Once when I was sitting on a wooden bench, waiting in line to use the phone, Ivan Boesky sat down next to me with a coffee in hand. Everybody knew who he was: a onetime billionaire financial genius who had been convicted of insider trading. And it turned out he knew who I was, too: “Hey, Mitnick,” he said, “how much money did you make hacking those computers?” “I didn’t do it for the money; I did it for the entertainment,” I replied.
