As usual folks, the truth is usually simple.
1 - Complainant privately alleges local mob activity by powerful interests too close to name for personal safety.
2 - Dealer claims to be a Choir Boy and has proven to be generally attending church on Sundays.
3 - Investigator falls ill with influenza for 4 days (me).
This reminds me of a very old joke, if I may?
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While asleep, this earthly bastard dies, and is sent directly to the gates of Hell by St. Peter.
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El Diablo awaits to welcome him and guides him down a long staircase into an arena, where a warm stage awaits with applause thundering.
There on the stage stands the condemned, who is presented with 3 Doors closed tighly before him.
The Devil proclaims the condemned must spend Eternity behind one of them; but, can take but one look behind each door before he must make his decision as to which choice to accept.
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Hopeless, and happless the condemned barely cracks open Door#1 before a blast of firey gasses and flame singe his hairs and nostrils fiercely; while the unmistakable, cachophonous dischords consisting of the final murmurs of countless anguished consumed, cannot be mistaken as emminating from other than within.
Our sinner slams that door shut, protesting he cannot accept that torturous eternity!?
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Il Malocchio ushers him to Door#2. This time though even more cautiously opened, there is an erie silence. He proceeds ahead a bit inside, finding a wet a slimly rockface that nearly caputures his slide into a giant pit of vipers and feeble swordsmen struggling endlessly to defend themselves against consumption by the incessent, mindless tormentors.
Our shameless misanthrope manages to flail his way back to Der Teufel, "Nein Vater, bitte. . . I cannot spend eternity like that, either!
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Faustus grabs him and thrusts him through the the 3rd Door, where to his astonishment he finds a pristeen pink-yellow morning sky over a vast cesspool of vile urine and s**t, wherein countless maidens and men stand about naked up to their waists, conversing and cavorting with cups of fine hot coffee in hand; a sort of Starbucks (café avec de la merde).
Oh, yes Master; since I must accept one, then this must it be!
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Mephisto swirls, and in one big arc leaves with his varied entourage; the door slams shut, and the audience goes wild!
After the crowd has left and some minutes have past, Diablos' Beasties return, blow a loud whistle and announce the coffee break is now over!
EVERYBODY, BACK ON YOUR HEADS!
EVERYBODY, BACK ON YOUR HEADS, NOW! NOW!
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Do we have an emoticon for this?
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Sam, the time is certainly now for you to put up your case, or shut up and become another gram of rock salt in history.
You have been shown some assurances and secure private channels to work through to document anything you can prove.
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FxPrimus would you suggest we just routinely ignor such fears, real or not; coming forward in a country where one can be severely flogged in a public square for daring to smoke a cigarette, under the name of Shariah Law?
This is the case for more than a few of your illustrious clients; including Sam.
How dare you grovel for "clients" in such turf.
I dare you to demonstrate what all you are proud of here.
You want to be seen as a respectable, compliant firm?
Try hiring a skillfull compliance officer with some balls to tell your CEO where to get-off, instead of trying to milk weak cattle and turn their churn into ice cream.
Do you really think we cannot see the difference?
You will be dead long before we go blind.
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There is enough shame, enough blame, enough greed, and enough deception here to fill any holy book.
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Each of you respond with some honesty and facts, or a pox on both your houses, especially for the damage you do to the future.
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AI
