Michael Petrelli came in after DeSantos. He was in a suit, probably the only one he owned, and had a blank look on his face. If he were to pass you in the street, you would never even notice his passing. This was a guy who had lucked into the biggest payday he could ever dream about, and was otherwise completely clueless.
I had with me three lawyers, Tucker Potsdam, my long time lead attorney and tax lawyer, John Weisenholtz, the White House Counsel, and David Boies, who I had retained to handle this disaster if it ever went anywhere near a courtroom. I had used him before, and he was one of the finest legal minds, inside or outside of a courtroom, in America. I also had a couple of Secret Service agents standing post inside the room.
Tucker directed DeSantos and Petrelli to seats on the opposite side of the conference table. DeSantos tried to come around the table to shake my hand, but was blocked by Tucker and pointed back towards his seat. He looked at me and said, “We are just trying to be civil, Mister Buckman.”
I looked him in the eye and said, “Sit down, Mister DeSantos.” Once he was seated, I added, “We all know why we are here. You have ten minutes. What do you want?”
“There is no reason for hostility!”
“Time’s a’wasting, Mister DeSantos. Nine minutes fifty seconds,” I answered.
He blustered for a moment, but a tap on my Rolex and a “Tick tock!” from me got him on track. He took longer than ten minutes, but it didn’t matter. He was looking for a stupendous payoff, multiple billions of dollars worth. Petrelli sat next to him quietly, but he had an eager look on his stupid face, and was nodding along, like this was something that DeSantos had promised him, and now it was really going to happen. There really was a Santa Claus, and he was coming in November!
He kept rambling until I held up my hand and said, “Stop. Time’s up.” He wanted to keep going, but I simply said, “You’ve had your chance, Mr. DeSantos. Now it’s my turn.”
I glanced at the others, on my side for a second, and they had looks of incredulity on their faces. I shrugged and gave Boies a wry look and shook my head. Then, before DeSantos could start up again, I looked directly at Petrelli, and said, “I have no idea what this shyster has promised you, but let me tell you what is really going to happen.”
DeSantos jumped up and began to protest being called a shyster. I looked at him and bellowed, “SIT DOWN AND BE QUIET OR THE NEXT THING YOU KNOW THESE TWO SECRET SERVICE AGENTS WILL BE DRAGGING YOU OUT OF HERE IN HANDCUFFS!”
“You can’t…”
I motioned towards the agents and they moved up behind him. Suddenly DeSantos shut up. I held my hand up and they moved back. I began to speak again. “This is Mister David Boies. He is one of the finest trial lawyers in the country. He argues cases in front of the Supreme Court. Mister DeSantos here is not fit to shine his shoes on the courthouse steps! I am going to let Mr. Boies speak for a moment.”
Boies popped right up at that. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a stack of legal papers. He handed one of them to Petrelli. “This is a Federal injunction barring you from bringing suit against the President as long as he is in office. As of November 3rd, that will be January 20, 2009.” Privately, Boies and Weisenholtz had told me that this was bogus. Jones v. Clinton had ruled that the President could be sued by private parties for acts committed before he was the President. We didn’t care; this was just the opening salvo anyway.
He handed over another document. “This is a Federal cease and desist order, barring both you and your lawyer from discussing this case in the press. You say word one and you can fight this from behind bars.” Another document. “This is a Federal warrant to seize any and all records and documents of one Jeana Colosimo, and to sequester them with the Federal court until their authenticity is verified. Until that time they may not be sold or published. That means you turn over your mother’s diaries to a Federal Marshal. We have one waiting downstairs, and he will accompany you to New York and take possession of any such diaries.”
There were several other injunctions and court orders thrown down in front of Petrelli and DeSantos. Boies had told me that these were only stopgaps, and in some cases, pretty weak stopgaps. Most of them were from favors that my legal team had called in from various Federal judges, since almost none of this was actually under Federal jurisdiction. If Petrelli wanted to fight it, he would ultimately get his day in court, although it would probably not be with DeSantos running his legal team. He seemed as contemptuous of Petrelli’s lawyer as I was. At that point, Boies turned things back over to me.
“Now, as to your claims against my assets. You have no claim! The legal theory that you and your mother form a second family and are thus entitled to half of my wealth is ridiculous on its face. No court has ever found this to be realistic. The same goes for any claim for back child support. Your mother had the claim against me, not you, and for whatever reasons she had, she never came after me for support. Maybe if she had I would have agreed to something. However, she didn’t. You, on the other hand, have no legal standing to make such a claim.”
I pointed over at Tucker. “That’s my estate lawyer. My lead estate lawyer, I should say. He heads a team of estate and tax lawyers larger than DeSantos entire firm. He’s the guy who wrote my will. So, since we’ve already established that you can’t get any money out of me in a lawsuit, let’s see what else you might get from me. Tucker?”
Tucker took off his glasses and tossed them on the table. “Under the provisions of Mister Buckman’s current last will and testament, any and all children of Mister Buckman will receive on his death $10 million each. Mrs. Buckman will receive much more, but inasmuch as you have no relationship to her, you have no claim against her. The vast bulk of Mister Buckman’s estate will be transferred to the Buckman Foundation, Mister Buckman’s charity. Again, you have no claim against that. Mister Buckman is currently 48 years old and has a life expectancy of another 30 years. You will be 60 years old before you ever see anything other than legal bills. Further, even as we speak, Mister Buckman’s will is being rewritten to specifically exclude any children not the issue of Mister Buckman and his wife Marilyn Buckman. In order to get anything, you will first have to invalidate Mister Buckman’s new will, which you will not be able to even attempt until after his death, during probate, again, in 30 years.”
That hit Petrelli like a bombshell! He had a look of horror on his face, and his head whipped around to stare at DeSantos. “You said…” The two of them began to argue with each other, snarling like a pair of loud Italian cats.
I gave a disgusted look to my team, and let them wrangle another moment or two. Finally I got sick and tired of them, and bellowed out, “ENOUGH ALREADY! SHUT UP!” The two agents stepped up behind the bickering assholes and they shut up. They settled down and turned to look at me. “So, you can’t sue me for any money now, and you’ll be an old man before I die and you can get any other money. Here’s my offer. This is a onetime only offer, and there will be no counteroffer. Take it or leave it.”
The two men looked at each other, and then turned back to me. I continued, “First, I will pay you $10 million. You will be explicitly cut out of my will. You are going to get the same payout as my children, only you won’t have to wait until I die.”
Petrelli looked horrified as he realized his free billions were gone. DeSantos however had a look on his face that said he still thought he was smarter than me. I continued, “That will be the payout for simply being a recipient of my DNA. Your mother also left you something. Obviously it was not her intelligence, wit, or charm, since you have none. She did, however, leave you her diaries. I am willing to buy those diaries from you, for another $10 million. You will turn over all the diaries. They will be destroyed without ever being published.”