Something Missing (16 page)

Martin had his mother to thank for eventually ridding him of the other low-paying jobs that plagued his existence. Though the possibility of large-scale acquisitions had always been in the forefront of Martin’s mind, it was the converting of these items to cash that had always posed the biggest challenge. He had heard the term “fence” before, and understood that in the larger cities thieves could find someone who would exchange cash for stolen goods, but he doubted that Hartford, Connecticut, was teeming with these individuals, nor did he have any desire to associate with such a criminal element. Years went by while Martin missed many, many opportunities for large paydays, until an afternoon in his dead mother’s closet changed everything.

Having inherited everything that his mother owned, Martin had begun packing her clothes in order to send them over to the Salvation Army shortly after moving back home. One afternoon Jim was visiting with his wife, Karen, when she noticed a pile of handbags in a cardboard box by the front door.

“Martin, what are you doing with all of these?”

“Sending them to Goodwill,” he replied with a smile. “You don’t expect me to carry them around myself, do you?” He had been pleased by this witty response.

“Martin,” Karen said, fishing through the box, “you can’t just give these away. Some of these are worth a lot of money. You could probably get a bundle for these.”

“For a bunch of pocketbooks?”

“A bunch of pocketbooks? This one alone is probably worth a couple hundred at least.” She was holding up a Dooney & Bourke bag of yellow leather and brass clasps. “Hell, I’d give you fifty bucks for it right now.”

“Well, besides you, who am I going to sell them to? A consignment store?”

“eBay you idiot.”

Though he had heard of the online auction house before, it had only been a few years old at the time, and Martin had assumed that it was a marketplace primarily for collectibles. While this was certainly the case during its infancy, eBay had exploded by the time Karen mentioned it, developing into an auction house for almost any item one could think of, including handbags. In fact, an online search of Dooney & Bourke handbags that day had yielded over fifty current auctions, with bids as high as $350. Martin quickly realized that not only was he sitting on a gold mine in terms of his mother’s hoard of designer bags, but he might have found a means of moving large-scale acquisitions with relative anonymity.

So began Martin’s four-week study of eBay. For at least three hours a day, he explored the site, noting the types of items being auctioned, the means by which people listed their goods, and the many features offered by the online auction house. He quickly discovered that people who dealt in the merchandise that Martin would also be selling (jewelry crystal, silver, and perhaps even
handbags) were primarily women, and so he decided to establish a female identity for himself in order to sell on the site.

Registering under the name Emptynester, Martin assumed the online persona of an upper-class, middle-aged woman from Connecticut named Barbara Teal whose two daughters had recently gone off to college, leaving her behind with an absent-minded husband and a house full of luxuries that she no longer desired (or wanted to trade in for even more luxurious ones). As part of the registration process, Martin was required to provide an address, telephone number, and e-mail address, all of which were easily supplied without sacrificing his prized anonymity. A new address was purchased eight miles away in Simsbury at Mail Boxes Etc. using cash and without having to present identification of any kind. Explaining that he was leasing the mailbox for a mother who was hoping to start an eBay business, he filled out the forms using the alias of Barbara Teal. The e-mail address was a Google account also registered under Barbara Teal’s name, and the phone number was a fake, though he doubted that eBay, Mail Boxes Etc., or Google would ever be calling. Actually, the phone number was assigned to a fax machine at a local Office Depot, so that if they ever did call, they would receive the whining screams of a fax machine answering rather than confirmation of a wrong number.

Within a week of establishing his new persona, Martin was ready to list his first item, an Il Bisonte black leather handbag that he had never seen his mother carry and hardly looked used. His listing read:

Of course, Martin researched handbags extensively before posting his listing, and much of the language was lifted directly from other listings for bags of similar design. He had learned to capitalize keywords like designer names and country of origin after studying some of the more successful sellers on eBay. In all, Martin found the process remarkably simple and in less than two weeks had a money order in his hand in the amount of $167.00. Even more interesting, Martin had received an email a couple of days into the auction from a woman asking about the bag, and his ensuing response (carefully crafted over a two-hour period) had launched a string of e-mails between the two in which he learned a great deal about the woman, a shopkeeper in Rhinebeck, New York, by the name of Jane. In fact, within a week he had acquired Jane’s address, the name of her business (The Cozy Chair), the ages and occupations of her three children, and many of the sordid details relating to her recent
divorce. In return for this torrent of information, Martin provided similar, though fictional, details about Barbara, and eventually the two had struck up an online friendship.
How remarkable
, he had thought. With relative ease, he had managed to pass himself off as a middle-aged suburban housewife, and this game of false identities thrilled him beyond belief.

Over the next six months, Martin continued to sell off his mother’s collection of handbags, designer dresses and coats, jewelry, and even her shoes. Through his listings, he wove the tale of a middle-aged woman who was learning to enjoy the freedom that her empty nest had suddenly provided. He wrote of Barbara’s travels to Barcelona, Greece, and the Caribbean, all places that Martin had never been but had studied extensively through travel brochures and online research. He waxed lyrical about the romance that was returning to her marriage after years of busy parenthood. He wrote of her love for fashion, a topic about which Martin knew nothing when he began, but one in which he became quite fluent in a short time. Each listing was more personal than the last, a blend of capitalism and personal blogging before blogging had hit the mainstream, and each revealed another nugget about Barbara Teal and her life, friends, and family. He even bid on several auctions himself and won a few in order to reinforce Barbara’s identity, while at the same time acquiring items that he thought he could resell at a higher price later on.

In June, a woman by the name of Rosemary, who had already bought several items from Martin, contacted him about selling some of her own things; handbags and sweaters to start. He had learned early on in his research that some of the sellers on eBay made a business out of selling items for others, collecting as much as 25 percent of the sale as a commission, and so without much consideration, he agreed. Thanks to Barbara Teal’s unique and personalized listings, the sweaters and bags
sold quickly and were followed by Rosemary’s unwanted jewelry shoes, and a collection of Rookwood pottery all of which fetched Martin a handsome profit for serving as the middleman. Before long, he had more than a dozen women for whom he was selling goods, and in some cases Martin was bypassing eBay entirely, simply selling one item to another of his regular clients without the hassle of an online auction. By the time he was ready to make his first large-scale acquisition, a Marc Jacobs bag from Emma Reed’s extensive collection, Martin had firmly established himself on eBay and had business relationships with almost a dozen women. He couldn’t have asked for a better cover under which to move his acquisitions.

Martin also appreciated—adored, really—the way his eBay business fit within his overall business plan. He began to think of the items that he was auctioning for his clients as acquisitions, no different than the tomatoes he routinely acquired from the Reeds’ home each week. He was acquiring items that did not initially belong to him, acquiring them under false pretenses (in the guise of Barbara Teal), and was profiting from their acquisition, just as he had been doing for years on a smaller scale.

This is what economist Jim Collins referred to in his book
Good to Great
(which Martin had read a dozen times) as a Hedgehog Concept. In his essay “The Hedgehog and the Fox,” Collins explains how the philosopher Isaiah Berlin divided the world into hedgehogs and foxes, based upon an ancient Greek parable: “The fox knows many things, but the hedgehog knows one big thing (how to defend itself by rolling up into a ball, presenting its attacker with a nearly impenetrable sphere of spines).” Collins argued that profitable companies have an understanding of the one thing that they can do best, and are therefore like the hedgehog, an animal with one simple but effective defense strategy. Companies like the fox have a diversified
approach to business, but this often leaves them diffused and inconsistent. Martin’s Hedgehog Concept was simple: Acquire goods without payment in order to garner profit. This, he knew, was what he did best.

His old bedroom served as an office for his eBay business, and this is why the room remained locked at all times. He had no desire to make anyone aware of his hidden identity or his prosperous business. The room was filled with shipping and receiving supplies: packing tape, box cutters, cushioned envelopes in a variety of sizes, a Pitney Bowes postage machine, scissors, and a desktop computer that he used for all of his eBay transactions.

That afternoon, Martin listed a DKNY sweater, a Louis Vuitton Damier canvas leather wallet (which required some research), an Ernest Borel watch, and a Burberry scarf, which he listed thusly:

In a month, Martin would remove Sophie Pearl’s earrings and Donna Gardner’s pendant from hiding, photograph them, and include them among the many other auctions that he listed that week. By the end of the second month, his profit would be safely in his hands, the acquisitions gone for good.

Finished with his work, Martin poured himself a glass of water and sat down on the couch, reviewing his plan for Cindy and Alan Clayton, searching for potential flaws as he watched the hairnet, gloves, rubber moccasins, and pants disappear in flame and smoke. He had escaped that day thanks to his training, quick thinking, levelheadedness, and a bit of luck, but he vowed never to veer off his prescribed course again. His plan for Alan Clayton would have to be carefully designed and perfectly executed, leaving no room for error, and, once finished, he promised himself to never take such perilous chances again.

That promise lasted less than a week.