Earning Freedom: Conquering a 45-Year Prison Term by Michael Santos. Chapter 8.3

 

Julie and Tim agree to finance my tuition and book expenses with the understanding that I’ll reimburse them from my earnings. When the mailroom delivers my coursework for first-year law, the stack of textbooks reaches halfway up my thigh. As I fan through thousands of fine-print pages optimism surges through me. I’m making progress, feeling a renewed energy, convinced that these books will change my life.

I create a new daily schedule, committing myself to wake and to begin studying after the guards complete the 3:00 a.m. census, allowing myself three hours of reading and note-taking before I exercise. Then I can study again from 9:00 a.m. until 8:00 p.m. By the end of 1998, I’ll finish my first-year courses. The self-imposed structure brings the illusion that I’m back in control of my life.

A scandalous affair between President Clinton and a young White House intern dominates the news, but I barely notice. I have tunnel vision again, devoting all of my energies toward mastering a new vocabulary, learning how to research the law, and writing lengthy papers.

After sending in my first batch of assignments, I move on to the next course. It’s early morning, still dark outside, and I’m studying in bed. My tiny book light is clipped on the metal chair beside my rack, illuminating the thick textbook propped upon my thighs. Eleven other men sleep nearby, but my earplugs muffle the sound of their snores. I’m invigorated by the work. Instead of wasting time, I’m developing skills that can never be taken away.

Later in the week, when I open the envelope containing my first graded assignments, I’m deeply disappointed. Because of my experience at Hofstra and Mercer, I expected these law professors to challenge me, to expose flaws in my reasoning, to show an interest in my work. I invested more than 100 hours reading and writing nearly 50 pages of carefully researched reasoning and arguments. Despite the efforts I made, the professor only drew a red circle around the “A” in the top right corner of the first page, and that letter grade represented the extent of his commentary. I toss the envelope to the bottom of my locker in disgust, doubtful that anyone read what I wrote.

Now I understand what Bruce meant when he said this law degree would cheapen my other degrees. The costly tuition appears to cover the expense of a diploma, not for an education in the law. But I didn’t enroll to receive another piece of paper to frame and hang. I could’ve simply purchased the books and studied on my own. Although I wouldn’t earn a degree, I would gain the same knowledge through a completely independent study. Nevertheless, I’ve paid the non-refundable fee for the first year so I continue.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

It’s 4:00 a.m., and I’ve found a quiet room where I’m finishing my final assignment for the term. My legal dictionary, a book on case law, and two supplementary texts lay open on the table. When the door behind me opens I turn around, surprised that anyone else is awake at this hour. It’s Gary, one of the 400 prisoners assigned to my unit. Wearing gray sweats, slip-on shoes, and carrying a plastic mug with steaming coffee, he makes his way through the room with quiet footsteps and stands in front me.

We’ve never spoken before. Although I recognize faces, I prefer to remain cloistered in my own space, absorbed with my books and studies. I cherish the early morning solitude and Gary’s intrusion annoys me.

“I heard you study law,” he says in a strong Russian accent, looking down at me.

I lean back in my chair, lock my hands behind my head and yawn as I stretch. “That’s right,” I answer, finally making eye contact with him.

“I need some help with my case.”

“Can’t help you. I’m wrapped up with school. You should check out the law library. A few guys do legal work there.”

Gary moves around the table and stands beside me, sipping his coffee, looking at my books. “I’ve watched you. Very serious. You study all the time. Don’t talk much. Are you almost finished?”

“I’m finishing first year. I’ll need two more years to complete the program.”

“Read my case,” Gary proposes, taking another sip from his coffee mug. “I want your opinion. My lawyer sent boxes of paper from my appeal. I don’t understand. You could help.”

“No. I can’t. I’ve got too much to read.”

Gary nods his head. “Help me. I’ll pay you well.”

His offer to pay is a novel concept to me and I inquire further. “What is it that you want me to read?”

“I lost my appeal. Now my attorneys want to file a new motion in court. Why?  I want to know.”

“I can’t answer that question without reading all of your transcripts, your appeal, and researching the court’s rulings. That would take weeks and I can’t afford to take that time away from my studies.”

“I don’t want those guys in the law library. I want you. Money’s no object. Name your price.”

I stretch again, thinking of a number that will send him away, or, if he accepts, make the effort worth my while. “Two thousand dollars.”

“Okay. Give me instructions on where to wire the funds.”

“No wire. I’ll give you an address. Think about it, because all I’m going to do is read everything, then tell you my opinion. I’m not filing any motions or writing any briefs. If the check arrives, I’ll come by, pick up the boxes and start reading. If not, I’ll know you changed your mind.”

“Give me the address.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

“Do you know someone from New York?” Julie asks during our phone call.

“Why?”

“Because I received a check in the mail from a New York address. A note says it’s for Gary’s case. We don’t know anyone from New York who would send us $2,000. I figured it must be someone you know.”

A week has passed since Gary visited me in the quiet room. Expecting him to be as full of hot air as most other prisoners, I didn’t forewarn my sister that she might receive a check. News of the money’s arrival makes me smile. For the first time since I’ve been in prison, I’ve got money of my own.

“Yes, I know Gary. Sorry I didn’t write you about it before. I’ll send you a letter this week explaining everything.”

“Well what am I supposed to do with the check?”

“Do you need it?”

“We don’t need it. Do you want me to save it for you?”

“If you don’t need it, I want you to open an online brokerage account. Make it a margin account. We’re going to use it to buy stock. I want to start building a stock portfolio that can grow during the rest of the time I have to serve.”

“What should I buy?”

“When the account’s open, buy Yahoo!.”

“How many shares?”

“Buy as much as you can.  If you open a margin account, the broker will let you borrow against the stock to double up, enabling you to purchase $3,000 worth of the stock. We’ll add to the account over time.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” My sister doesn’t have any experience investing in stocks and she’s worried about exposure.

“Just call the broker and open the account.  He’ll confirm that you can do this.”  I know that Julie will help.

I don’t have access to computers, but I’ve been reading about the Internet in the Wall Street Journal for several years. I’ve seen the phenomenon of such companies as Netscape, America Online, and Amazon.com. I’m certain the Internet will change the world, influencing people’s lives more than the telephone, television, and radio combined. Although I may not be able to use it until I’m free, I want a stock portfolio that will allow me to own a slice of the companies I expect will dominate the Web, and I intend to start with Yahoo!.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

I walk into Gary’s room to invite him for a walk. He’s sitting on his bunk, leaning back against the wall, reading The Deptford Trilogy by the Canadian novelist Robertson Davies. He reads novels to improve his English, which he speaks well. He’s also fluent in Spanish, French, and Russian. I’ve read every page of the transcripts from Gary’s trial, as well as all accompanying documents that he gave me. Court papers have a tendency to portray defendants in an unflattering light. Gary’s papers, on the other hand, expose a remarkable history of a self-made man.

After earning tens of millions as a mining entrepreneur in Russia, Gary relocated to the United States where he began accumulating blocks of commercial real estate. Criminal charges led to his trial, and although a jury convicted Gary of one count related to complexities with his businesses’ accounting, the jury acquitted him of several others. He has served two years since his conviction and faces one more.

“You’ve read through everything?”

He hops down from the rack and laces up his sneakers.

“I’ve read everything. But let’s talk outside.”

The summer of 1998 brings high humidity to the East Coast. It’s against prison rules to take off our shirts, so within seconds of stepping outside my tank top is damp with sweat and stuck to my back. Both of us carry plastic water bottles and wear sunglasses. Under his white baseball cap Gary looks much younger than 36, too young to have built and operated all the businesses his court papers describe.

“My lawyers want another hundred grand to file the last motion,” he says.

“I’ll bet you never thought justice cost so much.”

Gary waves his hand. “I’m tired of all this, with the trial and the appeal going on and on. This mess has already cost me more than a million. I just want it over.”

“You’ve already served two years. No one can take that away.”

“But I’ve served every day thinking it would be my last, that I’d win something and be released.”

“There comes a time, Gary, when it’s easier to let go, to accept the sentence and focus on the future you can control, rather than hanging on to the past you can’t change.”

I explain to Gary my interpretation of his case. The only mechanism available for him to seek relief is a habeas corpus petition. Statistics show that courts refuse to grant relief through those petitions nine out of ten times, and at least nine months would pass before he received a hearing.

“With less than 12 months before release,” I explain, “I don’t think it makes sense to put yourself on that emotional roller coaster, not to mention the cost of another legal motion.”

“I don’t care about the money.”

“Your lawyers must know that.”

“Why do you say that?”

“They represented you through trial and on your appeal. It’s not like they’ll have to read all the papers again. The price they’re asking to prepare the motion seems about ten times too high.”

“Could you write the motion from here?”

“I wouldn’t want to try.”

“Why not? I’d rather pay you than them.”

I’m silent, thinking, as gravel crunches beneath our steps. Gary’s offer isn’t lost on me. I know he’s in the prisoner mindset of desperation, clinging to hope that something will free him and he’s willing to pay for that delusion.

“Gary, you don’t have any upside to filing this motion. You’ll be out by the time a judge hears it, and even if he does hear the motion, you’ll probably lose. I’d rather show you strategies that will help ease the last 12 months you’re going to serve.  Regardless of what you pay, the reality is that you’re going to serve your time. I’ll serve it with you.”

Gary takes his ball cap off and scratches his head. We walk alongside bleachers where several hundred prisoners cheer for the teams playing softball.

“So there’s nothing we can do?”

“I wouldn’t say that. With the right frame of mind we can figure out a plan to make your last year pass easier than the first two. It will pass. If you keep waiting for something to change through the courts, on the other hand, this last year will hang over your head like a dark cloud, making you miserable.”

“I can’t believe you’ve done 11 years. How can you put up with this for so long without going crazy?”

“I’ve got a deliberate plan. Every day I work hard to prepare myself for the time when I’ll go home.”

“But 45 years? How do you prepare for that?”

“I won’t serve that long. The only way I’d serve that long would be if I lost good time from disciplinary actions, and I haven’t lost any yet. I know what I’m doing. I completely understand prisons and the way to avoid problems. Since I’m always working toward the next goal, time passes quickly.”

“How much time do you have left?” he asks.

“I’m supposed to get out in 2013. Fifteen more years.”

“Fifteen years! You say it like it’s nothing, like you’re asking for a glass of water. I’d rather hang myself.”

“No you wouldn’t. You’d find your way. Anyone can serve time in prison. The challenge is to serve it in a way that will make you emerge stronger than when you started.”

“How can you stay strong through 15 more years of this?”

“By owning it. I know where I am and I know the problems that await me. I spend every day working to prepare for what’s ahead. That strategy makes me feel like I’m the captain of my own ship. It’s the reason I’m studying law. To prepare.”

“To prepare for what? To be a lawyer?”

“I’m never going to be a lawyer. But by studying law I can make myself useful in here. I’ll earn money by helping other prisoners who want to fight their cases. You were the first person to pay me. When I walk out of here, I intend to have enough money saved to build a life for myself.”

“Two thousand dollars?” Gary scoffs. “You’ve been in here too long, my friend. That isn’t enough for one dinner bill.”

“For you, maybe. Remember, I’m starting from zero, and I’ve got 15 years for the money to grow. You paid me seed money. I intend to keep adding to it through my work. It’s already tripled. By the time I’m released, I’ll have enough to buy more than dinner. I’ll be able to start my life.”

“What do you mean it tripled?”

“I used it to buy stock.”

“In the stock market?”

“That’s right.”

“How do you do that from here?”

As we round the soccer field, I explain. “I spoke with the prison’s head of security, the captain, and he confirmed that I was within my rights to advise my sister on stock purchases. By using the $2,000 from you, and borrowing another $1,000 from the brokerage house on margin, Julie purchased 50 shares of Yahoo! at $60 per share. Then the stock split two-for-one, giving us 100 shares. Those shares now trade at $70, giving our portfolio $7,000 in value. With the $1,000 we owe in margin debt, the account now has $6,000 in equity. That’s triple the $2,000 you paid me.”

“I’ve been involved in every kind of business, but I’ve never understood the stock market. If you would have had $2 million and you made the same purchase, are you telling me you would’ve had $6 million now?” Leveraged trading intrigues Gary.

I laugh. “Theoretically. But if I had $2 million, I wouldn’t have made the same purchase.”

“Why not?”

“Like you said, $2,000 isn’t much money. My brother-in-law suggested I sock it away in a Certificate of Deposit. It would’ve been safer, but I was willing to take more risk. The company I bought stock in is new, and most investors say it’s overpriced because the Internet is all hype. If the Internet grows, on the other hand, then this company will grow with it, causing the stock price to surge. I could take the risk with $2,000, but if I had $2 million, I’d choose safer investments.”

“You’re too young to be making safe investments. That’s the problem with this country. Too many people are afraid of risk. Remember one lesson from a man who knows: the timid never make fortunes.”

“I’m not trying to build a fortune. All I want is enough in the bank so that I’m not desperate for an immediate paycheck when I get out.”

“So write my motion. I’ll pay you a hundred grand if you can get me out of prison.”

“I can’t get myself out of prison, and writing a motion isn’t going to get you out either, I’m sorry to say. Instead of thinking about getting out, why don’t we figure out what you can do while you’re here to pass the time more easily?”

Gary shakes his head. “I can’t serve 12 more months.”

“Yes you can,” I laugh. “I’ll serve it with you, and when you go, I’ll be another year closer to home.”

“How about you teach me about the stock market?”

“I can tell you what to read and how I learned over the years, but I don’t have time to teach.”

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll send you the hundred thousand I was going to spend on this motion. You won’t owe me anything. Just show me what you’re going to buy, how much, and explain the reason why. The only condition is that you don’t play it safe. I want you to take the same risk that you took with the $2,000. Try to triple the money I send, turn it into $300,000. If we lose, we lose. If we win, we split the profits.”

“What about the taxes?”

“You pay the taxes. We’ll split the profit after the taxes.”

“Gary, I read how much you earn. To you, $100,000 is pocket change, but to me, where I am at this stage in my life, that may as well be all the money in the world. I couldn’t speculate with it the same way I’d speculate with $2,000. In order to turn the $2,000 into $6,000, I had to borrow against the equity by using margin. The leverage I used is what made the investment triple.”

“So use leverage.”

“I could do that, but if the market goes the other way, and it could, I’d either have to dump the stock in a down market to raise cash, or you would have to put up more money for the margin call in order to hold the position.”

“Too many details. I believe in people, and you’re my guy. I’m betting on you to play it smart enough for both of us. Yes?” he nods his head. “Be aggressive. If you lose everything, not to worry. You won’t owe me a dime, and I’ll send you $50,000 more that you can use to start your life. How does that sound?” He puts out his hand. “Deal?”

“Okay.” We shake hands.