It's October 19th, 1982 in Los Angeles, California.

Automobile executive and engineer John Z. Delorean steps off the elevator at the Sheraton

Plaza, LaRena Hotel. He makes his way down the hall to room 501. John's face

doesn't betray the nerves he's feeling. He's gotten good at hiding what's going

on in his head when he wants to. John knocks on the door and is ushered inside.

John, thanks for coming. Always happy to make a trip to the West Coast. The other

man is a banker who's helping John broker a multi-million dollar deal that

will help save his failing business, the Delorean Motor Company. At least that's

what John thinks. In reality, the other man is undercover FBI agent Ben Tisa. And

there's another person in the room too. A man John believes is a mobster entrenched

in the burgeoning American drug trade. But he's actually a DEA agent. A bottle of

champagne sits on a table nearby. John eyes it and laughs.

You got the bottle. Well, I told you we were going to celebrate once the deal goes

through John. Well, then let's get to it. I don't want it to get warm.

They all take a seat. Even in a strange room with men he barely knows. John feels in control.

Making deals has become second nature to John. Anyone watching would easily think he's the one

running things. And he looks the part. At 57, John has finally started to embrace the natural

color of his hair. Each white strand is perfectly quaffed as if he's ready to appear on a magazine

cover at a moment's notice. Now, John, before we consummate this thing, I want to make sure that we've

all got our bases covered. You're good on your end. Like we discussed, the stock certificates are

in a Ureca Federal Savings and Loan Trust account. And eventually I see us being 50-50 partners.

John is exchanging stocks for the promise of cash. He thinks he's pulled one over on the other

...