INT. DARK STEAKHOUSE BOOTH – NIGHT
Low light, clinking glasses, Sinatra playing faint in the background. NICKY SANTORO sits with a cigar, leaning in close like he’s telling you a secret nobody else is supposed to know.
NICKY SANTORO (V.O.):
Alright, look—this one ain’t about blackjack, alright? This is the real scam. Bigger than skimmin’ off the top. Bigger than parking money in offshore accounts. I’m talkin’ about compound interest.
Yeah, that boring-ass thing they teach you in school—if you’re lucky. But lemme break it down for you street-style. ‘Cause once you see it, once you really get it, you’ll wanna burn down a f***in’ bank.
He flicks ashes, eyes sharp.
See, the banks—these fin’ guys—lend you money, right? House, car, business. But they don’t lend you money. They lend you debt. Thin fin’ air. It’s numbers on a screen. They tap a few keys, boom—you owe ‘em 300 grand. And the kicker? They charge you interest on that fake-ass number.
But it don’t stop there. See, it’s not just interest. It’s compound. That means they charge you interest on the interest. It’s like loan-sharkin, but with spreadsheets and a Christmas bonus.
Let’s say you borrow $100K at 5% a year. In 10 years, you owe $162K. You paid sixty-two grand to borrow a hundred. And where did that extra money come from? Your blood, sweat, and f*in’ tears.**
Meanwhile, they take your payments, flip ‘em into other loans, make more interest off your money while you bust your ass tryin’ to stay afloat. And God forbid you miss a payment? BOOM—fees, penalties, your credit’s wrecked, and you’re their slave for life.
NICKY (leans closer, quieter now):
And the scariest part? They do it legally. The mafia got RICO’d for extortion. The banks get bailed out.
He chuckles bitterly, sips his scotch.
You wanna know who runs the world? It ain’t presidents. It ain’t wiseguys. It’s the motherf***ers who charge you to borrow your own future.
Compound interest? That’s the long con, baby. That’s the scam of the millennium. And they teach it like it’s a gift.
He stubs out his cigar.
I used to think I was the shark. Turns out I was just swimmin’ in their tank.
