Chapter 5 - The Loan Sharks Who Came To Collect
Daniel’s first week out on bail was a special kind of hell. He was living in a $80-a-week room in a flophouse in the Bronx, sharing a bathroom with 12 other guys, eating bologna sandwiches for every meal. His ankle monitor itched 24/7, and every time he walked past a playground, the kids would point and yell, “That’s the fraud guy from TikTok!” He couldn’t get a job—every background check showed the felony indictment, and no one wanted to hire a guy who’d stolen $4 million from his own wife. His mom had stopped taking his calls after she found out he’d used her maiden name to set up the shell companies. Vanessa was testifying against him. His lawyer was threatening to drop him as a client because he hadn’t paid a dime of his legal fees.
But the worst part? The guys he’d borrowed money from were starting to get impatient.
Two years prior, before he’d figured out how to forge my signature on the line of credit, Daniel had needed $100k fast to pay off a gambling debt he’d run up at a private poker game in the Hamptons. He’d gone to a guy named Vinnie Rizzo, a loan shark who operated out of a meat market in Brooklyn, and borrowed the money at 20% interest per month. He’d promised to pay it back in six months, using my company as collateral—telling Vinnie he was a co-owner, that he could “liquidate assets” whenever he wanted. But then he’d gotten access to my accounts, and he’d forgotten all about Vinnie. He’d paid a few months of interest, then stopped, figuring Vinnie would never dare come after a “rich guy” like him.
Big mistake.
Vinnie Rizzo didn’t care if you were rich or poor. He cared about his money. And by the time Daniel was arrested, the debt had ballooned to $487,000—principal plus interest plus late fees. Vinnie had seen the Aurum video, seen the arrest, seen that Daniel was broke. He’d waited a week to let Daniel sweat, then sent two of his guys to pay him a visit.
They showed up at the flophouse at 2 AM, big guys in leather jackets, faces like granite. They didn’t break the door down—they just knocked, quiet and menacing, and when Daniel opened it, they pushed their way in, closing the door behind them. One of them, a guy with a scar across his cheek, sat down on the edge of Daniel’s bed, while the other leaned against the door, crossing his arms.
“Vinnie sent us,” Scarface said, his voice low and gravelly. “You owe him a lot of money, Danny Boy. Almost half a mil. He’s been real patient. But patience runs out.”
Daniel backed up until he hit the wall, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. “I—I don’t have it right now,” he stammered. “But I’m gonna get it! I’m suing my ex-wife for $10 million! As soon as the case settles, I’ll pay you double. Just give me a few more months!”
Scarface laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “You think we’re stupid? We saw the deposition. You took the Fifth 47 times. You’re gonna lose that case, Danny. You’re gonna go to jail for the rest of your life, and Vinnie’s never gonna see a dime. So here’s the deal. You got two weeks to come up with the full $487k. If you don’t? We’re gonna break both your legs. Then we’re gonna break both your arms. Then we’re gonna pay a visit to your mommy in Florida and break her legs too, just to make sure you get the message. And don’t even think about running. That ankle monitor of yours? We know exactly where you are 24/7. We could’ve picked you up anywhere. We came here to be polite. Next time? We won’t be polite.”
They left as quietly as they’d come, but Daniel collapsed on the bed, sobbing, for an hour after they were gone. He had no way to get $487k in two weeks. He had no job, no assets, no friends with money. The only person who had that kind of cash was me.
The next morning, he showed up at my office building, unshaven, wearing the same suit from the deposition, reeking of cigarette smoke and cheap motel soap. The security guard tried to throw him out, but he screamed, “Tell Emily I have information about Vinnie Rizzo! She’ll want to hear this!” The guard called up to my office, and I told them to let him up—but only if he was patted down for weapons first.
He was led into my office by two security guards, his hands cuffed in front of him with plastic zip ties (per my instructions—no chances). He looked terrible: his eyes were bloodshot, his face was gaunt, there was a cut on his forehead that hadn’t been there the week before.
“Take the cuffs off,” I said, leaning back in my chair, Mia and Dad standing in the corner, watching. “But stay where you are. If you come within three feet of me, the guards will throw you out the window. Got it?”
Daniel nodded, rubbing his wrists when the cuffs came off. “Emily, please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “I need your help. These guys—Vinnie Rizzo’s guys—they’re gonna kill me. I borrowed $100k from him two years ago, used the company as collateral, and now I owe him almost $500k. They said if I don’t pay in two weeks, they’re gonna break my legs, then go after my mom. I have nowhere else to go. Please. I’ll drop all the appeals, I’ll plead guilty to the fraud charges, I’ll testify to anything you want. Just give me the money. Please.”
Dad stepped forward, pulling out his phone. “Vinnie Rizzo? Meat market on 5th in Brooklyn? I know that guy. I helped put his brother in prison for racketeering back in 2014. He’s got a rap sheet a mile long—extortion, loansharking, assault. You borrowed money from him and used my daughter’s company as collateral? You’re dumber than I thought.”
Daniel’s head snapped up. “You know him? Can you talk to him? Tell him I’m good for it? Please, Mr. Hayes, I’m begging you.”
Dad laughed. “I’m not gonna talk to him. I’m gonna call the FBI. Vinnie’s been on their radar for years—they’ve been building a RICO case against him for a decade. If you testify against Vinnie, tell them everything about the loan, the threats, the collateral, they’ll give you witness protection. Maybe even knock a few years off your fraud sentence. But I’m not giving you a dime of Emily’s money. Not after everything you did.”
Daniel’s face crumpled. He sank to his knees, sobbing, begging and pleading, promising he’d change, he’d be a better person, he’d never hurt anyone again. Mia filmed the whole thing on her phone—just in case, she said. After ten minutes, I’d had enough.
“Guards,” I said, standing up. “Get him out of here. And tell him this: the only help he’s getting from us is a phone number for the FBI agent in charge of the Rizzo case. If he’s smart, he’ll call them. If he’s stupid? Well—loan sharks don’t make good cellmates. Either way, it’s no longer my problem.”
As the guards dragged him out, screaming and crying, I turned to Dad. “You really gonna help him get witness protection?”
Dad shrugged, pulling out his phone to call the FBI. “If he testifies against Vinnie, it takes down a whole crime ring. That’s worth a few years off his sentence. But don’t worry—he’s still gonna go to prison for the fraud. Witness protection doesn’t erase 12 felony counts. He’s just gonna go to a safer prison, where Vinnie’s guys can’t get to him. Either way? He’s gone from our lives forever.”
May you like
That night, Mia posted the 10-second clip of Daniel on his knees, sobbing and begging for money, to the Divorce Win Stories group. It got 5 million views in 12 hours. The top comment? “Karma really does take her time, but she ALWAYS shows up.”
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