The Collectibles

by James J. Kaufman

  “In connection with the authorization from Preston and Wilson Holdings, I am representing him and the company only with respect to a strategic turnaround settlement plan. It’s a limited engagement, Casey. In and out. Either it will work or it won’t. If it won’t, you won’t be any worse off. If the bank agrees to undertake my plan, it will be up to you and your lawyers to follow through, do the transactional work. I’m not doing any litigation and my representation does not include any matters relating to criminal conduct or exposure. My authorizations will contain those disclaimers.

  “Next, there are the consents, which permit me to obtain the information I need from the manufacturers, the banks, and anyone else who has information. Are you with me, Casey?”

  “Yes, sir,” Casey said.

  “In addition to the consents, I would like you and Preston to write to Wilson Holdings’ primary counsel . . . ”

  “Whitcock, Stevenson, Brookfield, Berry and Brown,” Casey interrupted. “Andrew Brookfield is our main attorney there.”

  “I assume from what you and Preston told me in the mountains that Whitcock Stevenson has engaged in a thorough analysis of Wilson’s financial condition.”

  “That’s correct. They recommended Chapter 11 for Wilson Holdings and Chapter 7 for Preston and his wife.”

  “Did they cause an operational study of Wilson’s dealerships to be undertaken? Did they do valuations of the dealerships and appraisals of the underlying real estate?”

  “Andrew didn’t mention anything about operational studies. I know there are appraisals of the real estate. I don’t know about valuations of the dealerships.”

  “Well, in any event, I would like a letter from you to Whitcock Stevenson, attention Mr. Brookfield, explaining to the firm that I am representing Wilson Holdings, all of its subsidiaries, and Preston in connection with a strategic turnaround plan, and that I would like full copies of all their work product relating to their review and assessment leading to their recommendations, together with a copy of all of those recommendations.”

  “Understood,” Casey said. “I will call Tom immediately and see that he has the letter. I’ll request the info ASAP.”

  “Thanks, Casey. Make it clear to Mr. Brookfield that we are dealing with an urgent situation here, and that I would like all of the material FedExed to me within one week.”

  “He’ll complain like hell, but I’ll see to it,” Casey said. “We paid those guys a fortune. It’s time they did something to help us besides advise us to go screw ourselves.”

  “I’ll call Mr. Brookfield as well, but I want him to have the letter before I talk with him. Now let’s go back to the criminal lawyers. I imagine they’ll advise Preston not to provide any more information than is absolutely necessary to the banks and/or the manufacturers. They will exercise legitimate concern about self-incrimination. Again, the stakes are high, because bank fraud – which they will explain – is a serious matter that, if proven, can have mandatory prison sentences of over twenty years. Upon learning that Preston intends to sign my authorizations and consents – which he should tell them and show them – they will no doubt raise hell and write disclaimer letters of their own, showing why this places Preston at risk, which it will. Life is full of choices.

  “On the real estate side, form of ownership, copies of the deeds, current appraisals, mortgages, amortization schedules, maps and surveys, liens, encroachments, aerial photos, leases, and the financials. Then organize all of this in a package. Are you getting this, Casey?”

  “I understand,” Casey said. “It’s a lot of detail. I’m not sure how much you really want given how much time there is and how long it will take to get it together.”

  “That’s why I’m calling you as well as writing,” Joe said. “Basically, I want everything. I realize this presents an immense burden, but that can’t matter. It’s the only way I can do what I need to do. When I say everything, I mean just that. You’ll see the list, but consider the list an outline. I want you to fill it all in, resolving any doubt as to whether to provide it in favor of yes. Simply, it’s full and complete disclosure.”

  “I get it,” Casey said. “I just don’t know if I can do it. I mean, I can do it, what I have or what’s in my control. I’m worried about the records and materials in the other stores. The external items, the appraisals and the materials from people outside the companies. I don’t know how fast I can get them to act.”

  “Casey, I don’t care what it takes. Just do it.”

  “Okay . . . Jesus,” Casey muttered. “I get the picture. On the personal side – current detailed financial statements for Preston and Marcia . . . ”

  “Yes,” Joe replied, “for all lenders for the last five years. On the businesses, P&L statements, balance sheets, audits, operating statements, tax returns, and all other financials.”

  “Got it.”

  “When you provide the operating statements for the dealerships, be sure to give me a copy of each statement you provided to the manufacturer.”

  “You also want the operating statement we sent to the bank?” Casey asked.

  “Casey, by now you must know I don’t want to screw around. If you’ve got a problem with operating statements, you make it real clear and easy for me. You send me the statements the way you sent them to the manufacturer, the way you sent them to the bank, and the way you provide them for yourself. If those three are different, then give me each operating statement side by side, showing the differences. The same level of detail for the floor-plan-checks, the titles, the Manufacturers’ Statement of Origin for each store. I want to know everything.”

  “When do you want all this?”

  “I would like it all in my office, in uniform white labeled boxes, bound and clearly identified, within one week, no matter what it takes. In the meantime, FedEx a list of all the creditors – names, addresses, and amounts owed. Separate the lenders and make a specific list of all the litigation. I am also faxing you a letter for Preston to type on his stationery to each of the banks and all of the plaintiffs in pending litigation, explaining that he and the companies have retained me as workout counsel and that I will be in touch with each of them within two weeks.”

  Neither Casey nor Joe said anything further for a while. Joe could sense Casey’s sweat over the phone.

  “Okay, Joe. That’s a lot. But I get it. I’ll do everything I can. Thank you for helping us.”

  “You’re welcome,” Joe said. “Casey, have Preston call me himself. I don’t want any wiggling on this, and I want to hear from him that he understands everything I’m doing and that he is fully on board.”

  “He’ll call you, Joe. He’ll call you right away.”

  Chapter 14

  Preston fumbled for his cell phone. “Casey, what’s up?”

  “Joe called to tell me what he wants and when he wants it. Really simple. He wants everything in nice, neat boxes, labeled, in his office in one week,” Casey said. “Five years of income tax returns, personal and business, operating statements, P&Ls, balance sheets, audits, all the real estate materials, financials . . . . He’s faxed me a detailed list.”

  “Okay, so give it to him,” Preston said.

  “Easy for you to say,” Casey mumbled. “But Hart wants documents from you – instruments for you to sign, consents, authorizations, letters to banks. And I’m going to need things from you also.”

  “What do you mean? I understand Joe needs consents, authorizations. All lawyers do. What are you going to need from me?”

  “First of all, Joe spent a lot of time explaining. Forget what all the lawyers do. These are different. I’m sending them over now. You need to read these, Preston. They are very specific. He’s only representing you and the companies . . . ”

  “What else is there?” Preston interrupted.

  “Well, there’s your wife. Joe talked about Marcia being represented by her
own lawyer.”

  “He said that? He’s saying Marcia has to get her own lawyer?” Preston was angry now.

  “He’s not telling you or her she has to get her own lawyer. He’s saying he’s not representing her, and it’s up to her. He said he’d leave that to you and Marcia, but he did make it clear that he thinks you should consult a criminal lawyer.”

  “Why? Does he think we’re in trouble on the criminal side? What did he say?”

  “Preston, listen to me a minute,” Casey said in as calm a voice as he could manage. “What Hart is saying is that the criminal thing is out there, that it’s an exposure, and I think the reason he wants you to go to a criminal lawyer is so you will be fully advised. He’s covering his ass, and he’s being very straightforward about it. You can’t blame him for that.”

  “I don’t blame him. Get to the point.”

  “Well, the point I inferred is that he’s going to tell the bank everything. And he says your criminal lawyers are not going to be very happy about that. In fact, he thinks they’re going to tell you not to do that, or else you’ll be incriminating yourself and the companies. So when they tell you all of that in writing, Joe wants you to sign off with him that they’ve told you all of that and that you still want Joe to go ahead, knowing that he’s going to throw a grenade in there.”

  “Good Lord.”

  “You want to hear the part about what I want now?”

  “Now you’re beginning to sound like Joe,” Preston said.

  “I can’t help it. I like the guy. You know right where you stand with him. He doesn’t pull any punches. You gotta love it.”

  “Okay, we’ll give Joe as much as we can. We’ll do our best. Now, what do you want, Casey?”

  “That won’t work this time, Preston,” Casey said, ignoring Preston’s question. “We’re in real trouble, and you know it. You either want to go along with Hart or you don’t. This is one guy you can’t screw around with. It’s not a do-our-best situation. He wants it all, and he wants it now, and he won’t do it any other way. I’m not going to be in the middle on this one. Either you’re there or you’re not.”

  “Jesus, Casey, where the hell did all this intensity come from? You’ve never been disloyal to me, and I’ve been damn good to you. You’re making me nervous.”

  “Join the club,” Casey said. “You asked me what I want. I want this mess to go away, now, and I want you to cooperate with Hart and keep your promise. You heard what your Harvard lawyer told you. Criminal fraud. Civil fraud. Bankruptcy. While I don’t get to see her much, working my ass off for you, I happen to have a wife. And three kids. You’ve treated me pretty well – I can drive any car I want, and I make a couple hundred thousand a year. But none of that will do me much good if you’re bankrupt or we’re in prison. You can joke about it, but I like Hart. He’s not like any of our other lawyers. It’s scary doing it his way, but it’s scary anyway. Like he says, life’s full of choices. I’ve made mine. I’m with him. Are you? It’s that simple.”

  “I’ll get back to you, Casey.” Preston hung up.

  Five minutes later, Preston called Casey back, “I’m with him, too. I’m on my way over. Give him everything. I’ll sign all the authorizations and consents, and I’ll call Joe and tell him the same thing.”

  “Good. Glad to hear it,” Casey said, relief evident in his voice. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. I forgot to tell you Joe wants you to call so he hears from you that you’re ‘fully on board,’ as he put it. See you soon.”

  Chapter 15: Harry

  Harry Klaskowski fidgeted in his overstuffed, blue leather chair, picked up his Perazzi MX-3 single-barrel shotgun, placed a Remington Premier Handicap Nitro 27 trap load in the barrel and pressed the muzzle tightly under the lower part of his chin. He placed his hand on the trigger, sweat pouring down his face.

  At least this way it will be over. Mom doesn’t care, and Dad will be a hell of a lot happier. No matter what I do for them, no matter what I do for anyone, it’s never enough. They’ll be better off, they’ll all be better off, and so will I. But a note, I should leave a note.

  Harry carefully lowered the gun and, leaning it against the chair, reached for the pad on the end table. He tried to write, but his hands were shaking too wildly. I’m even screwing this up, he thought. The hell with a note. I’ll call Joe and tell him what I’m doing. I owe it to him to tell him. Joe understands me. At least he never tried to change me. I think he actually likes me. One thing I do know, he’s the only one who ever gave a damn.

  Harry picked up the phone on the end table and punched the speed dial number for Joe.

  Harry was a large man, about six-and-a-half feet tall, who could really shoot. He’d first met Joe years ago at a skeet-and-trap shooting contest at the Wayne County Hunting and Fishing Club just outside of Marion, a small town in upstate New York. Harry liked Joe immediately. No pretenses. Before long, they were deer hunting in the Adirondacks and shooting geese in the southern tier of New York. Harry liked kidding around with Joe. He knew Joe got a kick out of his jokes and his big, booming laugh.

  What really drew Harry to Joe was his confidence that Joe respected and accepted him for what he was. Harry thought he had come a long way since his childhood days in the Fishtown section of Philadelphia, or later when his family moved to Dunkirk, New York, on the shore of Lake Erie where he learned to fish and boat, and the mountains of northern Pennsylvania where he learned to hunt. He remembered how popular he’d been, a better than average student, three-letter man in high school. How after graduating, he’d enlisted in the Army and learned photography while stationed in Germany. In his spare time he’d studied music. He taught himself how to play the piano and accordion. Lord knows how many song-loving townsfolk bought him beers when he traveled by motorcycle on his days off.

  Harry’s thoughts drifted to his time after the service, his marriage to the lovely Polish girl he’d met at a cousin’s wedding, how he returned to Dunkirk and became a professional photographer and music teacher. With growing businesses, hunting and fishing, and nightly live-concerts at Chautauqua, life could not have been better. Harry’s heart pounded and head ached as he reflected on how it all went off track when his too-attractive wife forgot the part about being true. How long had it been since she left? He’d lost count of the years.

  It seemed to take forever for Joe to answer the phone. Harry was slowly putting the phone back in its cradle when he heard Joe say hello.

  “Joe, it’s Harry.” Harry paused, took a deep breath, then continued. “I’ve really made the effort, man, but there’s no way . . . no way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  After a moment of silence, Harry replied, “What I’m saying is I don’t know if it’s really worth living anymore.”

  “Woah. Hold on a minute. Let me get this straight. You’re feeling as though there just isn’t any point? Is that it?”

  “No question, I’m telling you, no way. It doesn’t make any difference, nothing does. I’m pulling the plug. Done. Leaving.”

  “Have you talked to Dr. Goldstein – I think that’s his name?”

  “Forget about Goldstein, man. That guy, apart from writing a few prescriptions so I can spend more money, isn’t really interested in me. Just wanted to call you and say goodbye. You’re the only one who ever cared.”

  “Where are you?” Joe asked.

  “I’m at my apartment.”

  “How are you going to do it?”

  “With a shotgun.”

  “Which one?”

  “What the hell difference does it make which one?”

  “I’m not sure,” Joe said. “I was just wondering what specifically you intend to use, and whether you had thought that through? I remember your shotguns. You’ve got some beauties. You can really use them. I mean you can really run the targets at the trap shoots. Remember when you beat the hell out of me
in Marion and again at the Northeast Grande in Syracuse? Harry, do you remember that?”

  “Of course, I remember. I remember all the stuff we’ve done.”

  Silence.

  “Are you there, Joe?”

  “Yes, I am, Harry.”

  “What else do you want to know?”

  “Well, now that you ask, do you have a will? What will your family’s reaction be? How’re they going to feel about not having you around? What’re you going to do about your golden lab?”

  “To tell you the truth, Joe, he means more to me than any of my family, what’s left of them.” Harry wiped tears from his face.

  “I still have the picture you took of that dog,” Joe said. “What a splendid picture. You can really shoot with a camera, too, Harry. And I’m not the only one who likes your pictures.”

  More silence.

  Then Harry heard Joe ask, “Where are you right now? What are you wearing?”

  “What are you, a goddamn reporter?” Harry said in a low voice.

  “I just want to know.”

  “Well, if you must know, I’m in the family room, in my chair, and in my goddamn underpants.”

  “The blue leather chair?”

  “Yeah, the one you love.”

  A long period followed, and neither of the men spoke.

  Finally, Harry asked Joe, “What’re you going to do today?”

  “I’d like to be fishing,” Joe answered. “I am going to fish soon though. Why don’t you come down, fly into Charleston, and we’ll see if you can still catch a fish.”