Mr. Monk is Cleaned Out Read Online Free PDF

the uncertainty and necessity of change.”
    “He still has to drink something.”
    “Don’t worry. Adrian won’t die of thirst. He’ll get through this and come out of it a stronger person.”
    “Will two hours be enough time for you today?” I said.
    “I think so,” Dr. Bell said, getting up again. “Convincing Adrian, however, might be more difficult.”
     
    I was in the mood for a latte at Starbucks but my sense of fiscal responsibility prevailed and I went to McDonald’s for coffee instead, using the money I’d saved to buy a small order of fries and a copy of the San Francisco Chronicle .
    I took my coffee, fries, and newspaper and walked up to Washington Park so I could enjoy the fresh air and the cloudless blue sky.
    I was lucky and found VIP seating—a bench that was perfectly positioned to give me fabulous, postcard-perfect views wherever I turned my head.
    In front of me, Coit Tower rose above the trees and the rooftops on Stockton Street. To my right, south on Columbus Avenue, I could see the top of the Transamerica Pyramid. And to my left, I could see St. Peter and Paul Church, white as a wedding cake, on Filbert Street.
    But instead of appreciating those views, I couldn’t take my eyes off my newspaper. It was like looking at a train wreck, a plane crash, and a naked celebrity all at once.
    Almost all the stories were connected to the economy in some way, which would ordinarily be a big bore. But not in these dark days.
    There was a big piece on Jack Moggridge, the ongoing criminal trial, and the tens of millions of dollars he’d taken from Big Country. That wasn’t news. The big development was the discovery of what he’d done with all of his profits.
    Moggridge invested almost every penny he had with Bob Sebes and his Reinier Investment Fund, which six months ago undoubtedly seemed like a very smart move. Sebes was regarded as a financial genius in the banking industry and his $2 billion fund delivered consistent returns for his investors regardless of the ups and downs of the world economy.
    But this time, the economy had gotten so bad that many of Sebes’ investors, in deep financial troubles, were cashing out of the fund because they needed money. The problem was, Sebes didn’t have the cash to cover the withdrawals and a few weeks ago he was forced to make a terrible confession.
    His fund was a fraud, a massive Ponzi scheme, and the $2 billion was all gone. Where it had gone, he wasn’t saying.
    So that meant Moggridge was broke.
    And while that was sweet, poetic justice for his criminal actions, it was hard to savor knowing that his victims would never be compensated for what they’d lost because of him.
    Meanwhile Sebes, responsible for one of the biggest financial frauds in history, had been placed under house arrest in his Pacific Heights mansion pending his trial. The news today was that a judge, despite the public outcry, had upheld the house arrest, arguing that Sebes had surrendered his passport, was wearing a GPS tracking device on his ankle, and, as one of the most reviled men on Earth right now, there was nowhere for him to run.
    I could understand the judge’s ruling, but it still pissed me off.
    If I mugged a guy in Washington Park for the hundred dollars in his wallet, I’d go to jail. But Bob Sebes had defrauded banks, pension plans, charities, and thousands of individuals out of billions of dollars and he got to stay at home, eating caviar and drinking champagne all day in his satin pajamas.
    Why did he get locked up at home instead of in a jail cell? Was it because he was rich? Because he was once a highly respected figure on Wall Street? Because he hobnobbed with movie stars, famous athletes, and world leaders?
    Of course that was why.
    What made it harder for me to accept was the fact that even if he was eventually sentenced to prison, it wouldn’t be the same one that I’d have to go to for mugging somebody. I’d be sent to some godforsaken hellhole and have to