Part 2...
In the midst of a gold rush, who sweats the price of a shovel and a pick?
In July 2006, Morris arrived at the North American Open 8-Ball Championship at the Venetian Hotel and Casino, in Las Vegas. He was among 200 top players from all over the world, almost all of them dressed in suits, in accordance with the strict IPT dress code.
At the players' meeting, Trudeau was greeted with a standing ovation. "This tour is not just one event, it's not just one season," Trudeau said. "It's gonna go on and on and on.
"It's all working spectacularly well," Trudeau added. There were a number of reasons for the IPT's success, especially its TV coverage on Versus. "King of the Hill is now the No. 1-rated show on the network," he said.
What Morris heard about next was even better: security. Trudeau said he was working on a pension and retirement plan, full health insurance, and access to emergency loans.
The IPT, Trudeau said, was "profitable so far." To keep it that way, Trudeau urged players to get friends and family to buy IPT-licensed balls, racks, chalk—and to get people to visit the IPT website and become members: $25 to sign up, and only $5.95 a month. The IPT website explained how members could recoup their fees by referring other members. "Refer just two people only and cover your own annual membership fee!" "No limit to the amount of extra cash one can earn!"
Germany's Thorsten Hohmann won the tournament, but even players who came in last walked away with $5,000. Players began using their winnings to buy clothes and cars—and they began making plans. Rodney Morris had come home from Vegas with $17,000 and spent the bulk of it on IPT-licensed products. He was sure he'd do even better in Reno.
The World Open 8-Ball Championship was held in September 2006 at the Grand Sierra Resort in Reno. As it began, Trudeau spoke excitedly about the impending sale of the IPT to 85-year-old Chinese billionaire casino owner Stanley Ho. Ho Interactive was heavily promoted at the event and on the IPT website, though HoCasino.net itself said it was "under construction."
At the players' meeting, Trudeau said TV ratings were soaring and reiterated that the IPT was in the black. This overshadowed the other news: A major IPT tournament in London that was to be held three weeks later had been canceled because of problems with the venue.
The finals featured Morris and Efren Reyes. The two players made an entrance aided by a fog machine, and were forced to square off face-to-face like boxers for the TV cameras.
Morris won the first game of the first-player-to-eight match, and from then on it was a seesaw. When Morris tied the match 6-6, he seemed poised to claim the richest prize in pool history. Then, in the 13th game, he started too aggressively and scratched on the break. Reyes went on to win the next two games, the match, and $500,000.
Rodney Morris had just earned $150,000 in prize money, but his scratch was still on his mind as he posed for the cameras beside Reyes and Kevin Trudeau, who was decked out in a tuxedo. As the audience cheered and the cameras zoomed in, the silver Halliburton briefcase containing the winner's prize was opened. It was filled with fake money.
That night, while Efren Reyes and his friends celebrated in the hotel lounge, a few players began grumbling that they hadn't received their checks. In fact, nobody had. To some this was little more than a technical glitch; tour officials said the checks would be sent out the following week. But to players who needed to pay, for example, their hotel bill, it was a nightmare. And an omen.
The next morning, Danny DiLiberto, a 71-year-old former champion, saw Trudeau's old friend Mike Sigel sitting in the lobby. DiLiberto asked, "Mike, what's happening here?"
"I don't know," Sigel said. "But I'll tell you this. Somebody either goofed with the checks or we're getting stiffed."
Morris and the other players didn't get their checks the next week. In fact, they heard nothing from Trudeau for nearly a month. The online message boards went wild with conflicting information: Sometimes the IPT staff had the checks and was sending them, sometimes the IPT staff knew nothing. And Trudeau was off fishing in Costa Rica.
On October 2, Trudeau sent players an e-mail in which he expressed his "sincere apology for the delay in sending you your tournament winnings checks. This delay has been unavoidable due to a multitude of factors most notably the finalization of the IPT acquisition by Ho Interactive. I want to assure you that your checks will be issued very soon and simultaneously we will be formally announcing the exciting merger/acquisition with Ho Interactive."
Trudeau followed up with another e-mail on October 20 that read, "Pop the champagne!" The Ho merger was evidently a done deal.
But still, no checks. In early November, Trudeau sent an e-mail acknowledging that his last note "may have been a little premature." But, he wrote, "you all will be paid 100 percent of the $3 million prize fund from the World Tournament." The reason for the delay was "totally unforeseen and unfortunate" recent legislation banning online gaming, which had "caused a temporary shortfall in IPT revenues." In fact, it had torpedoed the merger. But even Peter Kjaer, CEO of Ho Gaming Solutions, couldn't explain how a law that wasn't passed until three weeks after the Reno tournament could have kept the players from getting paid immediately. "I can tell you that we were not sponsoring at that time," says Kjaer, who also sits on the board of BioSante Pharmaceuticals. Had the merger gone through, Trudeau would be in business with a leading figure in the industry he's made millions vilifying.
In mid-November, Trudeau sent the players who competed in the World Championship checks for 11 percent of their winnings, and in December mailed another payment of 11 percent. He says he'll pay the balance before the next major IPT tournament.
There's just one problem: All the major IPT tournaments have been canceled. The IPT website uses the term "rescheduled," though, Trudeau concedes, "no tournaments are scheduled as of now."
Trudeau considers himself "an absolute hero to pool," and brushes off any scrutiny of his claims—including questions about William Morris' denial of a relationship with the IPT and Versus' statement that the IPT never had the top-rated program on the network. When asked about the fact that the Grand Sierra Resort, as of mid-December, was still waiting for the IPT to pay its bill, Trudeau says, "Everybody gets paid unless we file bankruptcy."
If it comes to that, he seems unlikely to suffer much personal anguish. "Donald Trump filed for bankruptcy twice and ****ed his creditors," Trudeau says. "Businesses do fail."
Yet the IPT continues to accept memberships and sell balls, tables, cloth, and DVDs, and it continues to hold qualifying tournaments all over the world, charging $2,000 for the chance to earn a spot on a tour that's on indefinite hiatus and in arrears to its players.
"Even if we stopped paying the players right now, they'd make more money than they ever have before," says Trudeau. As for the money still owed, "the real question is how much did players lose?" he says. "When a player says, 'I'm going to play in this tournament and I hope it pays,' and it doesn't—well, those things happen." The guaranteed tour earnings? "We're going to have to look at that once we get the financing in place," Trudeau says.
IPT players express a sort of cheerless hope that the IPT will go on and that Trudeau will come through. Morris and other players have sought legal advice and are waiting to see if Trudeau delivers on his latest promises.
The prospect of lawsuits makes Trudeau defensive, though not frightened: "It's not like I took the money and ran—I'm out the money. There's no fraud or misrepresentation in that." He may well prove to be untouchable, but litigation could be in the offing. The FTC won't comment on whether it is investigating Trudeau's involvement with the IPT. "Look at every businessman," Trudeau says. "Bill Gates has a record of breaking international laws. The way I look at it is, everybody who does anything makes mistakes."
In mid-November, as IPT players were trying to sort through the events of the past few months, a number of them gathered for the Viking Cup Tour National Championship at the Pool Room Sports Bar & Grille, in Duluth, Georgia. The purse was $25,000, with $5,000 going to the winner—better than the pot at many events Morris used to enter. He was scheduled to compete and was seen as a favorite. But as it approached, he wavered.
After his Reno prize money failed to arrive, Morris had descended into a funk. "All these rumors flying, and I can't make a ball. Even if I wanted to block it out and concentrate, I couldn't—nobody was letting me," he says. "The bills don't stop coming when you don't get paid." In the end, Morris didn't show.
If the dream is dead, it may only be for the players. Trudeau's aggressive good cheer returns when he talks about the IPT's future, which may involve a reorganization under bankruptcy protection and even a stock offering. "I'm really bullish about the business," he says, "and I feel really good about it."
Players like Morris, who've heard Trudeau's enthusiasm before, are left wondering. Could the IPT have been an honest business? Was it just a tax write-off for Trudeau or a promotional ploy? Or maybe a grander scheme that got tripped up before it could take flight?
The last scenario may be the most likely, as Trudeau now claims his business model from the start "was to have pool matches online where people could wager between one another. And also allow wagering on the events amongst players." Although Trudeau never revealed this plan ("It's not wise for a new business to show the world their playbook"), the IPT was to be an online-gambling site.
"People say, 'Oh, the players are getting screwed,'" Trudeau says. "No, Kevin Trudeau gets screwed! I'm the sucker." He claims to have invested $10 million and lost $2 million of his own money, but don't expect him to offer proof anytime soon: He mentions that his holding companies are in constant motion and that he's given much of his fortune to various foundations, but says, "What I do with my money I keep completely private." And he is even more adamant when it comes to keeping the IPT's finances and even the names of its board members secret. "It's a privately held corporation," Trudeau says. "You know the great thing about being privately owned? I don't have to tell you."