He said, “Looks like you got yourself a real mess up there.”
“Lots of drama,” Clement agreed. “I was minding my own business when the judge hooked me in as the conservator.”
“Yes, that’s what you said on the phone.” In other words, I’ve already heard this. “Where is the case procedurally?”
“Which one? The murder trial is set for May twenty-third. The estate mess is on hold until the criminal matters are resolved. Same judge with both cases and she’s very much in control.”
“So, what’s my involvement at this point?”
“Nothing officially. I’m just trying to verify Ms. Barnett’s assets.”
“Okay, I spent an hour with our attorney yesterday and this is my position. I have, or had, a fiduciary relationship with Harry Korsak and Eleanor Barnett, both now deceased. It was a confidential, privileged relationship, as with all our clients. However, upon their deaths, the confidentiality became somewhat less strict, shall we say. I will agree to give a deposition, with my attorney present, for the record. I will not agree to testify in any proceeding, unless, of course, I am subpoenaed, at which time I will comply. Fair enough?”
“I suppose.”
“But there are some things I can tell you now, off the record, and in confidence, that might help you inventory her assets. Are we off the record?”
Clement wasn’t sure what the record was, and he knew he would immediately debrief with Teddy Hammer over lunch. He wasn’t a journalist working on a story, and he had not traveled all the way to Atlanta to get stiff-armed. “Sure,” he said.
Buddy started at the beginning.
He was a stockbroker with Merrill Lynch in Atlanta when he met Harry and Eleanor. Her first husband died a few years earlier and she had $50,000 in life insurance. Harry was working for Coca-Cola and had just qualified for its employee stock-option plan. They put all their money in Coke and kept buying shares for many years. They were frugal, saved as much as possible, and for thirty years bought all the Coke stock they could afford. Later, they began buying Wal-Mart shares with the same strategy. Both companies grew over the years and split their common stock numerous times. The little Korsak nest egg became a fortune. Around 1990, they splurged on a vacation and went to a small Caribbean island few people had heard of. It was called Montrouge, in the French West Indies, near Guadeloupe. Some executives at Coke had discovered the place and were trying to keep it quiet. It was paradise, just a speck of an island with beautiful mountains and white beaches. Harry and Eleanor fell for the place and bought a nice bungalow for half a million. An Atlanta developer showed up and saw the potential. The plan was to buy the entire island, sell off individual lots, put in a resort or two, and watch the value increase. Sort of like Mustique. Harry, whose health was not great, was tired of working and began dreaming of a glorious retirement on the island. He put $5 million into the development and built a bigger house on the beach. The land was selling at outrageous prices. A few celebrities moved in and the prices went even higher. A deal to sell Montrouge for $200 million fell through. Harry’s piece would have been worth 15 percent of the total. More financing was needed to finish a third resort, and Harry put up another $5 million. Buddy voiced his concern at that point, but Harry was determined. The limited partners began squabbling and lawsuits were filed. The resorts were doing well and the property values were through the roof, but there was discord among the ownership. One group tried to buy another in a hostile takeover. Harry sided with the losing group. A hefty loan was in default. Harry put in another $5 million. Almost all of his Coke and Wal-Mart stock was gone but his real estate protected his net worth. Then, an unbelievable disaster. On the first day of June 1999, the volcano on Montrouge erupted for the first time in 240 years. The island was practically blown out of the ocean and off the map. Over a hundred people, tourists and residents, were killed, most of them never found. Harry and Eleanor had been there the week before. Their luxury home was totally destroyed. The typical insurance coverage on the island protected the homes and resorts against fire, wind, flooding, and so on. Not a single one mentioned volcanoes. Big lawsuits were filed by the owners, and the litigation raged until the owners got tired of losing. The insurance companies won every case.
Harry’s bad health deteriorated even faster. He and Eleanor had nervous breakdowns together and went into therapy. To run away, they sold their home in Atlanta and moved to the hills of northern Virginia. Harry died not long after the move.
It was a very sad story.
The obvious question was: How much, if any, of the money was left?
Buddy dodged the question for a while, then said, “Upon the advice of counsel, I can’t give you the exact value of the stocks in the portfolio. I will if a court orders me to, but I can’t now.”
Clement was frustrated by Buddy’s reluctance and said, “Okay, I get that, but I’m trying to anticipate litigation, and it would be helpful if I had an idea, in the ballpark, of the value of Eleanor’s stocks.”
“I understand. At its peak, the Coke stock was worth a little over ten million. What’s left is less than half a million. Wal-Mart was about six mil, and it’s all gone.”
Clement managed to stifle his reaction. “That’s quite a bit less than we thought.”
“Substantially less than half a million.”
Clement left after an hour and a half, returned to the hotel, and found Teddy Hammer at a small desk in the business center. He sat in a chair across from him, smiling as he shook his head, and said, “It’s all a hoax.”
Chapter 41
A month before the trial, Judge Pointer scheduled a closed hearing to address a number of issues, the most important of which was venue.
Raymond had been adamant from day one that the trial must take place far away from Braxton. He really didn’t care where, but preferably out of the reach of the Washington and Richmond press. His client had been pilloried and savaged from the day of his indictment and the damage was irreversible. The only remaining question in the press was: Where was the firing squad? Raymond had been a prominent criminal defense lawyer for forty years and had never represented a defendant so thoroughly condemned by his neighbors and townsfolk. His own secretary, a compassionate soul, had quietly said to him several times, “Better get a plea bargain.”
Simon had been reluctant at first. For a while he argued that by the terms of the will he drafted for Eleanor, virtually everyone in Braxton would benefit from her generosity. The trust he so cleverly created spread her money to every church, civic club, food bank, scout troop, garden club, and so on. And, more important, the will did not give Simon Latch a dime of her money. He had to earn it! He would be paid $500 an hour and his fees would be impressive, but an hour away in Washington the going rate for the big firm guys was double that. Under oath and on cross-examination he was confident he could justify his billings.
Raymond countered with the argument that the terms of the will might never be heard by the jury. The will was not the issue. Murder was. Oddly enough, motive was not always a factor and did not have to be proven. Simon believed the will would be the Commonwealth’s first exhibit, dramatically waved in front of the jury by Cora Cook as proof that the defendant was dreaming of huge fees and profiting from the death of Eleanor Barnett.