There is something fundamentally tragic about the downfall of Jeffrey Wertkin.

The former Justice Department lawyer, who was briefly a partner at Akin Gump Strauss Hauer & Feld, was arrested in February for trying to sell a copy of a nonpublic whistleblower complaint for $310,000 to the company under investigation.

On Wednesday, he pleaded guilty to two charges of obstruction of justice and one count of transporting stolen goods across state lines at a hearing before U.S. Senior District Judge Maxine Chesney in San Francisco, my colleague Ross Todd reported. Prosecutors want a three-year prison sentence, but Wertkin's lawyer said her client will ask for less at sentencing in March.

When Wertkin was arrested, according to the criminal complaint, he told the officer “My life is over.”

His story reminds me of a scene at the end of the movie “Fargo,” where Marge the sheriff says, “And for what? For a little bit of money. There's more to life than a little money, you know. Don't you know that?”

What happened to Wertkin? What terrible error of judgment led him to this place?

The online trail of his life provides few clues. According to his 2006 wedding announcement to Erin Erlenborn in The New York Times, his parents live in the ritzy town of Scarsdale, New York. His father is a surgeon. His mother, a nurse, manages his father's medical practice.

Wertkin went to Haverford College, and earned his law degree from Georgetown. He also holds a PhD in government from Georgetown.

When he and Erlenborn married, he was as an associate at Patton Boggs. She was the director of policy and government affairs at the One Campaign, a nonprofit that fights AIDS and poverty worldwide. She went on to work for Oxfam, another anti-poverty nonprofit—not a career path you'd associate with someone who cares a lot about making money or a lavish lifestyle.

Their lives together seemed to unfold nicely.

For example, Wertkin's neighbors thought well enough of him to elect him to the board of directors of his condo association in 2007.

He and Erlenborn travelled the world, veering off the beaten track. In 2009, they appear in a video by the Associated Press as visitors to Ethiopia's “African Camelot.”

“My wife and I were travelling through East Africa and we couldn't miss coming to Ethiopia and visiting Gondar,” Wertkin said. “We live in Washington D.C. and there are many Ethiopians there and they told us we have to see this place that has such rich history and such an amazing story to tell.”

In 2010, they bought a cute row house on Capitol Hill in downtown Washington, D.C. for $751,000, according to property records.

That same year, he left Patton Boggs to join the Justice Department, where he worked in the Civil Division's fraud section. It's worth noting DOJ drug tests all employees. If he hadn't passed, he would not have been hired. And the feds can re-test if there's any suspicion of use.

It seemed like Wertkin had a good run in government. According to Akin's 2016 press release when the firm hired him as a partner, he “served as lead counsel in the first-ever False Claims Act suit filed by the Justice Department alleging damages under the Medicare Part D program. In another matter, he was lead counsel in an FCA federal jury trial alleging nationwide Medicare fraud by a hospice company, obtaining a favorable jury verdict.”

Stephen M. Baldini, head of Akin Gump's litigation practice, said in the release that the firm was impressed by his “extensive credentials, which include the relatively rare experience of trying a major False Claims case to a successful jury verdict.”

At DOJ, Wertkin would have earned around $145,000 to $160,000, depending on where exactly he was on the GS pay scale. If he needed more money—maybe to buy a bigger house or pay private school tuition—you'd think moving to Akin would have covered it.

Profits per partner at the firm last year were $2.1 million. Of course, as a new partner with no book of business, Wertkin wouldn't have made nearly that much. Still, even if earned the same as a senior associate, he was looking at a raise of more than $100,000 a year. That's real money.

But apparently he knew in advance it might not be enough. Before he left DOJ in April 2016—nine months before he was arrested—he secretly made copies of multiple sealed qui tam complaints, according to court documents. Not just the case against the company based in Silicon Valley. He also allegedly hit up a company in Portland, Oregon with a similar offer, and he made copies of other suits as well.

So he planned this. It was not an emergency act, driven by a sudden, unexpected need for money.

But there's still the question of why. What made it worth it for him to undertake such a clumsy, risky scheme? To approach a company representative out of the blue with documents for sale? To wear a wig and a hat and say your name is Dan? To ask for $310,000, preferably in bitcoin?

All I can think of is Bruce Springsteen's song “Atlantic City.”

“Well I got a job and tried to put my money away. But I got debts that no honest man can pay/Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty. And meet me tonight in Atlantic City.”