Bradley C. Birkenfeld - Lucifer’s Banker: The Untold Story of How I Destroyed Swiss Bank Secrecy

PRAISE FOR
BRADLEY C. BIRKENFELD

Bradley Birkenfelda name you will never forget.

New Haven Register

The most significant financial whistle-blower of all time.

CNBC

Simply put, Birkenfeld must be considered among the biggest whistle-blowers of all time.

Tax Notes

If a single person can be credited with drawing popular attention to the offshore world, it may be Bradley Birkenfeld.

Financial Times

In 2007, the veil of secrecy was shattered by a whistle-blower named Bradley Birkenfeld.

The Washington Post

UBS whistle-blower Bradley Birkenfeld deserves a statue on Wall Street, not a prison sentence.

New York Daily News

I will say that without Mr. Birkenfeld walking in the door of the Department of Justice in the summer of 2007, I doubt as of today this massive fraud scheme would have ever been discovered by the United States government.

Department of Justice Prosecutor

So does Mr. Birkenfeld deserve the award of $104 million ? Every penny!

Internal Revenue Service Agent

WWW.LUCIFERSBANKER.COM

This is a work of nonfiction. While the stories in this book are true, some names and identifying details have been changed.

Published by Greenleaf Book Group Press

Austin, Texas

www.gbgpress.com

Copyright 2016 Bradley C. Birkenfeld

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the copyright holder.

Distributed by Greenleaf Book Group

For ordering information or special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Greenleaf Book Group at PO Box 91869, Austin, TX 78709, 512.891.6100.

Design and composition by Greenleaf Book Group and Sheila Parr

Cover design by Bradley C. Birkenfeld and Greenleaf Book Group

Cataloging-in-Publication data is available.

Print ISBN: 978-1-62634-371-9

eBook ISBN: 978-1-62634-372-6

Part of the Tree Neutral program, which offsets the number of trees consumed in the production and printing of this book by taking proactive steps, such as planting trees in direct proportion to the number of trees used: www.treeneutral.com

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

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First Edition

For my brother Doug, who has been with me from the first day I started on this roller-coaster ride. A loyal friend and brilliant lawyer, he witnessed the corruption, understood what was going on, and advised me along the way.

An event has happened, upon which it is difficult
to speak, and impossible to be silent.

EDMUND BURKE, IRISH PHILOSOPHER

I fear that foreign bankers with their craftiness and
tortuous tricks will entirely control the exuberant riches of
America and use it to systematically corrupt civilization.

OTTO VON BISMARCK,
GERMAN CHANCELLOR

January 8, 2010

Minersville, Pennsylvania

ALL ROADS THAT LEAD to federal prisons are long.

There are no exits, no shortcuts to quicken the journey and dull the pain of anticipation. All such roads are built upon decisions, with hairpin turns and lost highways. That final leg might involve a quick miles ride from a courthouse, or a six-hour trip aboard a fume-choked prison bus, but its always the payoff of a life gone crazy, and it always ends the same way.

For me, the road to Schuylkill Federal Correctional Institution seemed fucking endless on that freezing Friday morning. It was only an hours drive from my hotel in Scranton, Pennsylvania, to the prison in some backwater town, but it felt like a year. Inside the Lexus I could see my breath, and outside the snow fell in wind-whipped veils, making the blacktop slick and risky. Id wanted to take the wheel myself, one last spin before they locked me up, but Id been slapped with a curfew, branded with an ankle monitor, and didnt have a car anymore. So my older brother Doug, whos almost six-foot-four like me, drove through the storm. I made a few last phone calls to friends from the car, but mostly we sat there in tight-lipped silence, heading for an appointment that neither of us wanted to keep.

I knew this was going to be hard on Doug, maybe even more than on me. He was damn proud of me for what Id done, blowing the top off the biggest banking and tax fraud conspiracy in history, and he was furious with the Department of Justice. Doug thought I deserved the Medal of Freedom instead of a pair of leg irons. I tried telling him it would be all right.

Hey, dude, chill out, I said as I looked at his white-knuckled fingers gripping the wheel. I can do three years in the slammer standing on my head.

But Doug wasnt buying it. He was outraged, bitter, and vengeful. And since theres no point in pretending otherwise, I was too.

I gave up on my phony bravado as the car entered a long curve through a forest of snow-slathered pines. The wheels suddenly lost traction and the car started to drift, but Doug handled the skid like a Formula One driver and he didnt slow down. He was hunched over the wheel, staring through the windshield where the wipers were on full and slapping at the snow. They sounded to me like a metronome, attached to a time bomb. Maybe thats a little dramatic, but they did.

Take it easy, brother. I reached over and gripped his shoulder. Im in no rush.

Doug finally smiled, but it was more like a deaths-head grin, and we both turned inward again.

Ive heard that when youre about to die a violent death, your whole life flashes before your eyes. Luckily Ive never experienced that, but I can say firsthand that when youre about to be locked up in prison, a similar phenomenon occurs. Yet my looking back felt more like some terminal disease, during which I had plenty of time to go over every joy and sorrow, plus all the perfect moves Id made and a couple of dumbass screwups. My life didnt flash before my eyes; it unwound slowly like an old film on a rickety movie projector.

I had no regrets and Im not a fan of pity parties. But there were things I sure as hell wouldve changed. For instance, I would never have trusted my Swiss bank bosses to have my back, when I knew deep down that traits like integrity were not in their bones. And I would definitely not have gone to the US Department of Justice, expecting them to protect me while I handed them, on a silver platter, the biggest tax fraud scheme in history. Even at the ripe old age of forty-four, I still had faith in the American justice system. Well, you live and learn.

What really occupied my mind as we drove were the things Id miss: the lifestyle Id worked my butt off to achieve, my parents and brothers, my friends, and my liberty. I knew that an hour from now Id be faced with some very stark contrasts: the Disneyland of my life before today, and the Tower of London after.

I leaned back and closed my eyes, recalling my roller-coaster ride. Just two years ago Id been living the kind of existence most men can only dream about, and the sights and smells and sensations of it all washed over me again like a warm Caribbean wave.