This Little Piggy (32) “Marc, is that true?” “Now wait a minute, it wasn’t like that,” said Michael, staring at Scarborough. “I thought it was a personal loan…that Michael was in financial difficulty,” continued Melrose. “Phil, it gets worse,” said Goldstrom. “At the eleventh hour, TPL demanded four million dollars in earnest money. I wanted Sol Reinberg to finance the deal. Michael said no. Called him a ‘usurious pig.’ He insisted on putting up the four million. Time was running out and we needed the deal. He forced me to agree to give him two million off the top.” “Michael, where the hell did you get four million dollars?” “I was trying to do the deal cheaper than Reinberg so the Company would retain most of the profits. I…” “Where the fuck did you get the four million dollars?” said a livid Scarborough. ‘Well, Marc helped me…” “Marc, did you really?” “Phil, it was my understanding the deal had an enormous profit that…” “Jesus Christ, the chairman of a major bank and you authorized loans for a bribe, and an ill conceived business deal. What were you thinking? You should be ashamed of yourself!” Scarborough was not finished. “And Michael, did you really plan to skim four million dollars off the top?” “Like I said, it was the best deal the Company would ever get.” “Jesus, I can’t believe it. What about conflict of interest? What about your Edleberg speech? You’re a fucking crook! And to think, I trusted you. You were a guest in my house. What happened to you? Was the money that important?” Scarborough pounded the table again and again. “Why? Why? Why?” Bob was pleased as punch. He had gotten the last laugh. He kept pouring it on. “Phil, the situation is a bit embarrassing for all of us,” said Bob, trying to ingratiate himself. “Why don’t I come over to Whitlaw & Company and try to explain the whole thing to the partners. I’m sure there’s a solution.” “Bob, pleeese! What do you take me for, a fool? I’ve got everything Bob. Everything. Berger gave me a sworn statement about your Norwest shenanigans. Astrid has been kind enough to give me a copy of her diary. It’s all there. The illegal meetings, the fake research reports, the telephone calls. And what Astrid couldn’t supply, Singleton generously gave me. After we kick Michael the hell out of here, I want your immediate resignation, or Whitlaw & Company will file a grievance with the SEC and sue you grandly. I plan to make sure you never do another deal again on The Street.” * THE NEXT TWENTY-FOUR HOURS was the ride from hell for Michael! Minutes after he was physically escorted to the door, he made a mad dash for the closest pay phone to authorize Jesse Dothan to dump as much of the stock as possible in order to salvage something. Unfortunately for Michael, Jesse’s husband, Ray, had already gotten to her. She dragged her feet, knowing full well a press release was about to be issued by the Company about its illegal business affairs. “What the fuck did you stupid morons do?” she screamed. “Never in all my years...” was the last thing Michael heard as Jesse slammed the phone in his ear. Twenty minutes later the stock plummeted to ten cents and trading was officially halted. Michael had nowhere to go but home. As he sat on the commuter train he wondered, “How did I stray so far?” “How do I explain all this to Sandra?” His greatest fear at that moment was that he would lose her and his family, leaving him totally and utterly alone. By the time he arrived home, the gravity of the situation was suffocating. The stock was absolutely worthless, leaving him no way of repaying the Billingham loan–ever. His immediate cash flow, personal benefits and any future severance had completely dissipated thanks to his unethical breaches. He was about to be embroiled in a class action suit with a bunch of angry, irrational investors that had lost millions. In some cases like Dyckman, their life savings. His business reputation had been irreparably damaged. He could never work again in corporate America. He had to tell Sandra he forged her signature, making her party to an illegal activity she knew nothing about. Another lightening bolt greeted Michael at the door. “I don’t know what you’re up to now,” said a glaring Sandra, “but a registered letter arrived a few hours ago. For dramatic effect, the damn thing was hand-delivered.” The envelope contained a thirty-day demand request from Billingham for the entire four million loan plus accrued interest of almost $100,000 and a foreclosure penalty for non-payment. Michael spent the next hour providing Sandra all the painful details. The compromises, the shortcuts, the bribes…even the sexual indiscretions. He cried. She cried. Anke Nachman’s words reverberated in her ears, ‘Have never, would never is very absolute my dear.’ Michael told Sandra he could understand if she wanted to leave him. He had done such unimaginable deeds. She needn’t be subjected to what was yet to come. While she was repulsed by Michael’s business activities and embarrassed by his personal antics, she was willing to give him another chance. With conditions. After all she still loved him madly and unequivocally. She was selfish. She saw no reason to discard the love of a lifetime, however imperfect, however flawed. She was more like Anke Nachman than she realized. Perhaps they could move somewhere and start life anew, like newlyweds all over again. Far from Goldstrom, Berger, Dyckman, Diamond, Krotsky, Tothson, Nassi, Dothan and Edleberg. * MICHAEL SCRATCHED AND CLAWED for a creative and dignified solution. The story of Jacob Eldridge flashed through his mind. He now had a sense of the utter desperation Eldridge must have felt in those last hours. After a monumental amount of soul searching, he concluded only one asset of substance remained: three life insurance policies with a face of $10 million dollars. The plan formulated itself. He would call the one person he could trust, the one real friend he had made during the past eighteen months, Tom Kugle. “Tom, as you know, I’ve got an impending disaster on my hands. I’m trying to find some solution for Sandra and the kids. After all, they deserve better. At one time I was a terrific father and husband---I was wondering about the statue of limitations with respect to life insurance policies.” Kugle knew immediately what Michael was referring to---The Suicide Clause---but he didn’t want to go there. He had to reason with Michael in person before he did something even more foolish. “Michael, the statue of limitations with respect to what? Your question is pretty broad.” “With respect to boiler plate clauses,” said Michael trying to be specific yet vague. “How old are the policies?” “About three years.” “I see.” Kugle fabricated a plausible response. “Michael, an unusual spat of litigation over the last five years has forced the insurance companies to alter boiler plate clauses dramatically, in some cases closing loopholes, in others making claims easier to complete. Each case is a little different. Why don’t I buy you lunch tomorrow, you bring the policies, and we’ll review your specific situation?” The next day was like old times! Tom and Michael sitting under the cheap brass chandelier eating taboule at El Habib. “I’ve been thinking,” said Michael. “Before we get to the life insurance thing, do I have a shot at a defamation of character suit against Bob? “On what grounds?” “He lied about the bribe which positioned me as a crook to Phil, which in turn led to my dismissal, which in turn led to my lack of severance and a negative press release which made the stock worthless.” Tom smiled. “Once a marketing guy, always a marketing guy! You weave a nice web, but in my legal opinion you have zero chance of getting a judge and jury to agree with you.” “Why are you so sure?” “Gee I don’t know---all you did was forge a few multi-million loan documents with a major commercial bank and structured and funded a humongous corporate bribe. Now who in their right mind would believe your version of the truth?” “Okay, okay, I got it. You can’t blame a guy for trying,“ said Michael, sounding exactly like Tothson. “Let me you show you the policies.” “I don’t need to see the policies, I know what you’re after. Are you crazy?” said Kugle. “Tom, it’s the only way out of this mess. I owe it to Sandra.” “Oh really. Did you ask her? As your friend, I urge you to. Please.” “As my friend, what’s the answer?” Kugle looked into Michael’s eyes. “Death benefits cannot be withheld from the beneficiaries if the suicide is more than two years after issuance of the life insurance policy.” “And the proceeds are tax-free to the beneficiary?” “Yes.” “And, if placed in trust, they cannot be attached by creditors and lawyers?” “Yes.” “And these three policies met all those guidelines?” “Yes.” * IT WAS 2 A.M. at the Martini household. Michael sat quietly in his study, thinking. A glass of his favorite port, Fonseca 1963, by his side. Sandra and the boys had long since retired. How ironic, in my quest to have everything I have nothing, he thought. I’ve tried to lay blame everywhere, but in the end, there is only one person to hold accountable. I’m no better than Bob, maybe worse, because I once knew better. Michael took pen to paper and wrote THE note to Sandra. “To my lovely, lovely lady, “Thank you for seventeen wonderful years. I fell deeply in love with you the first moment we met. And, if it’s possible, I love you even more today. Leaving is the last thing I want to do, and yet, it’s the only thing I can do. “With all we had, I wanted more. In some ways, my intentions were noble but my lust for wealth has transformed me into someone even I don’t recognize. In short, I’ve become a greedy, disgusting pig, with no one to blame but myself. Through no fault of yours, we are over four million dollars in debt, with lawsuits around every corner. If I were to remain, you and the children would suffer untold pain because of my mistakes. I will not let that happen! Always and forever, Michael.” Michael slowly folded the letter, addressed the envelope, put it in his pocket and went to bed. * THE NEXT MORNING MICHAEL asked Sandra for a ride to the train, explaining he needed to make one last trip to New York City to pick up some personal effects at the office. As the train pulled into the station, Michael gave Sandra a tender kiss goodbye, knowing it would be the last time he would do so. “Sandra, I’m so, so sorry,” said a tearful Michael. Sandra sensed a melancholy, but chose to say nothing. Rather, she planned a nice quiet meal in her head for later that evening. She and Michael would talk, make plans to get out of their dilemma. After all, they always had, and always would, she thought. When Michael arrived at Grand Central Station, he took the subway to the Staten Island Ferry at the tip of Manhattan Island. It was a splendid winter day. As the boat traversed New York Harbor, past the Statue of Liberty, a resplendid golden sun filled lower Manhattan, transforming the wall of skyscrapers into a collection of elegant jewel boxes. Michael stood silently and rigid on the upper observation deck as the wind blew through his hair. He stared into the water, a swirling canvas of blues and greens punctuated with a dash of whitecaps. Snapshots of his life clicked through his brain at a dizzying pace. Questions with no answers whispered in his ears. How did I come to be here? Why was enough not enough? Was the means worth the end? He was alone in a crowd. An island unto himself. Emotional suicide his medal of honor, his purple heart. About ten minutes before the ferry reached Staten Island, commuters began to form an exit line in the front of the boat while Michael proceeded to the open-air platform at the ship’s rear. He looked at the swirling tide in New York harbor. On this particular day, the winds off Manhattan Island were so severe that white caps formed, and the ferry’s captain had all it could do to stay the course. He took the note he had written the previous evening from his pocket, and placed it in his topcoat, which he left on the platform. Moments later he was gone. After the commuters emptied the ferry, a janitor made the rounds cleaning up the miscellaneous debris before the next group boarded. As he made his way to the rear of the ferry, he found Michael’s double breasted topcoat and note on the mist-laden platform. He looked into the harbor at the whitecaps that had only grown more intense as the docked ferry rocked back and forth. “Captain,” said the janitor, “I found this coat on the floor in that open area in the rear of the ferry. The only ID was this letter, which I opened. It’s kind of strange.” The Captain began to read the note. “To my lovely, lovely lady……” He stopped. It was not the first time the ferry had been the scene of a suicide. “Did you see anything in the water?” said the Captain. “Not a thing. The harbor was so choppy and the undertow looked ferocious.” The Captain hurriedly called the authorities. The Police dredged the harbor for hours. First by boat, then by helicopter. Unfortunately, the ferry’s channel was extremely deep and, as the janitor had pointed out, the currents swift. After 12 hours, the search and rescue was discontinued. No body was ever found. The only item recovered from the blustery seas was a black felt hat, hand signed by Giorgio Armani. Michael was officially pronounced dead three days later. * TEN DAYS LATER, A FUNERAL service was held for Michael in the historic, country cemetery, Erskine Downs, a mile from the Martini home. It was a bright, sunny Fall day. Sandra had run a small notice about the service. To her amazement over four hundred friends and business associates were in attendance, many from Michael’s days at A&J. “Sandra, dear,” said former boss and mentor, A&J Chairman Ed Ney, “I loved your husband like a son. I was so proud of his many accomplishments. He was my go-to guy when the going got tough.” “Thank you Ed,” said a tearful Sandra. The local parish priest, Father Charles, a tall, elegant, Nigerian, who had become close to the Martini family, gave the eulogy in front of a red granite gravestone carved with the words ‘Michael Martini, beloved husband, 1957 – 2001.’ “Today is particularly disturbing day. The Michael I knew was a loving husband, a devoted father, a man who took immense pride in providing for his family. We sat many times in front of his fireplace talking about the fact that he wanted to grow up with his children, and grow old with Sandra. The Michael I knew followed God’s word. It is ironic that his last act would provide for his family, while at the same time drive him away from his maker. And, while his body will never come to rest in this cemetery, we all hope and pray that his soul finds a peaceful resting place…somewhere in God’s mercy.” As the ceremony came to a close, Sandra wiped her eyes, thanked everyone for attending, and prepared to leave. In the rear of the crowd, she spotted a silent, motionless Bob Goldstrom holding two large black Newfoundland dogs. Their eyes met. She ran towards him. “You miserable excuse for a human being! What you did to my husband! I hope you rot in hell, forever!” she screamed as her sons dragged her away. * AS THE MONTHS PASSED, things improved dramatically for the Martini family. Tom Kugle did a masterful job of collecting and managing the insurance proceeds on behalf of his friend. He negotiated a settlement with Billingham on the loan, protected Sandra and the boys from creditors and litigants, paid off the mortgage on the house and established a modest trust so Sandra would never have to worry about the boys’ college education. And Sandra’s career flourished. She was promoted to a senior hospital administrator under the new regime. With her increased salary and the lessons learned about living over her head during the final years with Michael, she built a comfortable debt-free lifestyle. About two years later, Sandra also found herself a new beau, Mathew Johnson, a certified public accountant and widower whose his wife had died of cancer at thirty-five, leaving two young daughters, Mandy, age seven, and Heather, aged five. They all fit comfortably into Sandra’s sprawling home in Stamford. While neither Sandra nor Mathew could honestly say they were madly in love, they were comfortable with each other. In fact, all the pieces of their lives fit comfortably. Which, after what they both had been through, was a good place to be. * TWO MORE YEARS PASSED. The four Johnson children were having a summer barbeque party around the pool in the rear of the house. Sandra realized the kids were almost out of drinks. She walked up to the main house to replenish the supplies. As she fussed in the kitchen, she just happened to look out the window. She noticed a black car pull up to the Johnson mailbox and place something inside. By the time she got outside the car was gone. She opened the mailbox and found the usual stack of mail. As she thumbed through the envelopes, she found a letter addressed to her in Michael’s handwriting, with no return address and no stamp. The letter explained the circumstances surrounding his decision to stage a suicide. Michael also apologized for his three-year silence. “Once the merry-go-round started, I became intoxicated. It was impossible to get off. Eventually, it became a survival of the fittest with Bob. He won. I lost. And, I almost dragged you with me. The note gallantly rationalized, “I wanted to make sure the statue of limitations had passed, so no legal claim could be attached to the insurance proceeds.” Michael also asked Sandra to destroy the note, as if he had never existed. She noticed the ink on the letter was smudged, as if a tear had accidentally made its way to the page. The End What Ever Happened To… · BOB GOLDSTROM became the laughing stock of Wall Street, never again able to complete a financing deal. He remained drug free. · JACK BERGER lost his securities license for life. · MARTY DIAMOND has lost all his money plus some, in a racetrack venture in Boca Raton. · ALLAN KROTSKY went to work as a corporate attorney for the prestigious Wall Street firm, Bear Stearns. · RAY DOTHAN never reacquired a securities license, which dramatically diminished his professional following. · JESSE DOTHAN was banned from the securities business. · IRWIN FRIEDWAY continued to do deals. · JULIE SUCHS got screwed on a commission split by Nachman and they never spoke again. · JERRY FOREMAN repurchased his company for pennies on the dollar. · MARC MELROSE was forced to resign as Chairman of Schroeder Trust Company. · MARION MELROSE’s frivolous spending forced Marc into bankruptcy. · ASTRID FUNDLAND returned to Sweden and became a frequent visitor at drug rehab facilities. · MARTY EDLEBERG never practiced law again after being fired by Delano Mondrain. · BERNIE DYCKMAN filed for bankruptcy, lost his family, and tried to put his life back together. · JOHN COPAIN returned to a world of drugs as he looked for the next easy score. · FRED TOTHSON became a legitimate billionaire with a network of domestic and international corporate holdings. · BARBARA TOTHSON became a full-fledged alcoholic and left Fred for another woman. · DAN BOYAR continued to practice law, although not for Tothson. · LOU BRAFFMAN sold his practice and moved to the Cayman Islands to avoid capital gains taxes. · TONY LAMANTIA was dismissed from Croft Rockman due to incompetence. · PHIL SCARBOROUGH retired from Whitlaw & Company and became a college president. · SAM NACHMAN died of a massive heart attack on a tennis court. · ANKE NACHMAN has two intense affairs with substantially younger men six months after Sam died. · ALBERT NACHMAN gave up law and entered the family’s liquidation business. · AL PEPPARD bought a florist shop on East 92nd Street and Madison Avenue. · DOMINICK MARINO completely disappeared. · TOM KUGLE became the Managing Director at Delano Mondrain. · SANDRA MARTINI lived happily ever after. · MICHAEL MARTINI was never heard from again. By anyone.
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