Schenectady, NY
With the market in freefall and hundreds of his clients suffering heavy 401(K) losses, Chief Investment Officer of AYN Asset Management Robert Lombardo is leaving his clients with one final piece of financial advice before closing up shop at his 17-year old investment firm:

"Leave your stock certificates in your mother's attic."

Far away from the Wall Street bustle, and in this quaint New York home exists proof that this suggestion doesn't run hollow. Perched atop a shelf in the upper level of Mrs. Maria DeAngela Lombardo's two floor tudor house, rests Robert's current stock holdings. The worth of a 17-year career was simply up the side stairs, to the left of the kitchen, up the front staircase, right past Joey's bedroom, in the ceiling, and in the aging scuffed box of Reebok Pumps.

"I tell all my clients to leave the certificates in Gem-Mint condition," says Robert as he climbs atop the 3-foot stool. The 41-year old Wall Street guru begins to dispense more free advice while lurching for the box. "Don't compromise the edges and be careful not to smudge the glossy coating. Because in 20 years or so, when things settle down and their value returns, you want them to look as good as the day you left them here."

Beneath the waxed cardboard lid, Robert gently fingers his current stock holdings: Proofs of Lehman, Bear Sterns, Ford, AIG rest neatly stacked like a Jenga board alongside the 1987 Topps Baseball Set and various Garbage Pail Kids.

But Mrs. Lombardo is none too pleased. "Ugh, my son always leaves his junk here," says Maria while watching a weekday taping of Price Is Right. "Does he ever stop to think that maybe I might want to turn that attic into an exercise room someday!"

Returning the Pumps to their prior position, Robert begins to close shop yet again, his voice faintly trembling. "I warned my investors not to be tempted to place the certificates on their bike spokes," a brief whimper, "you know for that cool motorcycle sound."

As the attic door closes, the chirps of oak wood creaking sound as he slowly heads downstairs. The locking away of 17-year memories - all those once great trades he made for them, the endless monitoring of their value - clearly taking a toll on the CIO. As he heads out the door of his childhood home, the financial wiz sneaks his head back in to leave one last goodbye, "Mom, promise me you won't forget not to throw out the shoebox....Please Mom, swear to me."