Read The Jezebel Remedy Online
Authors: Martin Clark
The Jezebel Remedy (31 page)
“Damn it,” Joe blurted. “Shit. I hate these infernal codes.” His neck was craned, his nose almost touching his computer's screen. “The âgotcha' puzzle they make you copy on Ticketmaster.” He was in his office, a Friday, 10:00 a.m., a week after they'd buried their dog, another dry, hot, prosaic Henry County morning, yards starting to brown, the heat loitering and obstinate, not relenting even at night.
“It's âcaptcha,' Joe.” Lisa grinned. “It prevents wholesale buying and keeps the process honest.” She came around the desk to join him. “What're you trying to order?”
“This is a total clusterfuck. Worthless.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, reading the screen. “ZZ Top in Greensboro. You mentioned that. I definitely want to go. It should be fun.”
“So is that an
o
, an
a
, or the number
zero
, and is it small or capital if it's an
o
? Of course, that's just the first little test. We still have to solve the hieroglyph at the endâlooks like a giraffe's hind leg.”
“Calm down. Try the New Words option. Hurry. Right there.” She pointed.
He moved the cursor, clicked, and a new sequence appeared: warped, squiggled, pixilated letters that dissolved into a dark, muddled background. “Oh, yeah, that's so much better,” he said sarcastically. He typed in letters, pecking the keys with his index finger.
“Change the middle
p
to an
r
,” she instructed him.
He did and hit a key and the entry was correct and a set of arrows rotated in a circle and the message told him his wait would be seven minutes. “We're toast,” he said angrily. “I preferred driving down to the mall and lining up at the record store. Or phoning in. This is criminal.”
“Maybe not,” she said. “We'll see.”
“Perfect,” he groused several minutes later. “Seventeenth row in the upper deck. And we have five minutes to accept those whiff-of-the-show seats. I wonder how many more codes I'll have to crack?” He folded his arms across his chest. “Our string of bad breaks continues.”
“Those
are
in exile. Dang. Forget it. Hit Cancel. We'll just have to see what's available from the scalpers.”
“Rightâsince we have so much extra money to burn these days,” Joe said, though he wasn't mean about it, sounded more like he was in hopes of some commiseration from her. “Night-shift security at the farm is running us nearly nine hundred bucks a week.”
“I know,” she said. “But we can't spend the rest of our lives sitting at home. I'm sure better tickets will surface closer to the concert. It'll pan out.” She nudged him with the heel of her hand. “You ready to go? I don't want to be late.” She was due in Richmond at three-thirty to argue a case before the Virginia Supreme Court.
“Yeah. All set. We've got plenty of time.”
“I don't want to feel rushed. It's stressful enough as it is.”
“We're in good shape.” Joe had helped her with the brief and listened to her rehearse her oral argument. “No way you'll lose; this appeal is typical insurance company obstruction. I can't believe they finagled a writ. They're just punishing you because you wouldn't discount your verdict. Like their candy-ass lawyer said, they âplan to make you earn every dime.' They don't even bother to disguise it.”
“I hope nothing happens. A hundred twenty thousand is a damn fair judgment. Forty of it's ours, which would come in very handy about now.”
“You tried a great case, and you've written a perfect brief. You'll be fine. This'll be our rally cap.”
“You don't have to go with me. I appreciate it, but you don't have to.”
“That's a long stretch to be alone,” Joe said. “Who knows what Seth Garrison has in store for us. I'm convinced we need to be careful and stick with each other. Your rule, remember? Plus, I don't want you falling asleep on the drive home.”
“Thanks,” she said. “You're a sweetheart.”
Lisa had a hint of nerves at the beginning of her presentation, but she enjoyed the big stage, the ornate, commanding courtroom, the
justices in stern robes, their lineage reaching back to John Marshall himself, the chief a woman, Justice Kinser, a petite, whip-smart lady from the western tip of the state who ran the show with a formal grace. Lisa was wearing a dark suit and rudimentary makeup. Her hair was twisted and pinned and caught in a bun. Joe sat behind her in the gallery, even though as her partner he could have joined her at counsel's table. The justices asked her only a single question, which she nimbly answered. Several of them seemed perturbed by the insurance company's lawyer, peppering him with questions, interrupting him mid-sentence, hammering flaws Lisa had highlighted in her filings. “Thank you, Counsel,” Chief Kinser said at the end of the case. Their opinion would probably be finished and published by early fall.
Lisa and Joe were in high spirits as they left the Supreme Court building, and they decided to have a celebratory drink and an early dinner at the Tobacco Company before enduring the three-hour trek to Henry County. As they were walking through the city, about a block distant from the court's building, a disheveled man darted from a doorway and cut into their path, stood stationary with his arms outstretched so they couldn't easily pass him. Late in the afternoon, nearing five o'clock, it was still in the high eighties, yet the man was dressed in a soiled wool sport coat with elbow patches, a buttoned-to-the-neck flannel shirt underneath the coat. His pants seemed appropriate for the season, light-colored twill, though they were filthy and a front pocket was partially ripped from the rest of the fabric, flapped from his hip like an aberrant cloth ear. There was a dark stain coloring the pants' crotch. He had on tennis shoes with no socks. His hair was foul, unkempt, weeded with gray. A raised red scarâa straight line with stitch marks on each sideâbisected his cheek. “Welcome, pilgrims,” he greeted them.
“Hello,” Joe said.
“Hi,” Lisa said, trying to recall if she had any dollar bills.
“I have exactly what you need,” the man declared, and he reached inside his coat pocket.
They'd stopped moving, and the stranger was ten feet in front of them. The quick dip into his coat alarmed Lisa, who gripped her purse strap more tightly and instinctively clenched her free hand into a fist.
“So what you got for us?” Joe asked.
Before Joe finished speaking, the man had already produced something wrapped in newspaper. “A mirror. And it ain't no bullshit mirror neither.”
“A mirror?” Joe repeated.
“Yeah.”
“A quality mirror?” Joe quizzed him. “As opposed to a bullshit mirror?”
“Amen.” The man shuffled his feet, seemed to jog in place.
“Is it free or do we need to buy it?” Lisa asked. She loosened the fist, let her hand relax.
“Oh, I'll make you a fair price,” the man answered.
“Can we see it first?” Joe asked.
The man unwrapped the glass and held itâhis arm extendedâin their direction. “Didn't I tell you? Ain't no bullshit mirror. Operates perfect. But you can't have it till you pony up.”
“How much?” Lisa asked.
“Fifty dollars.”
“Fifty's more than we can afford,” Joe said. “It's kind of small. Fifty might be reasonable for a bigger mirror.”
“Twenty-five,” the man countered.
“I'll go ten,” Joe told him.
“Or we'll buy you a meal at a restaurant,” Lisa said. “Whatever you'd like. Most expensive steak on the menu. Your choice.”
“I'll take the ten,” the man said, tilting his head slightly. He held out an upturned palm. Joe took a ten from his wallet and gave it to him. The man then offered the mirror, which was tucked back in its newspaper. The man's hands were grimy; black arcs were embedded under every nail.
“You keep it,” Joe told him. “I'm the kind of guy who actually needs a bullshit mirror. Yours probably has too much juice for me.”
“I hear ya,” the man said. “It's powerful.”
“Can we pass now?” Joe asked, his tone firm but still friendly.
“Of course.” The man stepped to the street side of the walk and invited them by with a grand sweep of his arm.
“Good luck,” Joe said as they left.
Lisa spoke almost as soon as they cleared the stranger. “Jeez, Joe, I swear, the firstâ”
“Me too,” he interrupted. “Same as you.”
“I immediately tense up and wonder if it's a trap orâ”
“A setup.”
“Or if he has aâ”
“Weapon in his coat,” Joe finished. “Even though it makes absolutely no sense.”
“I'm processing it and trying to tie it toâ”
“Yep, Garrison. Bizarre. So was I.”
“Maybe that's how he wants it to work,” she said, “how he operates. Poisoning our heads.”
“Has us spooked and second-guessing and seeing ghosts and shadows and threatsâ”
“Everywhere,” she concluded. “Everywhere.”
Robert Williams personally delivered Seth Garrison and Benecorp's answer to Joe's civil complaint on July 14. When he came through the door at Stone and Stone, Lisa was standing in the waiting area talking to a solicitor from the Horsepasture Volunteer Fire Department about a donation. She instructed Betty to draft a fifty-dollar check for the department, and she and Williams immediately went into her office, and she buzzed Joe at the opposite end of the hall. As they waited for Joe, Williams mentioned the arid summer and the lack of rain, and she could tell he was anxious, uncomfortable, the pleadings evidently more than routine denials and pro forma defenses.
Joe arrived and sat across the desk from her, beside his attorney. “What's the word from Captain Nemo?” he asked.
“Happy Bastille Day,” Williams said. He gave Joe a copy of the papers, then Lisa. She noticed Williams's cuff links when he reached toward her and his coat sleeve rode up his arm. They were gold and round, his initialsâRAWâengraved in the metal. “Skip the answer for now and go straight to the counterclaim,” he suggested.
“Is it bad?” she asked.
“I'd describe it as somewhere between a drive-by shooting and a full-blown jihad, but you decide for yourself. Start on page six.”
Lisa flipped through Benecorp's filing. Joe had already located the counterclaim and was reading, holding the papers at eye level, the first five pages folded underneath the remainder, a corner staple binding the several sheets together. She began reading as well. Out of habit, she
picked up a cheap plastic pen and used the dull, plugged end to keep her place on the page:
COUNTERCLAIM
Your Defendants/Counter-Plaintiffs affirmatively state and say as follows for this, their Counterclaim pursuant to Rule 3:9:
1. Defendants' previous pleadings are incorporated herein.
2. The Counter-Defendant, Joe Stone (hereinafter “Stone”), maintained a decades-long, attorney-client relationship with Lettie P. VanSandt (hereinafter “VanSandt”).
3. As a direct result of this professional relationship with VanSandt, Stone became aware that VanSandt, an inveterate tinkerer and inventor, had created a “wound-cure” formula that had significant value in the pharmaceutical industry. VanSandt referred to her formula as “VanSandt's Velvet #108” or “VV 108.”
4. That Stone, in flagrant breach of his duties as VanSandt's attorney and in violation of the Virginia Rules of Professional Conduct, embarked on a course of highly improper conduct to gain a share of the VV 108 formula and/or its ownership.
5. Specifically, Stone breached his fiduciary duty to VanSandt, exerted undue influence on her and repeatedly attempted to pressure her into granting him a share of the VV 108 property and/or its profits.
6. While this dishonest scheme was ongoing, VanSandt died unexpectedly in a fire at her home.
7. Prior to her death, VanSandt executed a will, drafted by Stone, that left the majority of her estate to her son and only blood heir, Neal VanSandt (a defendant herein), and a minor portion, $2,000 (U.S.), to the Henry County, Virginia, SPCA, a copy of which said will is attached as Exhibit “A.” This document was executed mere days before her death in November 2010, and a copy was forwarded to her son. Since Stone drafted said will, he
was fully aware that he would not have any ownership of the VV 108 formula at VanSandt's death.
8. The will attached as Exhibit “A,” the true last will and testament of VanSandt, was not probated as her final will. Instead, a purported holographic will, alleged to be written entirely in the hand of VanSandt, was filed by Stone himself in the Henry County Circuit Court Clerk's office on December 8, 2010. This document is attached as Exhibit “B.” This fraudulent holographic will left the entirety of VanSandt's estate to Stone.
9. The holographic will is a forgery and fraud, created and submitted to probate by Stone so as to gain control of, and ownership rights to, the VV 108 property.
10. Counter-Plaintiff Benecorp is engaged in the creation, distribution and marketing of drugs, medicines and pharmaceuticals of all kinds and classes on a global scale. This is a highly competitive business, and the protection of marketplace strategies, product development and new technology is of the utmost importance to Benecorp. The company invests millions of dollars annually to insure this protection of assets, trade secrets, strategies and proprietary information.
11. By virtue of a patented system known as MissFit Matrix, Benecorp discovered a marketplace utility for VV 108.
12. Benecorp began confidential negotiations with VanSandt, which had not concluded at her death. Upon information and belief, as her long-serving counsel, Stone was aware of these contacts and advised VanSandt on the same, and, as stated hereinabove, thus became aware of VV 108's value to the pharmaceutical industry and specifically to Benecorp.
13. Upon VanSandt's death, Stone presented the forged will attached hereto as Exhibit “B” for probate and thus hoped to become the sole owner of the VV 108 formula.
14. VanSandt's son, Neal VanSandt, a nervous, legally unsophisticated man, contacted Stone to inquire about his mother's estate and was informed by Stone that Stone owned everything by virtue of the now-probated handwritten will.
Neal VanSandt was surprised by this and contacted legal counsel.
15. Benecorp did not wish for its competitors to learn of its interest in VV 108, nor, as a business strategy, did it wish to engage in a lengthy, public court battle with Stone to secure the rights to the VV 108.
16. Even though your Counter-Plaintiffs were initially highly suspicious as to the validity of this holographic will, and are able to prove at any trial of this matter that this handwritten document is indeed a forgery and not the true last will of VanSandt, they elected, strictly for economic and business reasons, to enter into a settlement with Stone in return for his disclaiming and renouncing any interest in the VanSandt estate in favor of Neal VanSandt. A copy of said settlement agreement is attached hereto as Exhibit “C.” Benecorp then purchased the rights to the VV 108 from VanSandt's legitimate heir, Neal VanSandt, and, although not legally bound to so do, contributed $5,000 (U.S.) to the Henry County, Virginia, SPCA.
17. In conformity with this agreement executed by Stone, the negotiated sum of $750,000 (U.S.) was deposited in account number N120001443 in the Caribbean Fidelity International Bank, Nassau, Bahamas, in the name of Lisa Stone, the wife and law partner of Stone. A document establishing the transfer of said funds is attached as Exhibit “D.”
18. Lisa Stone was physically present in the Bahamas on or about March 4â6, 2011, and withdrew the said deposit in full and complete satisfaction of this contractual agreement. Pursuant to the parties' understanding, the bank provided Benecorp with proof of Lisa Stone's withdrawal, attached as Exhibit “E.”
19. Notwithstanding the parties' fully executed and binding agreement, Stone traveled to Virginia Beach, Va., in June 2011 and threatened Benecorp's founder, president and CEO, your Counter-Plaintiff Seth Garrison (hereinafter “Garrison”) in an attempt to leverage and extort even further monies for himself. Specifically, Stone demanded an additional $5,000,000
(U.S.) in exchange for his not contesting the ownership of the VV 108 property, this despite having already received, via Lisa Stone, $750,000 (U.S.) as full and complete payment for his altogether fabricated claim and all his right, title and interest in and to the VV 108 property. Stone also informed Garrison he would “tell the world about VV 108,” and thus potentially compromise Benecorp's marketplace advantage and proprietary interests. It was at this juncture that Benecorp hired a retired FBI handwriting expert to formally examine a copy of the handwritten will and determined with certainty that it was a fraud and forgery.
20. As a basis for his new $5,000,000 (U.S.) demand, Stone fraudulently and deceptively claimed the VV 108 had been, prior to VanSandt's death, transferred to a trust or other corporate entity and hence title and ownership did not pass to Benecorp by virtue of its purchase of all estate assets. This claim was first made to Neal VanSandt and subsequently to attorney Matt Champoux and finally to Anton Pichler, a Benecorp employee. With proper legal notice to Stone, and in keeping with company practices, this conversation with Pichler was recorded and will be produced at any trial of this matter.
21. In fact the VV 108 was never transferred to any trust, group, foundation, organization or corporation. As VanSandt's attorney, Stone knew this, and his representations to Benecorp and Garrison were knowingly false. The rights to the VV 108, under the legitimate will of VanSandt (Exhibit “A”), and/or pursuant to Virginia intestate law, and/or pursuant to Stone's settlement agreement and renouncement in favor of Neal VanSandt, are, and have been for several months, the absolute, unencumbered property of Benecorp, owned by the corporation free and clear. Stone's knowingly false representations were simply designed to extort more money from Garrison and/or Benecorp.
22. Stone's current lawsuit is baseless and without merit and was filed simply in an effort to goad Benecorp into settlement, lest the details of the VV 108 become known in the global
marketplace, thus compromising Benecorp's strategic advantages.
23. Stone's conduct in (a) knowingly, intentionally and fraudulently presenting a forged will so as to gain ownership of the VV 108 property; (b) willfully, intentionally and deliberately breaching his settlement agreement with Benecorp without cause or justification; and (c) willfully and fraudulently attempting to extort money from Benecorp based on his knowingly false claim to Garrison (and others) that Benecorp did not own the VV 108 property, but rather a “trust” which Stone controlled owned said property, was/were, both separately and in combination, egregious, willful, wanton, reckless, dishonest and utterly outside the norms of societal acceptance. This conduct was done with actual malice toward your Counter-Plaintiffs and/or in conscious disregard of the Counter-Plaintiffs' rights.
WHEREFORE, in light of the foregoing, your Counter-Plaintiffs, Seth Garrison, in his individual capacity and as president and CEO of Benecorp, and Benecorp, a Florida corporation, hereby pray for the following remedies, relief and damages: (1) Your Counter-Plaintiff Benecorp seeks a finding and determination by this Court that it is the outright, fee simple owner of the VV 108 property, free and clear of any claim, demand and interest of Joe Stone and/or any other person or entity; (2) Your Counter-Plaintiffs also seek the return of $750,000 (U.S.), with statutory interest from March 5, 2011, for breach of the settlement agreement hereinabove described; (3) Your Counter-Plaintiffs demand judgment in the amount of $5,000,000 (U.S.) for common-law fraud committed by Joe Stone; (4) Your Counter-Plaintiffs demand $5,000,000 in punitive damages against Joe Stone; (5) Pursuant to the parties' agreement herein referenced, your Counter-Plaintiffs demand their reasonable attorney's fees and all court costs incurred in bringing this action; (6) As per Section 8.01-271.1 of the 1950 Code of Virginia, as amended, your Counter-Plaintiffs request sanctions against Joe Stone for the reasons hereinbefore set forth. A trial by jury is demanded.
“Fucking great googly moogly,” Joe said. “What a hodgepodge of colorful lies. It's a bushel basket's worth of deceit and half-truths.”
Lisa scowled at his reaction but didn't say anything. She dropped the papers on her desk and tossed the pen beside them. Adrenaline shot from her gut up into her throat.
“I also have a letter, Joe,” Williams said somberly.
“It's straight out of Shysterville,” Joe railed, ignoring him. “No, actually, I'm wrong: It's straight from a whorehouse in the slums on the outskirts of Shysterville. Fucking unbelievable.”
“Their lead counsel,” Williams continued methodically, “is a big-wheel Florida lawyer by the name of Edwin Nicholson. He's the real McCoy and lives up to his billing. He's won several high-profile cases. I hear he's extremely honest and totally aboveboard, which is surprising given his clients' tendencies. Their Virginia guy is Mack MacDonald from the Norfolk McGuire, Woods office. He's a serious player too. And McGuire, Woods is a resource powerhouse. Here's the second barrel: They've filed a bar complaint. They want your license suspended, Joe.”