". Not once. They didn't want the public to know who it was they were actually fighting for, so bent over backwards, at the expense of honesty and truth, to hide that fact. 

 

I’m not here to suggest that wrongdoers should walk free or that a crime is somehow “less bad” when there’s an unsympathetic victim. But when our prosecutors move beyond punishing the wrongdoing to directly advocating for the interests of such a victim, I can't help but wonder. In this world of insufficient resources, rampant crime and so many victims who deserve recompense, do we really want our prosecutors to devote their limited time and resources to furthering the interests of a billionaire Russian oligarch suspected of ties to organized crime? 

Top Ten List: Why I was a Bad Criminal

The truth is, I was a bad criminal: sloppy, careless, greedy, sorely lacking in all the skills that make for a successful life of crime. I wasn't devious enough.  Nor was I cautious. I was also overcome by remorse and guilt soon after stealing the cash.  A good criminal must be hardhearted and welcome wrongdoing with open arms. He must think clearly and always stay one step ahead. I did what I did as if in a dream, stumbling and bumbling and making mistakes. While I can remember everything, when I look back it seems as if I'm watching another person. A stupid person.

The fact is, I have no one to blame buy myself for getting caught.  I would give credit where credit is due, but I was not caught through good police work or the oligarch's vigilance. I was caught because I screwed up, got greedy and tried to take more, even though more was the last thing I wanted or needed.

These thoughts nagged at me at first after my wrongdoing came to light.  I blamed myself for my stupidity, considered all the what if's.  Not any more.  Although I would gladly take back what I did, I'm actually glad, now that all is said and done, that I got caught. Getting caught helped me to turn my life around and live honestly once again. Getting caught helped me get sober. Getting caught made me realize how deluded I was. Getting caught helped me recognize my weaknesses and failings. Getting caught helped me realize what is important to me in life.

I did wrong and I have been more than ready for a long time to pay the consequences.  What I most regret is the pain I caused to people close to me.

So now, as these top ten lists have proved popular, I decided to come clean with my stupidities in this wholly factual but partially tongue-in-cheek list: 

Top Ten Reasons Why I Was a Bad Criminal

1. Incriminating evidence: I left piles of incriminating evidence in my office and at home under the bed, modern-day treasure maps, that led investigators straight to the buried treasure.  A good criminal destroys the evidence.

2. Sloppy Work: I did not compare forged signatures to the originals or try to make them look the same. I was lazy and sloppy and my forgeries look like shit.  The fact that I was high on pills at the time didn't exactly help. A good criminal is careful, sneaky, risk averse and sober - and takes the time to get the wrong things right.

3. Blabber mouth: I told people what I had done. A good criminal keeps his mouths shut.

4. Greed:  Not satisfied with my first theft, I went back to the very same place for more. Every good criminal knows you should never hit the same place twice.

5. Foggy Brain: My crime was fueled by my addiction and, though at the time I thought I was thinking clearly, looking back is like watching a bad scene from Cheech & Chong.  A good criminal thinks clearly and soberly in order to stay one step ahead. 

6. Transfers to the U.S.: my crime was committed entirely abroad.  The U.S. would not have had jurisdiction if I had not transferred a bunch of the money for no good reason through a bank in San Francisco. A good criminal knows the law and uses it to his advantage.

7. Lies upon lies: I continued to tell lies even after my scheme was discovered.  I should have come clean sooner and tried to lessen the harm.  The fact is, I wanted to - I felt tremendous guilt and remorse - but I was scared.  I was caught in April 2011 but only came clean after a suicide attempt and a resultant change of heart. A good criminal keeps his mouth shut - he doesn't lie or tell the truth.

8. Spending the loot: the cash burned a hole in my pocket and I spent it on stupid, frivolous things, like someone who had just won the lottery.  I should have saved it untouched and continued to live my regular life or, at the least, tried to assuage my guilt by doing some good with it.  A good criminal hides his new-found wealth.

9. Hubris: I convinced myself that the victim, the oligarch, if he ever found out, would shrug it off and leave me alone. That was not the case. A good criminal doesn't underestimate his adversary.

10. Delusion: Because I hated the oligarch, I convinced myself while committing the crime that I deserved what I took, that I was some sort of modern-day Robin Hood, that I was doing it all for my family. How wrong I was. A good criminal doesn't delude himself about the 'higher motives' of his crimes.

The Strange Limbo of a Criminal Defendant

I spent the past week helping my ex-wife prepare for her move with our kids from Moscow to Los Angeles. We toured schools, visited neighborhoods and viewed apartments.  By the end of the week, we had a pretty good idea of what to do and how to do it.  

I am overjoyed that she has decided to take this step.  In fact, I have dreamed of it for years.  The move promises a better life for the kids: better schools, better environment, not to mention better weather. It also means that they will be able to visit me in prison.  Yes, prison.  

As background, several years ago I stole money from a Russian oligarch.  Hell hath no fury like an oligarch scorned and when he found out I had to flee Moscow in fear for my life.  My wife decided to stay behind and has remained there with the kids ever since while I tried to rebuild my life in the Midwest. We managed to create a semi-normal, albeit itinerant, life for them: they visit me here in the U.S. on every school break. But for all those years, I dreamed constantly of their return to the U.S. and all that it promised: the ability to see the kids on weekends, to visit them on my days off, to meet with their teachers.  In short, I dreamed of once again playing an integral part in their everyday lives. Divorce is one thing, exile quite another.

Now, my wish is about to come true: my family is coming home.  Unfortunately, their move coincides almost exactly with my impending conviction and incarceration.  My sentencing is scheduled for March and then, about a month later (excepting a miracle), I will head off to prison.  A few weeks later, once their school year finishes, my family will move to California. It's the ultimate example of being careful what you wish for.

As a result, it was a strange, upsetting experience helping to prepare for their new life knowing that I will not be a part of it. We toured apartments and I dreamed of living in them.  We visited schools and I imagined dropping the kids off in the morning and picking them up in the afternoon.  We walked around neighborhoods that I wished I could call my own.  Alas, none of that is set to be.  At least for the foreseeable future.

This is, though, just an acute symptom of the strange limbo of being a defendant in the criminal justice system. The wheels of justice turn oh-so-slowly and during this time regular life must be put on hold. I lost my job but was unable to look for a new one.  I rented an apartment knowing that I would have to ultimately break the lease.  For a long time, I tried to hide the whole thing from my friends and family, pretending that life was normal and things were fine.  

In most respects, life turns into a slow-motion version of Chinese water torture as you count down the years and months and days until you are charged, then sentenced, then incarcerated. The not-knowing - whether you'll be convicted, how long your sentence will be - gnaws at you as you imagine the worst. Those who preceded me say that this time is the worst; that in comparison, prison is almost a relief.  At least, they say, it provides a sense of finality and gives you something - your ultimate freedom - to look forward to.  In comparison, the time leading up to incarceration is a stressful, anxiety filled time as you contemplate the end of life as you know it.  

Despite my dislocation, the fact that I was able to help them prepare for their move does mean something. Without my involvement, it would have been very hard for my ex-wife to organize the move from abroad. The project has given these last stressful months of freedom some meaning and worth - it feels good to help instead of asking others for help.  It has also made the time move faster.  And of course, I do have hope now that come visiting day, I'll be led through the steel doors into the waiting arms of my children.