Chapter 37
Pinewood
Three days later, the sisters gathered around the kitchen table for morning coffee, fruits, muffins, scones, and other baked goods. Myra checked the big clock in the entry. It was almost time.
“Ladies, I think we should head downstairs and watch some television,” Myra announced.
The excitement among the women and the men was palpable. This was act one. Act two would follow shortly.
Sag Harbor—The big night
Raymond Corbett took another look at himself. Perfection. He drove himself to the yacht club, where he would greet his guests, including a representative of the Museum of Modern Art. He had made sure there would be plenty of press coverage in the Hamptons as well as New York City. When he arrived at the yacht club, he noticed several men in dark suits, with earpieces. Must be the security team I hired. He nodded at the men and tossed his car keys to the valet. He straightened his shirt cuffs to reveal his expensive cuff links, adjusted his ascot, and sauntered up the steps.
The big question was, Where was he going to stand? On the veranda? Next to the screen that hid the painting from view? No. There were two security guards, one on each side of the screen. He knew that he would stand out between the stark guards, but not enough to suit him. He picked the veranda. This way, everyone would spot him immediately. Some of the men in the dark suits spoke into small microphones clipped to their lapels; some spoke into the band on their wrists.
The guests started to arrive, and Corbett was elated. He had not had so much attention from the local society people since the party he had given to celebrate his admission to the yacht club about a month ago. There had to be over a hundred of the most socially influential people at this gala to unveil the Chagall he had purchased. It was going to be a very big night for him.
Within the hour, the room was alive with chatter, and the time had arrived for Corbett to mingle with his elite guests. He searched the room for the representative from MoMA, a curator at the museum, and spotted her standing next to the screen that shielded the painting. Corbett strolled over to her with his chest puffed out like a rooster’s.
“Good evening, Mrs. Spencer. So glad you could join us this evening.”
“I thought it would be a good opportunity for publicity for you, the painting, and the museum. May I look before you unveil it?” Mrs. Spencer asked in a quiet, gentle voice.
Corbett was smiling like the Cheshire cat. “Of course,” he replied and escorted her to the area behind the screen, where the Chagall awaited its unveiling.
She looked closely at the piece of art and frowned. “Dr. Corbett, I think there may be a problem.” Corbett could not imagine what sort of problem she could be having until she spoke her next words. “The signature seems to be slightly off.”
“What do you mean, slightly off?” Corbett retorted a tiny bit belligerently.
“The signature, Dr. Corbett. It looks slightly askew. I am going to have to take a closer look.”
“Can’t that wait?” Corbett was becoming irritated. This woman was not going to ruin his evening, because she thought something was “slightly off.”
While this conversation was taking place, there was a commotion on the other side of the screen, a commotion that kept getting louder and louder. Corbett peeked around and saw a dozen men walking toward him.
“Dr. Raymond Corbett?” A man pulled out a badge. FBI. “You are under arrest for manufacturing and distributing a controlled substance.”
A second man pulled out his badge. Interpol. He slid the screen to one side to reveal the painting. “You are also under arrest for possession of stolen property. This painting is owned by France, and the country is claiming all rights to it.”
At that point, Mrs. Spencer intervened, saying, “But this painting is a forgery. I very much doubt that France or any other country owns it or even wants to own it.” That comment stopped everyone in their tracks.
Corbett whirled around and stared at her. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Then he turned to the men who were placing him under arrest. “And you . . . What do you mean, I’m under arrest?”
“You need to come with us, Dr. Corbett,” the FBI agent said.
The men he thought were part of his security detail were actually federal agents! When they tried to pull his arms behind his back, he went ballistic.
“You have no right to come here! Unhand me!”
The resulting scuffle got everyone’s attention, including members of the press, who had been given a tip that something big was going to happen. At first, the reporters had thought it was the usual celebrity sighting, until the FBI agents had leaped from the vans. Add art forgery to the mix, and it was a melee of shocked guests and reporters.
Yes, reporters were everywhere, just as Corbett had wanted. But his being arrested was not what he had intended or had expected them to write about. He was squirming and thrashing as the FBI agents led him out the door. Camera flashes were going off from different directions.
Someone from one of the city’s news networks shoved a microphone in his face. “Dr. Corbett, did you know you bought a fake?”
He was screaming, “This is bullshit,” when the agent from Interpol approached him again.
“Where is the original painting, Dr. Corbett? You can save yourself a lot of trouble if you tell us where it is immediately.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about!” Corbett was still squealing as the FBI agents escorted him toward one of the dark vans.
Reporters were shoving microphones in his face.
“What about the drugs?” shouted one.
“Is that how you paid for the artwork?” shouted another.
He could still hear the reporters yammering as the agents placed him in the rear seat of the van.
“What about the raid on your property in Michigan?”
“Is it true you were supplying Adderall to a prep school?”
The radio in the van was broadcasting, too. Live-Life-Long offices had been raided, as had the Michigan property. A student at a very prestigious prep school who had ties to Corbett had also been arrested in New York City for distribution of drugs. Owing to his age, his identity was being withheld.
Newark, New Jersey
Harold Steinwood almost had an erection when he saw the collection of cars in Oscar Davis’s museum. From a 1937 BMW 328 Roadster to the 1964 Ferrari Davis had bought for $14.3 million, and everything in between. It was an auto-orgasmic experience. He could barely breathe from the beauty of the sleek lines, the highly polished chrome, the leather interiors. They were truly works of art.
After the tour, they were about to leave for dinner when several black vehicles swarmed into the parking lot. At least a dozen FBI agents sprang from the vans. The one who looked to be the agent in charge announced, “Harold Steinwood. You are under arrest!”
Steinwood was stunned. “I’m what? What is going on here? What are you charging me with?” He tried resisting as one of the agents spun him around and slapped handcuffs on his wrists.
“Grand theft larceny,” one of the FBI agents replied.
“Manufacturing and distributing a controlled substance, schedule two, three, and four,” added another.
“Grand theft? This must be a mistake. What are you talking about? What am I supposed to have stolen? And drugs?” Steinwood was almost shrieking. He could not believe they had been exposed. It was not possible. They had been painfully careful. That was when he noticed television cameras, reporters, and microphones all around them. To one side, he recognized several reporters from Fox News, CNN, MSNBC, CBS, NBC, ABC. It was a media circus.
“We are at the Oscar Davis museum in New Jersey. Harold Steinwood, one of the founders of Live-Life-Long, has been arrested by the FBI for grand theft larceny and manufacturing and distributing schedule two, three, and four substances.” The reporter paused for a moment. “We also have footage of his office in Aspen being raided by the FBI.”
Aspen
The national networks switched to the local channels in Aspen to report the breaking news as cameras tracked men in SWAT uniforms storming the office of Live-Life-Long while the receptionist and nurse shrieked in terror. Then the television station showed what was happening at Steinwood’s garage.
The local newscaster chimed in, saying, “Yes, Anthony, we are now in front of Harold Steinwood’s home, where the FBI has surrounded the garage and is removing five stolen high-end sports cars.”
London
Every radio station and TV channel interrupted its regular programming for a bulletin. “This just in. The offices of Live-Life-Long here and in the United States have been raided by the FBI in the US and Scotland Yard here. Dr. Julian Marcus, who operated the office in London, was found severely beaten in an alley and was taken to a hospital. Police are trying to ascertain if the doctor’s beating and the drug raid are connected. His partners in the US, Dr. Harold Steinwood of Aspen and Dr. Raymond Corbett of New York, have been taken into custody, and all Live-Life-Long property has been seized, including a large parcel of land in the state of Michigan, where, it appears, there is a manufacturing plant for the drugs the doctors allegedly prescribed to their patients. More on that later.”
Michigan
“This is Greg Langley from FOX Two Detroit. We’re here in a rural area outside Detroit, where, as you can see, FBI helicopters are overhead and SWAT teams are on the ground.
“This remote area houses a seemingly abandoned warehouse, which appears not to be abandoned at all. Sources say that the building was being used as a pill mill to manufacture drugs for the Live-Life-Long organization. Other sources have reported that the three offices of Live-Life-Long have also been raided, and two of the alleged perpetrators, Harold Steinwood of Aspen and Raymond Corbett of New York, have been taken into custody. Julian Marcus of London has been found severely beaten and was taken to a hospital. We’ll be following this story tonight on our nightly news.”
Pinewood
Screams and howls of laughter echoed off the walls in the war room, and there were fist pumps, high fives, hugs, and some tears.
Myra stood with her arm around Annie. “That was quite a spectacle. Everyone and everything getting busted across televisions everywhere.”
“It’s all in the timing.” Annie chuckled. “Almost every newspaper in the country is going to run the headline BITTER PILL. But we now have to put the second phase into action.”
“Yes, we do,” Charles added. “We are getting the information from all law enforcement agencies as to where and when they are going to transfer the prisoners.”
“Let’s not forget Interpol,” Fergus reminded them. “When the original painting is returned to France, there will be a reward. Do we have a plan for that, and who will get the money?”
Myra looked at Annie, who in turn looked at Fergus. “When don’t we have a plan?”
More laughter ensued.
“We have a plan for everything!”
Nikki spoke up. “As I mentioned a few days ago, Lizzie and I were able to find most of the Live-Life-Long patients, and we are about to launch a class-action suit against the individual men and their assets.”
“But they were seized, right?” Yoko asked.
Charles spoke next. “We, as in us, and our contacts can unfreeze them, but we want to wait until the snatch is complete.”
“I must confess, I have what one could call contraband.” Annie plunked several velvet bags on the conference table. It was the real jewelry from Norma’s safe. “I think if we pool all the resources, we should have a nice sum to divide up among the families. There will be the reward from the motorcars and the reward from the painting.”
“How do we determine who gets the reward money?” Kathryn asked.
“We gave the name of Marjorie Brewster’s sister to the FBI for blowing the whistle on Steinwood’s garage,” Charles explained. “She’ll get that reward money for the recovery of the stolen cars from the various insurance companies. Steinwood’s real cars will be auctioned by Christie’s, and the money will go into the kitty.”
“And Victor will get commissions on those.” Annie folded her arms and nodded.
Charles added, “There is also a reward for blowing the whistle on the Michigan property. That, too, will be added to the fund.”
“What do we do about the painting?” one of the sisters asked.
“Maggie is going to call Lorraine Thompson’s daughter and instruct her to go to the local flea market in Huntington on Saturday. She is to look for booth one-twenty-nine, where she will ask for Rudy. Rudy will sell her the Chagall for twenty-five dollars. She’ll take the painting home, and Mrs. Spencer from MoMA will pay her a visit. Mrs. Spencer will authenticate the painting and arrange for it to be returned to France. France will give Lorraine’s daughter the reward money.”
“Whatever is left, such as the doctors’ homes and personal property, will be part of the class-action suit against each individual. It is a civil suit, so we don’t have to wait for convictions,” Nikki added. “We just need to prove harm and ask for damages. Their attorneys will represent them at the hearing. That is, if their attorneys will work pro bono!”
“I’m not too sure about Marcus. I think we are holding the only assets he had. The wife was like a sponge, soaking up his earnings, and the drugs took care of the rest.” Annie patted the bags. “But we have this. Speaking of Marcus, any word on him?”
Fergus tapped a few keys on his laptop. “Seems like he’s going to be in traction for several months. Several major bones were broken. If he ever recovers, he’ll have a serious limp. And all his teeth were knocked out.”
“I don’t think we could have done a better job,” Annie exclaimed. “Maybe we should keep Franny on retainer,” she said jokingly.
“Okay, ladies.” Myra reeled everyone in. “We need to move to the next stage. Charles? Fergus? Are the arrangements made?”
“Yes. The transfers are day after tomorrow. The rooms are ready,” Charles replied.
* * *
The next morning, the whole gang met for breakfast. This time it was a big fry-up. Everyone fixed a plate and took a seat at the long kitchen table. Myra asked Nikki to open her laptop and Skype Charlotte. The singsong theme played as Charlotte’s face came into view. She was howling with laughter as everyone waved at the screen.
Maggie held her overloaded plate up to the camera. “Sorry you’re missing this. So I’ll eat for both of us!”
Everyone laughed, and the dogs barked their opinion of the whole matter.
Charlotte started. “I am at a loss for words. Imagine. A writer. No words. That could put me permanently out of business! How on earth? What in the world?” Charlotte was referring to the breaking news, which in the UK was already old news, about Live-Life-Long.
The sisters doubled over with laughter. Maggie almost spit out her eggs. The hilarity lasted a couple of minutes, as half of them wiped tears from their face. Maggie wiped her chin.
Myra was the first one to speak. “My dear friend Charlotte. Do you realize what a hero you are?”
“Me? But you people did everything!” Charlotte protested.
“Think about it,” Myra said. “You came to me with a very personal problem. Something that was embarrassing, humiliating, and very costly. Because you had the courage to speak up, we were able to take down three despicable men who preyed on vulnerable women and to bust a pill mill that was also supplying drugs to teenagers.”
Charlotte blushed. “Since you put it that way. Tell me, what is going to happen to the doctors now?”
They all looked at each other, then back at the camera, and shrugged.
“Let’s just say karma is a bitch. Especially when you mess with our friends.”
Charles leaned in. “Please rest assured. They won’t be harming anyone ever again.”
A robust “Amen!” came from the group.
Nikki spoke up next. “Charlotte, we are going to start a class-action suit against their holdings. It’s a civil suit. As long as we can show damages, the judge will most likely rule in our favor. It might take a while, but I don’t think any of the doctors will object.”
Fergus eyed Charles. Nope. They certainly wouldn’t be around to object. And lawyers wanted to get paid, which they wouldn’t. And since it would be a civil action lawsuit, there would be no court-appointed attorney or public defender. “According to our calculations, their entire net worth is around thirty million.”
Charlotte gasped. “Thirty million? That much?”
“Yes. We have been able to find a hundred and sixty-seven of their previous patients. Victims. That sum would probably be enough for everyone to be reimbursed,” Nikki added.
“The insurance company is going to pay Marjorie Brewster’s family a reward for the return of the stolen cars. It’s around four hundred thousand dollars. That should help her recovery. Speaking of which, she has turned a corner and is able to smile and acknowledge people in the room. They’re hopeful she will continue to improve,” Myra said.
“My head is spinning.” Charlotte chuckled. “What about the diamonds?”
“We’re throwing those into the overall fund,” Annie said. “The other piece of good news is that Norma Marcus’s check for the kennel club cleared before they froze the account!”
Everyone applauded, and the pups howled their approval.
After a bit more conversation, they signed off, but not before promising to speak again in a few days.