The Billionaire Murders

by Kevin Donovan

  Barry responds a minute later. “Re more funds for Hour, we cannot discuss that until we evaluate our situation after the Canadian and US import bans are lifted,” referring to an issue affecting Apotex. “Will be high priority as soon as we are able to do so.”

  As to Jonathon’s criticisms of D’Angelo, Barry says he cannot debate the matter. “It is simply a judgment call, implicitly based on intuition as to the expectations.” He ignores the suggestion that his son and an outsider take up a role in succession planning. Later in the email correspondence, Barry, as earlier noted, sends Jonathon a trailer for D’Angelo’s latest movie, telling his son that there is a plan for a fifth movie but there will be strings attached. “I have told [D’Angelo] that we cannot proceed unless and until I am satisfied that the revenues from the first 4 will substantially exceed cost.” In what must have further inflamed the relationship between father and son, Barry adds that he likes D’Angelo’s business model because he can make a movie for under $1 million and half of that money would come back from the government in grants. “Absurd as it may seem to you, I believe that [D’Angelo] has a talent to produce films with value in excess of cost…major actors in Hollywood take him seriously, as you can see.” Barry then tells his son that his decisions will likely make Jonathon “a multi-billionaire.” As for his association with D’Angelo, Sherman describes it as an issue that he is dealing with. “While you may think that what to do is obvious, I do not.” For his part, D’Angelo told me that it “is ridiculous to say [Barry Sherman] gave me $250 million. That is absolutely, unequivocally wrong.” D’Angelo adds, “Barry understood exactly what our plan was. The plan was to make one movie that would explode.”

  Within days, Jonathon wrote an email to his three sisters, according to three people who saw the email at the time and discussed its contents with Barry Sherman. The subject line of the email referred to his sisters as fellow shareholders. In the email, Jonathon suggested that their father’s actions were jeopardizing their inheritance. He referred to Barry as the founder, a reference to his founding of generic drug giant Apotex, and argued that there was precedence for removing or overturning a founder. Jonathon, say people who saw the email, was looking for support from his sisters, but the sisters either did not acknowledge the email or refused to go along with the plan. One of them shared the email with their father, who in turn discussed or shared its contents with others, including Joel Ulster and Jack Kay. Both men said that Sherman laughed it off. One person with knowledge of the situation recalled Sherman’s remark: “There goes Jonathon, attempting a palace coup.” Another who discussed it with Sherman said the Apotex founder said, “Jonathon is talking with his siblings and he wants me declared incompetent and locked up.” While this incident was jarring to Barry Sherman’s close friends, some have suggested that in the world of the very wealthy, it is not unusual for the younger generation to be vocal about how their inheritances are being handled. In Toronto in recent years, there have been at least two high-profile disputes over how the riches created by a patriarch should be spent, and who is the best person to act as steward of that wealth. In both those cases—the Stronach and the Sorbara families—the disputes eventually spilled over into the courts.

  Having someone declared incompetent is not easy, and would involve having an expert conduct a capacity assessment to determine if the person was no longer capable of making financial decisions. The next step would be to take a finding of incompetence to a special provincial board, which would make a determination, which would then be appealable to a court. The attorney general ministry in Ontario, which governs the process, has made it clear that “bad decisions” alone are not sufficient to have a person declared incompetent. Nothing seems to have come of Jonathon’s suggestion to his sisters.

  It appears no money was advanced to Green Storage or any of Jonathon and Adam Paulin’s other ventures following the dustup between Jonathon and his father in 2015. Three people with knowledge of Barry’s approach to Jonathon’s business during this period say that the elder Sherman told Jonathon that if he wanted to proceed with his expansion plans, he should seek out conventional financing from a bank. It is of interest to note that in the many multi-million dollar deals that Jonathon and other siblings negotiated over the years, conventional financing appears never to have been used. Jonathon, sources told me, did not follow this advice. The battles between father and son had a cycle. A blow up over money would cause an icy standoff, followed by a thaw after some months. That happened in this case. In 2016, $5 million was advanced from the Sherman money at Hour Holdings to purchase a storage company in Orillia. In April 2017, Sherman money funded a $50-million loan for Green Storage to purchase a major storage operation at the east end of Toronto’s downtown waterfront. There were no more storage-related loans in 2017, but in September of that year Hour Holdings advanced $1.5 million for the construction of a cottage owned by Jonathon and Adam Paulin, overlooking the small marina on Chandos Lake. In early 2019, Hour Holdings registered a $25-million loan on title following the purchase of a small storage facility in Scarborough, east of Toronto.

  FOURTEEN

  THE DAY OF

  Wednesday, December 13

  BARRY SHERMAN WAS LYING ON HIS BACK on his bedroom floor. Stretching.

  “I will pay you not to come here,” he said, looking up at the very fit, dark-haired woman standing over him.

  “Barry, you have to do your exercises. Let’s do the lat pull-down next,” said Denise Gold, the family friend and personal trainer who visited the Shermans twice a week. The Shermans had a large master suite on the second floor of their Old Colony Road house, and at one end was a small home gym.

  Sherman got slowly to his feet and walked to an exercise machine that was thirty years old, purchased when the house was built. The khaki golf shorts he was wearing were worn and creased. He checked his watch: 9 A.M. Thirty minutes left in his personal training session.

  “Denise, I’m too old. I am going to die anyway. What’s the point?” Sherman sat on the vinyl-covered bench of the machine, reached up his arms, and, using as light a weight as he could get away with under Gold’s sharp gaze, began to gently pull the bar down.

  “Barry, do this for Honey.”

  Sherman checked his watch again. Thirty seconds had passed. “How is Bobby?”

  Gold had trained Barry and Honey for several years. She also trained Fred and Bryna Steiner, who had referred her to the Shermans. Bobby was her dog, and Barry, who was not usually a pet lover, took an inordinate interest in hearing about the little Morkie, a cross between a Yorkshire terrier and a Maltese. “What did she do today?”

  Gold liked that Sherman asked about her dog, but she knew it was just a delaying tactic. She ignored the question and asked her client to start doing some dumbbell curls. Normally, she trained with latex bands that she would hook around Sherman’s wrists to provide tension during movements, but today she decided to skip them and just use weights. Gold watched as Barry did his “old man walk” to a rack of dumbbells she had retrieved from the basement the previous week. With the need for the house to be constantly ready for showings, they had been stuffed in a corner of the cavernous furnace room down the hall from the lap pool and garage. Both Barry and Honey had a habit of piling chairs and counters with newspapers, mail, and clothing, and the realtors who had the listing had an ongoing battle to keep the home tidy for prospective buyers. Down on the basement level, which included the six-car garage, the lap pool and sauna, and the spacious furnace room, it had struck the trainer that someone could be in one of these rarely used spaces and the residents of the home would be completely unaware.

  “This is really dumb,” Barry said, very slowly lifting a light weight. Gold encouraged him to put some muscle into it, and they chuckled when she remarked, “Not many people have the sort of power over you that I do, Barry.” Some days, when she trained Sherman, he was completely silent. That day, he was chatty. Looking ar
ound the bedroom suite, taking in the place he and Honey had custom built and lived in for three decades, Sherman said, “This place is worth twelve million dollars. It is crazy what it’s listed for: six point nine million. That’s insane. I don’t even know why we have to move.”

  Gold had arrived just before 8:30 A.M. She entered through the side door on the right of the house. There was a wall that partially obstructed the view of the side entrance from the street. Honey’s light gold Lexus SUV was parked near it. The Shermans never used the front door for regular comings and goings. The newspaper was delivered at the front of the house, though, and part of Barry’s morning ritual was to open the front door, bring in the paper, and sit in the kitchen and read, sometimes even during the first part of the training session. The arrangement Gold and Honey had worked out was that she trained Barry from 8:30 to 9:30, Monday and Wednesday, unless he had a meeting or a hearing in court. Honey was up next for two hours. That morning, the first fifteen minutes of Gold’s time with Barry, as always, involved his breakfast. Frosted Flakes with milk, a few Ritz Crackers with peanut butter, one slice of processed cheese, and he was ready to go. It was all part of Barry’s attempt to shorten his workout time. Gold, extremely toned and health-conscious, had long ago given up trying to change the diet of either of the Shermans. On the fitness side, she did the best she could with Barry, a seventy-five-year-old captain of industry who trained only to please his wife. She put the breakfast food away and they headed upstairs. Along with some light weights, Gold had Sherman do walking lunges around a “track” she had designated on the second floor.

  At precisely 9:30, Barry looked at Gold. “Is that enough? Is it over?” he asked.

  Gold released him, and Sherman headed off to shower and get dressed for work. He kept his clothes in another room upstairs. Honey came into the master suite and began her session. Twenty minutes later, when Honey was doing some active stretching lying on the floor, Barry walked in, ready to head for Apotex. Gold noticed how quickly he walked when he was not trying to get out of exercising. She often felt Sherman was showing off for his wife when he did this. Around his waist was a leather belt Honey had given him, one of two cheap belts she had purchased recently—on sale for $9.99 each—at Canadian Tire. One was a thirty-four-inch belt, the other a thirty-six-inch belt. For weeks, the two identical belts had remained on a padded bench in the room, along with several piles of shirts and sweaters. Today, he had decided to wear one of them.

  “Barry, that’s too tight for you,” Honey said from the floor.

  “It’s perfect,” he replied. The belt was cinched tight at hip level, his ample stomach protruding over the leather.

  Honey got up and kissed him on the cheek. As her husband turned to leave, Honey said, “Barry?”

  He looked at his wife, nodded, and gave his trainer a peck on the cheek.

  “I’ll see you at the office at five,” Honey said. The couple had a meeting in an Apotex boardroom with the architects designing their new home in Forest Hill.

  Sherman went downstairs and drove off in his convertible Mustang GT. It was just after 10 A.M. His day’s schedule included an afternoon meeting with Jeremy Desai to deal with a pressing Apotex issue. Since Jack Kay was away in New York with his wife at a concert, he would check in with executive assistant Joanne Mauro to see what else needed his attention.

  Kay had bought the concert tickets in June, when he, Sherman, and the thalassemia researchers were being honoured at the Cooley’s Anemia Foundation, in New York, for their work developing Ferriprox and bringing it to market. Though the controversial drug had its detractors in the research world, including Nancy Olivieri, the foundation said its members considered it a lifesaver. Foundation board member Maria Hadjidemetriou, a New York City realtor and a thalassemia patient, thanked Sherman and the researchers at the event. “Ferriprox is a miracle drug,” she said. “It saved my life. It removed the lethal levels of iron from my heart.” After the speeches lauding Sherman for his “leadership” and the researchers for developing the product, there was a charity auction to raise funds. Honey had bid on tickets to see Andrea Bocelli, the Italian tenor. She encouraged Jack Kay to bid too, and when Kay bid a bit higher, she stopped. As a result, Kay and his wife had gone to New York that day to see the production the following night.

  Denise Gold had two hours with Honey, who, unlike Barry, was very focused on her session. “I will never give up,” Honey said, anytime Gold suggested her client take it a bit easier. When Gold first started coming to the Shermans, she had often told Honey that playing five games of golf a week was not the best exercise for someone who had so many physical ailments. Today, she concentrated on improving Honey’s mobility, loosening her joints, helping her rehabilitate the replaced shoulder. Honey was so sore, it was difficult for her even to put both arms behind her back. She was having a hard time holding just a one- or two-pound weight, but she gritted her teeth and powered through. A physiotherapist had given Honey a series of light exercises, and Gold helped her keep on task. Gold had long ago learned to follow Honey’s cue: assist her, but do not tell her what to do.

  In the same way that Barry Sherman never wilted before a legal battle, Honey Sherman refused to give in to her arthritis and other infirmities. “She challenged herself all the time,” Gold says. In 2010, a time when she was having difficulty walking some days, Honey entered a Dancing with the Stars–style competition to raise money for the Baycrest Foundation in Toronto. She hired Russian-born Toronto dance instructor Michael Zaslavskiy. A promotional video shows Honey explaining her plan. “I am stepping out of my comfort zone, but I am willing to work hard to try not to fall flat on my face. My husband thinks I am nuts for doing this.” The video shows Honey practising dance moves in the months leading up to the competition, including while on a visit to the Great Wall of China. “That which doesn’t make you vomit makes you stronger,” she says in the video. Zaslavskiy, seen in the video putting Honey through some fairly strenuous dance moves, smiles, wipes his brow, and says, “Was a good workout. She even make me sweat.” Honey and her dance-instructor partner took top honours at the gala with a smooth number that was a mixture of swing dancing and jive. In another dance competition she took part in, this one with Toronto businessman David Cynamon as her partner, they dressed up in full costume as “Honey and Cher.”

  As they often did during the morning workout at 50 Old Colony, the two women chit-chatted throughout the session. One of Honey’s pet peeves, which she often brought up with Gold, was how long she had to wait to see the various doctors who treated her. One of the incongruities Gold had noticed about Honey was that she often waited longer than people she spoke up for. When friends—Gold was one of them—needed to get treatment for a family member, Honey or Barry would make a phone call and doors would open. In Gold’s case, her sister’s husband had been terminally ill some years back, and the family hoped to get him into Baycrest’s palliative care ward. The waiting list was long. But once a volunteer and major donor got involved, the man was in a palliative bed thirty-six hours later. When Gold’s daughter wanted to go on a special ten-day educational trip called Birthright Israel, which seeks to connect young Jewish adults with Israel and their Jewish identity, no spaces were available. Honey stepped in, and Gold’s daughter was given an extra spot. “They were just giving, wonderful people,” Gold says.

  Like her husband, Honey did not wear workout attire commensurate with her wealth. She wore an old pair of workout shorts she had owned since moving into Old Colony Road in the late 1980s. When there was a hole in the seat of the pants, she took it to a seamstress in the neighbourhood for repairs. “What’s wrong, they’re perfect!” Honey said when Gold suggested she get a new pair.

  They had become good friends over the years, but Gold knew she was not on Honey’s “A or B list.” Still, they had a real connection and at times they would halt in the middle of a session and head off to rummage through Honey’s closets. It b
oggled Gold’s mind that the woman who wore a tattered pair of workout shorts had closets filled with multiple copies of designer jackets worth thousands of dollars, all purchased on sale, many never worn. There was a hoarder mentality about Honey, perhaps stemming from her upbringing.

  When the pain became too much for Honey during a session, she paused, went to her night table, and got an unlabelled bottle of pills. Inside was an assortment of pills of different colours, all generic. Honey would shake out two that would help, take them with water, and return to the workout.