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worked in the same room as their staff. Though his department had only four people, Darr hired his own personal secretary. His colleagues could not believe his pomposity—never before had any of them known of a Josephthal executive who would have his secretary call clients, only to put them on hold until her boss picked up the phone.
    Still, he showed talent in the job. In negotiations over a deal, no one was tougher. Darr always insisted on the highest fees and the best terms for Josephthal. He even haggled over the commissions that would be paid to the firm’s brokers, demanding that each promoter pay as much as was permissible under the securities rules. His colleagues smirked each time they heard Darr push the demand—they knew his bonus was based in part on the amount of commissions his department generated.
    And Darr still had his sense of humor, although it started to develop an edge. Once, when spying a homeless person on the street, Darr asked his companion if he recognized the man. His associate said no.
    â€œWell,” Darr said, “this guy used to run a tax shelter department a few years back.”
    The message of Darr’s humor was clear: This was a business where anyone’s fate could change in an instant.
    Norman Gershman, Josephthal’s national sales manager, regretted ever hiring Jim Darr. The man’s egotistical behavior was bad enough. But by the late spring of 1979, Gershman, Darr’s immediate supervisor, was beginning to question his integrity.
    Already some of the firm’s best clients were refusing to work with Darr. A friend of Gershman’s who headed a real estate syndication company called him personally to complain.
    â€œI don’t want to do business with the guy,” the client said. “He’s not being honest.”
    For Gershman, a quiet, gentlemanly sort from Wall Street’s old school, that was enough to make him edgy about his aggressive, arrogant new hire. But then later, Gershman told Darr about a wealthy potential client who was looking to buy a tax shelter. Darr leaned close and lowered his voice.
    â€œI’ve got a deal we can sell to this guy, but it’s not coming through Josephthal,” Darr told Gershman. “You know, you and I could make money from this on the side.”
    Is he seriously suggesting that we pocket the fees that should go to Josephthal?
Gershman just stared at him in silence, until Darr turned and walked away. If that was a test, Gershman thought, he was glad to fail.
    Before Gershman decided what to do about his suspicions, DeMarco, the head of the firm, called him into his office and shut the door. He wanted to know if Gershman knew anything about payments Darr had been taking from clients.
    Even with everything he had heard to that point, the accusation floored Gershman. “I can’t believe a professional would do something like that,” he said.
    But as the two men talked, he began to wonder. DeMarco had copies of the checks. Neil Sinclair, a member of the tax shelter department who handled real estate deals, had somehow obtained the records from Darr’s locked desk and turned them over. Both DeMarco and Gershman knew that Darr had purchased a new house in Connecticut and was driving an expensive car. Somebody on Darr’s salary could never have afforded it. Until now, everyone just assumed Darr had family money. It was beginning to look like they assumed wrong.
    THE INVESTIGATION dragged on for weeks.
    On the books of Josephthal, Darr was still the head of the tax shelter department. But he stopped coming to work every day—many weeks, the other executives in the department had no idea where he was. When they did see him, his face betrayed every fear and every concern. Over a two-month period, he started losing weight, and lots of it. His staff guessed that he had lost more than twenty pounds since the investigation began. Darr looked dreadful.
    Finally DeMarco called