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International Investing / Eastern European Investing
|Subject: Negotiating with "Big Money"||Date: 12/4/2008 9:57 PM|
|Author: lukematt||Number: 152 of 161|
“Big Money” wants me to return to work for them. I’m not interested. Thus, we are “negotiating”. Currently, our negotiations take the following form:
• “Big Money” pays people to do dirty tricks to me and my family;
• I write exposés based upon my knowledge of “Big Money’s” activities.
However, at the beginning, “Big Money’s” tactics were not so innocuous.
Let’s wind back the clock…
When I first notified the “kmotr” (it’s a Czech word—look it up) over the telephone that I was quitting, he said, “I’ll fly to the Czech Republic in a couple of weeks to meet with you.”
Upon his arrival, the “kmotr” telephoned to me to arrange a meeting place. I wanted the busiest place possible, so I told him, “Meet me in the lobby of Brno’s main train station”.
As the meeting time approached, I started to consider my situation. I didn’t want to negotiate with this guy. He’s not normal. I wouldn’t stand a chance against him. Thus, when I got to the train station, I simply handed an envelope to him (it contained money that I owed to the “kmotr” —paid in full—). Then, I left. He was stunned. He simply said, “You’re not going to say anything?” I turned and replied, “Nothing to say”.
Starting the next day, the phone would ring at my apartment, but when anyone in my family answered it, the person on the other end hung up. These juvenile antics continued for a couple of months. I didn’t know what to think. (Later, I assumed that the hang-up calls were some strange signal from the “kmotr” that he wanted me to telephone to him to beg for my job back. Like Hell I would.)
One day, our pediatrician told us that our youngest son (then age 1 1/2) needed a throat culture. We took him to the doctor’s office. That night, our son awoke around midnight, and he couldn’t breathe. It was serious. We called for the city’s emergency doctor / ambulance. When they arrived, they took our son to the hospital where he stayed in intensive care for two weeks. We almost lost him.
Yup, our pediatrician from Hell had made a deal with “Big Money” to put something into our son’s throat, not take a culture, which caused his esophagus to swell closed so he couldn’t breathe.
[Lesson #1: The Mafia plays by a new set of rules nowadays. They **do** kill women and children. They don’t care how many innocent people get hurt as long as the right person gets the message.]
Still I refused to “cooperate” with my former employer.
After some passage of time, the phone rang in our apartment. The “kmotr” actually talked this time. His final words were “I deal with problems like you all the tim