hour. Nobody in the diamond business stores the valuables in the small safes in the work areas at the end of the day; they are used strictly in the daytime by workers making the jewelry. Come evening, everything is removed to larger and more secure safes in other parts of the office.
But Irwin Margolies shouted that he had been robbed and that his losses were staggering. He reported the burglary to the police, who investigated briefly but could find nothing to convince them that a crime had actually occurred. He reported the burglary to his insurance agent and said he wanted to file a claim for his $200,000 loss. The agent, Arthur Schwartz of Schwartz Hirtenstein and Company, who handles the insurance for many companies in the diamond center, was sympathetic. He told Margolies to put together an inventory of what had been stolen so that a proper claim could be filed, and then the insurance company would make good the loss. Somehow or other, Margolies just never got around to furnishing that inventory, despite a number of calls from Schwartz, and a short time later, he told the insurance agent that he had decided to take his loss in silence and was withdrawing his insurance claim. Schwartz was not a little surprised. He found it hard to remember another occasion when a client failed to follow through and pursue collection on his insurance when he had suffered a major burglary.
Margaret Barbera, the controller and keeper of the books of Candor Diamond and who by then had become a trusted employee of Margolies, would later offer an explanation. Margolies, she said, had come to her one day and told her of his plan to pretend that there had been a burglary and thus collect the $200,000 in insurance. What he wanted was her cooperation. She should prepare the inventory of fictitious items that he would say had been stolen and so satisfy the insurance company. She refused, Barbera claimed, and as a result, Margolies pulled back.
For instance: In May 1981, Margolies approached L. M. Van Mopes and Sons Ltd., a highly respected London-based diamond merchant. He was expanding, he said. He was about to turn out jewelry of a far better quality than he had in the past and, as a result, he needed very-good-quality diamonds. Of course, like most small businessmen in the business, his ready cash was tied up. Would Van Mopes take promissory notes in exchange for the diamonds, notes that would be paid off as soon as the new items were on the market, if not sooner? It was not an unusual request. Van Mopes agreed. It turned over $220,000 worth of high-quality diamonds to Margolies. He turned over $220,000 in promissory notes.
Over the next four months, the diamonds vanished and the promised payments never were made. Despite all its efforts, despite pressures and entreaties. Van Mopes learned that dealing with Irwin Margolies, that trying to make an impression on him, was like trying to make dents in the air. It was out the diamonds, and all it had to show for its trust was a handful of worthless paper.
To the world at large, Irwin Margolies held himself out as an honest and successful businessman, proprietor of a small but rapidly growing and profitable concern, devoted husband and father who provided his wife and children with all they could wish, devout Orthodox Jew who was dedicated to his religion and its commandments and moral precepts.
To some who dealt with him and who came to know what that meant over the years, however, Irwin Margolies was a devious and crooked man who would stop at little to reach his goals, who could never be trusted to keep his word, who traveled twisted paths in preference to straight ones, who broke without moral scruple any religious commandment that stood in his way. He was, someone would say later, one bad dude.
But still, he had his winning ways. He was a salesman who could sell himself, who could convince people who should have known better that what he had to offer was the real thing, that the outward
But Irwin Margolies shouted that he had been robbed and that his losses were staggering. He reported the burglary to the police, who investigated briefly but could find nothing to convince them that a crime had actually occurred. He reported the burglary to his insurance agent and said he wanted to file a claim for his $200,000 loss. The agent, Arthur Schwartz of Schwartz Hirtenstein and Company, who handles the insurance for many companies in the diamond center, was sympathetic. He told Margolies to put together an inventory of what had been stolen so that a proper claim could be filed, and then the insurance company would make good the loss. Somehow or other, Margolies just never got around to furnishing that inventory, despite a number of calls from Schwartz, and a short time later, he told the insurance agent that he had decided to take his loss in silence and was withdrawing his insurance claim. Schwartz was not a little surprised. He found it hard to remember another occasion when a client failed to follow through and pursue collection on his insurance when he had suffered a major burglary.
Margaret Barbera, the controller and keeper of the books of Candor Diamond and who by then had become a trusted employee of Margolies, would later offer an explanation. Margolies, she said, had come to her one day and told her of his plan to pretend that there had been a burglary and thus collect the $200,000 in insurance. What he wanted was her cooperation. She should prepare the inventory of fictitious items that he would say had been stolen and so satisfy the insurance company. She refused, Barbera claimed, and as a result, Margolies pulled back.
For instance: In May 1981, Margolies approached L. M. Van Mopes and Sons Ltd., a highly respected London-based diamond merchant. He was expanding, he said. He was about to turn out jewelry of a far better quality than he had in the past and, as a result, he needed very-good-quality diamonds. Of course, like most small businessmen in the business, his ready cash was tied up. Would Van Mopes take promissory notes in exchange for the diamonds, notes that would be paid off as soon as the new items were on the market, if not sooner? It was not an unusual request. Van Mopes agreed. It turned over $220,000 worth of high-quality diamonds to Margolies. He turned over $220,000 in promissory notes.
Over the next four months, the diamonds vanished and the promised payments never were made. Despite all its efforts, despite pressures and entreaties. Van Mopes learned that dealing with Irwin Margolies, that trying to make an impression on him, was like trying to make dents in the air. It was out the diamonds, and all it had to show for its trust was a handful of worthless paper.
To the world at large, Irwin Margolies held himself out as an honest and successful businessman, proprietor of a small but rapidly growing and profitable concern, devoted husband and father who provided his wife and children with all they could wish, devout Orthodox Jew who was dedicated to his religion and its commandments and moral precepts.
To some who dealt with him and who came to know what that meant over the years, however, Irwin Margolies was a devious and crooked man who would stop at little to reach his goals, who could never be trusted to keep his word, who traveled twisted paths in preference to straight ones, who broke without moral scruple any religious commandment that stood in his way. He was, someone would say later, one bad dude.
But still, he had his winning ways. He was a salesman who could sell himself, who could convince people who should have known better that what he had to offer was the real thing, that the outward
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