Everybody Wants Your Money
The Straig ht-Talking Guide to Protecting (and Growing) the Wealth You Worked So Hard to Earn
About the Author
DAVID W. LATKO grew up on the gritty streets of Hammond,Indiana, a child of humble circumstances and less-than-impressiveprospects. His search for success led him to an eye-opening tenure inthe dog-eat-dog world of Wall Street brokerage houses, and ultimatelyallowed him to achieve professional and financial success as founder ofhis own financial management firm, where he is a Certified FinancialAdvisor, Certified Retirement Advisor, Certified Divorce Analyst, anda Register Investment Advisor. Through the successful management ofhis clients’ accounts, he ranks in the top one percent of financialadvisors in the country.www.moneyandmoreonline.comVisit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on yourfavorite HarperCollins author.
PREFACE
IT’S TRUE. EVERYBODY
DOES WANT YOUR MONEY.
If I had consciously set out to come up with a philosophic manifesto
that would echo the ravings of a street-corner schizophrenic, I
could not have done better than the title of this book.
I love it. Everybody Wants Your Money—doesn’t that say it all ?
Still, even after months of laboring over the pages you are about
to read, I look at the title and imagine myself standing on a soapbox
in what my fellow Chicago-area natives still affectionately call “Bughouse
Square,” alternating between incoherent muttering and impassioned
outcries, detailing dark conspiracies and heinous plots.
But, as one of my clients told me not so long ago, “It ain’t paranoia
if they’re really out to get you.”
And “they” are, my friend; they really are.
In today’s world, there’s no shortage of charlatans and con artists
lying in wait for the innocent or the unwary. Pick up any newspaper,
tune in to any TV news program (local or network national), and
the evidence is clear: we are as far from a utopian society as humankind
ever was.
To paraphrase Blanche DuBois, late of the still-soggy wasteland
that was once New Orleans, we’ve all come to depend on the kindness
of strangers—a level of naïveté not dissimilar to that of the
wildebeest calf who saunters toward the water hole, assuming that
those lurking shapes awash near the shoreline are merely harmless
logs.
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