Mr. Saltpeter sank into a depression. Sometimes he went to his office and slept. He spent a year, maybe two, mostly at home. His drinking increased. Several clients complained to government officials that he had not provided them with written contracts or detailed reports of the work he had done. He settled things with nominal fines.
The residual fame from the Tankleff case still attracted customers. One, Marina Lebron, met Mr. Saltpeter in August 2014.
Mrs. Lebron, whose husband was in prison for murder, was put off by Mr. Salpeter’s way of boasting about his importance. Nevertheless, she paid him a $6,000 advance to get her husband released. Then, after months of not hearing anything, she confronted him. He apologized, sent her $2,000 and vowed to pay back the rest. When he didn’t, she got a judgment against him. When he didn’t pay, she filed a complaint with the state.
The complaint was one of at least nine filed against Mr. Salpeter, state documents show. One said he should be investigated “because he abuses prisoners.” Another said he had responded to questions with “apologies and mild threats”.
Mr. Salpeter acknowledged that he had not always achieved what the injured clients hoped for, but said they had unrealistic expectations. Do a miracle once and everyone assumes they will get it.
Whatever he earned was not enough. In July 2017, he began borrowing money from a friend of a friend from Bayside.
Over the next two years, Mr. Salpeter borrowed $120,000 in transactions documented on receipts, memo pad pages and other scraps of paper, according to a lawsuit the lender filed but later dropped. With interest on it, the debt had reached $200,000 by the end of 2019.
