I’ve always had a fascination with numbers. I skipped two grades in elementary school. Graduated secondary at 16, and finished college at 18. I couldn’t get enough numbers. Passion? More like obsession.
My parents had me tested for autism. At the time, I took great offence. Now as an adult, it would have made a lot of sense. Turns out, I have a higher than normal IQ, and love what I do. That comes as a shock to some people (loving what I do). Someone once said “you can sleep, and be miserable, or never sleep, and be happy.” I chose to be happy.
If you’re reading this, then it’s no secret you know who I am. Mark Jacobs, 35, known as the “Mob Accountant”. Over the course of 10 years, my associates and I shaped the way organized crime operated in the United States.
When I first started, I never knew who my clients were. Not only to protect my identity, but there’s as well. I can’t testify if I don’t know names.
Yet, I never knew my actions would lead to so much chaos.
Over two years, a large syndicate began to bring me stacks and stacks of books. The amount of money coming off the top was staggering. I didn’t know what they were trying to buy (or hide) but it was big. In the summer of ’85, I returned the cooked books and was paid handsomely for my efforts.
The Sartuzzi family had more wealth than any other family in New York, and had deep ties to Sicilian blood lines. The old school of old school. Of course, I never knew who they were until after I was indicted.
If I knew that I was directly involved with facilitating their drug trade, I would have denied them as a client, and moved to the Arctic. Street name “Dreamland” would render your victim helpless, making them believe they were stuck in a form of purgatory. The perfect drug, fit for a psychopath.
The death toll was high. The drug was untested; too pure. Few survived. The ones that did let the doctors take whatever they needed from their blood, and the largest state funded operation was underway. Agencies from all over the US came together to bring Sartuzzi, and everyone involved, crumbling down.
“Now can I have my cigarette, please?”