The scandal had tarnished the golden couple and hit them hard financially. All of Danny’s nursing homes were subjected to new scrutiny. The fines and enforced regulations turned their cash cow into a financial albatross. The lavish lifestyle to which Eva and Danny had grown accustomed was suddenly in danger of vanishing. That was about as acceptable to Eva as being portrayed as Mother Whistler.
Eva’s forebears hadn’t gotten rich following the law; they’d greatly prospered by violating it. Given her financial straits, Eva made the decision to get back in the old family business in an updated way. While nowadays many of her relatives dressed well and no longer spoke with an Appalachian twang, she still had plenty of kin who were part of the so-called Hillbilly Mafia. Controlling that mountainous turf hadn’t been easy when they’d plied their trade as bootleggers. It had required the work of a tough, ruthless family. And now there was a new moonshine in town.
To a large degree, the old network was still in place. Eva knew there was no need to be directly involved in the opioid trade—that was too ham-handed and too risky—but there were other ways to exploit the opioid tragedy that could make her rich beyond reproach. It was Eva’s dream to be like the Koch brothers, able to finance one public broadcasting series after another and engender all sorts of goodwill. She knew that by paying off the right people, a predatory robber baron could be magically transformed into a philanthropist. That was her goal . . . and her dream.
Eva’s hillbilly kin had once created a vast moonshine distribution network, and it had never completely gone away. Over the years, her relatives had updated its inventory and used its trade routes to distribute meth, crack, molly, and smack. When Eva reached out to her kin, they proved receptive to her ideas. Luckily for her, she was blood. That gave her an entrée she would not otherwise have had. Outsiders would not have been afforded the trust given to her. Eva’s relatives were receptive to her ideas about how to best deliver opioids nationwide. The family ramped up its “drive line circuit” between Miami and Chicago—stopping at every pill mill and corrupt pharmacy to buy vikes, oxy, and China Girl—fentanyl. Eva got her cut of the profits by providing her family inside information about law enforcement activities in West Virginia. Her protection allowed them to operate virtually unhindered throughout the state. Best of all, Eva didn’t have anything to do with the drugs. Her family rewarded her assistance by “selling” her huge tracts of land for pennies on the dollar. No money ever changed hands. As a further buffer, the property deeds were “negotiated” between her husband and the landowners.
The ends would justify the means. You needed to crack a few eggs to make an omelet—Eva was convinced of that. And every farmer knows you need manure to grow great crops. Yes, the ends would justify the means. Eva would become a patroness of the arts. She would create schools to help the needy. In time she could become the Eva of West Virginia, much like the Eva of Argentina.
The money that was coming in was laundered not only through real estate dealings but through Eva’s “Killer B” strategy that involved buying, blight, and bulldozing. They targeted businesses that were struggling in areas hit hard by the opioid epidemic. Danny was the front man. All he had to do was dangle the words economic redevelopment to find plenty of takers in hard-hit cities and counties. He worked with government entities willing to condemn properties. It was no coincidence that Danny was often the only person bidding on the blighted property at auction. The bulldozing typically began before the ink dried; once the areas started to recover, the plan was to sell the properties for ten times what they’d paid. What was even better was that laundered money was paying for everything.
At Eva’s urging, Danny was also branching out from skilled nursing facilities by setting up drug rehab treatment programs all over West Virginia. These facilities were often erected on the same sites Danny had purchased at condemnation auctions. Vast sums of individual, state, and federal money were being spent on expensive doses of Suboxone, Naltrexone, and methadone, and Danny’s staff knew just how to maximize their billing. You were perceived as a good guy, and all the while you were making barrels of money.
Despite her frustrations with Danny, for the most part Eva knew that she and her husband made a good team. With her job as a public guardian, no one was looking over their shoulders, but she didn’t want to be lulled into a false sense of security. On a daily basis Eva felt the need to warn Danny that loose lips sink ships. The man whose shortcuts had once almost ruined them financially seemed to have forgotten the past. Danny now strutted about like he was John D. Rockefeller. And even though he was running a rigged game, Danny still seemed to enjoy cutting corners. Whenever she caught him in one of his little schemes, Eva would always lecture him not to kill the golden goose. He acted contrite, but Eva wasn’t sure he was listening.
Empire building wasn’t easy, but Eva wanted to make her mark as the kind of person who turned dreams into reality, bringing museums and parks to West Virginia communities. One day there would be buildings named after her.
Mother Whistler could never accomplish that, but Eva Whistler could.
14
SPEAKER FOR THE DEAD
Nick “Deke” Deketomis was used to sitting on the plaintiff’s side of the courtroom, but for this hearing he was working on the defendant’s side. Seated next to Deke was Paul Vogel, and next to him was Jake Rutledge. Though the young lawyer was trying to hide his butterflies, Jake wasn’t quite succeeding. For the third time in the last minute, Deke noticed him checking the time on his watch. Deke caught Jake’s eye and gave him a confident smile, aiming for a look that said, “I’ve got this.” Jake smiled back.
It wasn’t that Deke didn’t feel some of those same butterflies. This was a big day for their young case, and they were going up against heavy artillery. The attorneys general for the states of West Virginia and Ohio were trying to derail everything they’d done. It was going to be Deke’s job to fight city hall—or state hall, as the case might be.
For Deke, this hearing was showtime. He didn’t consider himself an actor, but he knew the importance of delivering lines so that his message was clearly heard and understood.
He casually stretched, and with one long tilt of his head took a measure of those assembled in the main courtroom of the Robert
108 C. Byrd Courthouse in Charleston, West Virginia. The gallery was almost full and included, he was glad to see, members of the media. Deke had wanted the Fourth Estate present; to his thinking, too many important cases were never reported to the public, resulting in the U.S. citizenry having no idea how their rights were gradually being eroded. On the other side of the courtroom, sitting directly behind the plaintiff’s table, were Nathan Ailes and his legal team. Deke wished he was surprised by the sight, but he wasn’t. There had been a time when influence peddling was confined to back rooms; nowadays the corporate shills saw no need to stay hidden from sight.
Sitting at the plaintiff’s table were the two state attorneys general who were targeting Jake’s case. Richard Monger—“Dick” to his friends—was the West Virginia AG. Next to him was Ralph Richards, Ohio’s attorney general.
In private, Deke referred to them as the “two Dicks.” Monger was older and heavier and had less hair than the younger Richards, and yet there was something about the two men Deke found similar. It took him a few moments to figure out their common denominator: both men were smug. At the moment, each of them was scanning his phone for messages even though the bailiff had already requested that all electronic devices be turned off. By definition, attorneys general were supposed to be the “people’s lawyers” for the citizens of their states. It wouldn’t surprise him if Nathan Ailes and his team had prepared all the paperwork and done everything but file the pleadings on behalf of the two attorneys general.
Judge Willard Perry entered the courtroom, and even before the football player–size bailiff had a chance to call out “All rise,” Deke and his team were on their feet. The two Dicks, who had to turn off their phones and p
ut them away, were the last to stand. Deke was sure Judge Perry noticed their leisurely ways; the bailiff certainly did. Deke caught his askance look at Monger and guessed that the AG was not highly regarded within this courtroom. Monger had a reputation as being strong on law and order, but Deke suspected that was more the result of his being strong on public relations than anything else.
After Judge Perry sat down, the bailiff called out, “You may be seated.”
The two Dicks were among the first to sit.
Judge Perry wasn’t one for wasting time. He lowered his blackrimmed glasses halfway down his nose, which made his dark eyes look as if they were being magnified, and stared at Monger. Deke was glad he wasn’t the focus of those orbs.
“Mr. Monger,” said the judge, “after reading the motion that you and Mr. Richards filed on behalf of the states of West Virginia and Ohio, I am left to believe your primary conclusion is that I have wasted hundreds of hours of my time paying attention to the opioid litigation that has been in front of me for months. That being the case, I’d like to hear a concise argument vis-à-vis this waste of taxpayer money.”
The judge’s sarcastic West Virginia French, combined with his baleful demeanor, seemed to throw off both Dicks. Monger started fumbling through some notes, as if hoping to find an answer there.
“Mr. Monger?” asked the judge, motioning for him to come up and speak at the podium. When he didn’t immediately get a response, he turned to the man next to Monger. “Mr. Richards?” he asked hopefully.
Monger got to his feet and slowly approached the podium. Once there, he wiped away an imaginary wrinkle in his suit and made a point of standing up straight. Deke always had his researchers compile a profile of his opponents. Apparently, Monger’s habit of hunching, combined with his bald head and aquiline nose, had caught the attention of the editorial cartoonist for the Herald-Dispatch, who liked to portray Monger as a hungry-looking vulture. Rumor had it that Monger hated the portrayal.
“Your Honor,” Monger said, “I hope you were not under the misapprehension that either my office or that of the attorney general of the state of Ohio believes you’ve wasted your time on this case, or any case. That was certainly not our intent. As you can see in the paperwork you have been provided, the pleadings and arguments filed in each of our states are virtually identical. Because the legal grounds for dismissal is first being heard here in West Virginia pleadings, it was determined that I would be making arguments on behalf of both Ohio and West Virginia. It is our hope that by doing such, we will expedite this proceeding.”
A clearly unimpressed Judge Perry said, “The court thanks you for that consideration, Mr. Monger.”
Monger winced at the judge’s address. Both state attorneys general had been in office long enough to have become accustomed to being addressed as “Mr. Attorney General.” Stripping Monger of his title, thought Deke, was akin to removing his armor. When Deke had his chance, he would strip him down even further.
“And since you seem to be so worried about my wasting time,” said the judge, “let’s cut to the chase. I’ve carefully read all the pleadings, and there are only two arguments I would like you to elaborate upon.
“In your motion, you contended that this case should not be allowed to go forward, as some six years ago the states of both Ohio and West Virginia came to a settlement agreement with the manufacturers of opioids. It is your assertion that this settlement with those manufacturers also covered the distribution companies, all the way up to the present day. I’d like to hear the legal grounds for your position.”
As the judge spoke, Deke watched Monger’s straight posture lose some of its starch. The man’s shoulders began hunching forward, and his head lowered; Deke wondered if he was the only one seeing the vulture transformation.
Judge Perry continued speaking: “The second argument I’d like you to address is your contention that your office and that of Mr. Richards have the exclusive right to bring actions such as this one on behalf of Ohio and West Virginia citizens. Some might say that smacks of Big Brother deciding what is best for everyone else. What is the basis of your assertion that no one besides the attorney general’s office has the right to bring this kind of legal action?”
The judge’s two questions, Deke noticed, seemed to have upset the hornet’s nest in the form of Nathan Ailes, his team of three attorneys, and their two paralegals. It was almost as if the judge were presiding over a footrace and had shouted, “Go!” There were searches being conducted on laptops, and frenzied writing was taking place, with notes being hurriedly passed along to Ailes.
While all this was occurring, Monger was stalling for time. Making a pretense of establishing clarity, he was rephrasing the questions that had been asked of him.
Deke leaned in toward Jake and Paul and whispered, “The ventriloquist’s dummy is waiting for the ventriloquist.” His eyes slid from Monger to Ailes. Ailes finished what he was writing and surreptitiously passed Richards a note.
“Is that kind of communication allowed?” Jake whispered.
“Whether it is or isn’t,” said Deke, “I suspect Ailes wrote every word in the pleadings and argument, and I don’t doubt the judge is now thinking the same thing.”
Richards read the note, even as Monger began rehashing the terms of the settlement that had taken place between seven state attorneys general and a group of opioid manufacturers six years earlier.
“Judge,” said Monger, “although some would have you believe that the state of West Virginia turned a blind eye to the opioid problem, nothing could be further from the truth. Years ago, the attorney general’s office began studying the situation. We determined that the manufacturers and distributors of opioids recognized that, through no fault of their own, their products were being diverted from legitimate avenues of prescription and into so-called pill mills. These clinics, which popped up solely for the purpose of distributing narcotics and opioids, were prevalent not only in West Virginia and Ohio, but also in five other mostly southern states. Doctors saw as many as sixty patients a day, and—”
As Monger continued to speak, Judge Perry’s glasses fell ever farther down his nose. Deke had been coached by Paul and Jake that the judge’s displeasure could usually be read in his eyewear. Monger apparently didn’t know that.
“You seem to have forgotten what I wanted you to elaborate upon, Mr. Monger,” interrupted the judge. “I did not ask you to rehash the opioid epidemic.”
While Judge Perry reiterated his questions, speaking slowly and simply, Monger was forced to stand there like a schoolboy being lectured by his teacher. When the judge concluded, Monger shot a look back toward his counsel table. Both Richards and Ailes nodded.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Monger. “I’ll answer your questions momentarily, but if it please the court, I’d like a quick consultation with Attorney General Richards.”
The judge nodded, and Monger hurriedly made his way to his table. He was handed a set of notes that he quickly reviewed. After a rushed conversation with Richards and Ailes, he returned to the podium.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” he said. “As you are aware, six years ago there was a consortium of seven state attorneys general that took action on the opioid problem. We brought the opioid manufacturers to the table, and they agreed to pay a fine of twenty-five million dollars. As part of that settlement, they also agreed to better monitor the distribution of their drugs.”
“That twenty-five million dollars,” said Judge Perry, “was split among seven state attorneys general. Isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” said Monger. “And that’s why we don’t believe Mr. Rutledge’s case can go forward. We engaged in a final settlement with the same people Mr. Rutledge is now suing. Mr. Rutledge’s case purports to represent the interests of two counties, one in West Virginia and the other in Ohio. However, when we settled with the drug manufacturers, we agreed upon a release for the states, cities, and counties in each one of those seven states, including W
est Virginia and Ohio. It should also be noted that it was the position of all seven of the state attorneys general that we alone had the standing and authority to settle any and all claims on behalf of the counties and cities even without the signed releases of those entities. It is our contention that the precedent and case law in each one of those seven states clearly supports this position.”
Ailes was standing and whispering in Richards’s ear, all while his legal team continued to work feverishly at their laptops. Instead of ignoring what was going on, Deke made a point of incredulously staring at all the kibitzing taking place. Judge Perry joined suit and also stared down Ailes. After a few moments, the lawyer became aware of the scrutiny. He stopped talking, and under the judge’s eye, slunk back to his seat.
“Mr. Ailes,” said Judge Perry, “I was of the impression that this motion had been brought by Mr. Monger and Mr. Richards. Why is it, then, that I see you and your staff acting as if you are the ones who are conducting this hearing?”
Ailes stood. “I am sorry, Your Honor,” he said. “Because I had pertinent and important information in regard to your questions, I took it upon myself to try and pass on that information to the attorneys general.”
“I suppose I should be grateful that you didn’t choose to convey this information through the use of semaphore flags,” the judge said.
“Once again,” said Ailes, “my apologies.”
The judge nodded but still looked skeptical. “In the interest of sparing this court any other theatrics, Mr. Ailes, you should know that I was just about to ask Mr. Monger if he could identify the counties and the cities in each one of those seven states where most of the opioids were sold. I will also be asking him to comment on the estimated loss of money experienced by each of those counties and cities because of increased costs for emergency medical services, law enforcement, and the resources necessary to operate county hospitals. In the hopes it will stave off any more note passing and conversations, I’m going to give you an opportunity right now to confer with Mr. Richards and Mr. Monger. Does that work for you?”
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