"I was burning through about $250,000 a month, mostly on partying," he says, his voice low and measured. "I was spending money I had no business spending." And his coke-fueled sense of invincibility had him believing he couldn't fail as a star-maker; he became convinced he could make hit records for his onetime girlfriend Hilton and the unlikeliest of pop divas, Brooke Hogan. The results were disasters, and made Storch a punch line. "I was doing blow 24-7. It was out of control," he says. "I love Brooke, but I did that shit because her father was putting all sorts of pressure on me." He tosses a bag of Blackberry Kush, some of California's finest medicinal-grade weed, onto the table. "Sure, it was fun. But the thing is, I didn't make one good bit of music when I was high on coke. Not one bit." He shakes his head and leaves the room. Twenty minutes later, he joins Linder in the lounge area of the condo, and reclines on a couch as Linder racks up a game of pool. Storch and Linder have an easy, needling repartee, like a nebbishy, hip-hop version of Vinny Chase and Johnny Drama.

"Where'd you go?" Linder asks.

"Downstairs to get something to eat," Storch answers.

Linder: "Better not have been my wife."

After a bong hit, Storch loosens up a bit and the conversation turns to his sexual conquests. Tops among them? "Kim Kardashian—she was amazing," he says. (She denies she and Storch had sex.)

"Dude, she really is so fucking hot," Linder affirms from the pool table.

But there were others, lots of them. "Three or four at once. I made Wilt Chamberlain look like an angel," he says, his face darkening. "I feel bad about that—being a pig. You meet a lot of good people, people that aren't as fucked up as you, and you manipulate them and take advantage of them."

The words hang in the air like the haze from the bong—today they're a regret, but for years they were his credo. Lost in his string of successes was the fact that musicians rarely wanted Storch's Midas touch more than once. Christina Aguilera wrote the song "F.U.S.S.," an acronym for "Fuck you, Scott Storch," after he made what she thought were outrageous travel demands for his entourage. Storch got into a feud with South Florida's other hip-hop impresario, Timbaland, over credits on Justin Timberlake's "Cry Me a River," and received a lyrical bitch slap from him. Storch seems contrite, but he's also angry over how he's been portrayed. His financial collapse has been chronicled with the sort of schadenfreude usually reserved for hedge-fund managers. He has been labeled a deadbeat dad (he's the father of two sons—and a warrant was issued for his arrest after he failed to show at a child-support hearing in June, though his attorney says the matter has been resolved and he is now up to date on his payments) and a car thief. "There's some chick at the Miami Herald that has it in for me," Storch says. He points to the hullabaloo over a $250,000 Bentley he gave Lil' Kim. In April, Storch was charged with grand theft auto after failing to make payments. According to Storch, he leased the car for Kim and she was supposed to return it but did not. The charge was later dismissed.