“Beka who?”
Catherine glared. She leaned sideways and whispered to Ben, “Is that where the cut was?”
Ben nodded.
“Were you forced to work while imprisoned at the Auschwitz-Birkenau camp?”
“Everyone had a job, of course. I helped in the kitchen preparing the meals for the prisoners. They had a reasonably functional kitchen, considering there was a war going on.”
“When the Russian army liberated Auschwitz and Birkenau, where did you go?”
“Oh, no you don’t. You’re not going to trip me up with a cheap lawyer’s trick.” He laughed. “Oh yes, I was in Poland, because we were released in Poland. But I didn’t stay there. I made my way to Italy and sailed to Argentina. I lived there for a couple years before coming to the United States.”
Catherine quickly shifted gears. “What is your wife’s name?”
“Why don’t you leave my wife out of this?”
“What is your wife’s name, please?”
“Elisabeth.”
“What is her birthdate?”
“March 21, 1922. And why does that matter?”
“Where was she born?”
“In Germany. Does that make her a Nazi too? Do you want to accuse her? Do you have some picture of Eva Braun that looks like Elisabeth? You have no reason to involve my wife, other than to piss me off. And I’m getting damn tired of it.”
Catherine continued without hesitation. “What was her maiden name?”
“None of your damn business!” He stood up and shook his head. “Gerry, let’s go. She has nothing and all she’s trying to do is get under my skin.”
“Settle down, Elliot. Just answer her question. Give her the maiden name.”
Elliot sat down, leaned back and folded his hands on his stomach. “I don’t want to answer any more irrelevant questions. Ask me about who I am, ask me about the time Mayor Burton gave me the key to the city, ask me about the time I had dinner at the White House, ask me about the millions of dollars I’ve contributed to charities, including all the Jewish charities, ask me about the thousands of people I’ve employed in my businesses.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Rosenzweig, let me clarify our roles here. I ask the questions and you give the answers. What is your wife’s maiden name?”
“Okay, we’re going to play games, then my answer is: I don’t know,” he said.
“You don’t know your wife’s maiden name? Where were you married?”
“I don’t know. And that’s my answer to the rest of your questions.”
“Did you get married before or after you were imprisoned at Auschwitz?”
“I don’t know.”
Catherine laid her pen on the table. “Mr. Jeffers, this is ridiculous. I’m going to get Judge Ryan on the phone. I’ll put it on the speaker. You can participate if you choose.”
“Hold on,” Jeffers said. He took Elliot’s arm and led him to the door. “Give me a few minutes. It’s obvious that you’ve upset him. We’ve spent forty minutes and you’ve yet to pose an intelligent question.”
When the door had closed, Catherine asked, “Why would someone get upset about his wife’s maiden name? What’s this all about? Did you notice his emotional demeanor in response to the pre-war questions, the ones which supposedly caused him emotional distress? I saw some anger, maybe confusion.”
“But no grief,” Liam said.
“Exactly. No emotional distress.”
They filed back a few minutes later. Elliot looked directly at Ben and said, “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”
Catherine jumped to her feet. “Put that on the record. Put those threats on the record. I want the judge to see that.”
Then she turned to Jeffers. “If anything happens to Mr. Solomon, if he gets any threatening telephone calls, if someone bumps into him on the street, if he gets jostled on the bus, I mean anything, I’m taking this transcript to the State’s Attorney.”
Jeffers was calm. He smiled. “You’re out of line, Ms. Lockhart. Mr. Rosenzweig didn’t mean anything more than to tell you what he was going to do to Mr. Solomon in a court of law. He intends to seek fines and sanctions after your case is dismissed. That’s what’s coming to him. Financial disaster and embarrassment. Nothing more. Ask your next question.”
Catherine scowled at Elliot. “What was your wife’s maiden name?”
“Cohen.”
“Elisabeth Cohen?”
“That’s right.”
“What were her parent’s names?”
Elliot put his hand to his forehead. He rubbed his bald head. “Selma and…and Aaron.
“What was the name of the town they lived in?”
“Now that I don’t remember; it was a small town in northern Germany.”
“What were your parents’ names?”
The question startled Elliot. He stammered, “J-Jacob and…Mary.”
“Mary?”
He nodded. Catherine glanced at Liam, who raised his eyebrows. He leaned over and whispered, “It was Joshua and Mildred.” Catherine smiled.
“When did you purchase Columbia Indemnity?”
“At the end of 1948.”
“How much did you pay for the company?”
“I don’t remember exactly. Around a million dollars.”
“Where did you get the money?”
“I had money.”
“Where did you get it?”
Elliot’s teeth were clenched and his face was red. “I had it!”
“Where did you get it?”
Elliot turned to his lawyer. “Just answer her as best you can,” Jeffers said with an air of nonchalance.
“I made money in Argentina raising horses. After I arrived in Buenos Aires, I took a job with a breeder. I sold a few and bought a few and got lucky with a few. I left Argentina with over two million dollars.”
“From the sale of horses?”
“More or less.”
“Mr. Rosenzweig, I believe you said that you came to America as a penniless refugee after the war. Is that right?”
Elliot smiled and shook his head. “I never said that. That’s what newsmen have reported.”
“But you never denied it?”
He shrugged. “Why should I? Let them reach their conclusions. My money is none of their business.”
“So you came to America with two million dollars?”
“Give or take.”
“Did you meet your wife in Argentina?”
“Oh, are we back to the wife now?”
“Can you answer the question or did you forget where you met your wife?”
“You little snot. I met her in Frankfurt.”
“Did she immigrate with you in 1947?”
Elliot stood up and leaned on the table. “You’ll have to excuse me, Miss Lockhart but I’m not use to answering personal questions from little nobodies like you, and it makes me sick to my stomach.”
Unflustered, Catherine said, “Did she immigrate with you in 1947?”
“She came afterward.”
“When?”
“The exact date? I don’t remember. Afterward.”
“What name did she use to enter this country?”
“I wasn’t there.”
“Did you see her immigration papers at the time? Did you know at the time she entered the country what name she was using?”
“I don’t recall.”
“There seems to be a lot of information you don’t recall, Mr. Rosenzweig. Is there something wrong with your memory? Are you on medication today?”
“Fuck you!” he shouted, tipping over his chair. “This case is bullshit. You have no evidence against me. There is no evidence against me. You’ve been fishing all day and you’ve come up empty. Don’t blame it on my memory, young lady.”
In the midst of the tense exchange Ben exclaimed, “Co zrobiłesz z pudełkiem z bizuterią?”
Elliot snapped his head in Ben’s direction. “Wouldn’t you like to know!” he screame
d.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” said the court reporter, throwing up her hands. “What did you say?”
“All right, all right, gentlemen,” said Jeffers, rising and stretching out his palms like a referee. “Let’s stop the bickering and get on with the deposition. You may proceed, Miss Lockhart.”
“Would you be seated, please, Mr. Piatek?” Catherine said.
“Nice try. The name is Rosenzweig and I prefer to stand.”
“You’re going to get tired, Mr. Rosenzweig. I have twenty-five pages of questions. You’re going to be here all afternoon.”
“I’ll stand. And you’re crazy if you think I’m putting up with this all day.”
Catherine looked to Jeffers. “Will you talk to your client please?”
Jeffers nodded and led Rosenzweig from the room. The two young associates scrambled after.
Liam turned to Ben. “A moment ago, when that court reporter threw up her hands, did you say something in Polish?”
Ben nodded.
“What did you say to Rosenzweig, Ben?” asked Liam.
Ben smiled. “I said, ‘What happened to the box of jewelry?’ His answer, if you recall, was, ‘Wouldn’t you like to know.”’
“Did you get any of that?” Catherine said to the reporter.
She shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t speak Polish. All I got was, ‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’”
A few minutes later, Jeffers returned to the room alone. “Put this on the record,” he said to the court reporter, pointing to her stenograph. “Mr. Rosenzweig is unable to continue with this deposition. Although I warned Ms. Lockhart about harassment, she chose to pursue an abusive course of conduct, delving into irrelevant personal matters, driving a vulnerable, elderly man to the brink of hysteria. I am terminating this deposition and advising all present that I intend to move the court for a protective order, sanctioning Ms. Lockhart and protecting Mr. Rosenzweig from further abuse.”
“The questions I asked were proper and germane,” Catherine said. “Your client’s responses were evasive and, frankly, dishonest. His testimony was ludicrous – he couldn’t remember the names of his siblings? When his wife came to America? What name she used? We’ll see what his wife has to say next week.”
“There will be no deposition next week. I will not submit Mrs. Rosenzweig to a similar inquisition. Until the judge rules on my motion for a protective order, all discovery is suspended.”
Jeffers turned and strode from the room.
Chapter Fifty
Chicago, Illinois January 2005
“We’re just weeks from trial, Elliot, and I don’t have to tell you, they have nothing,” Jeffers said, rocking back in his leather desk chair. “They’ve disclosed no witnesses other than Solomon and a guy named Morton Titlebaum, who I understand is out of the city.”
“They have a Nazi picture. They have newspaper pictures of me from the 1950s,” Elliot interrupted. “They have that crazy old man. What if they drag up some other lunatic, some senile camp survivor, to come to court and testify that they saw Piatek in Poland and they recognize me from the newspaper photo? Maybe this Titlebaum, for all I know, will say he had dinner with me and Adolf Hitler. Damn it, I don’t want any surprises.”
“It would take more than that. Look, Elliot, this is still a civil case. They have to prove you took Solomon’s property, the stuff he testified to at his deposition: jewelry, money. Solomon has no proof that his family even owned that property.”
Elliot shook his head. “I want to meet with him. Set it up.”
“A four-way settlement meeting with attorneys and clients? I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”
“No, Gerry. Just me and Solomon, alone in a room.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Elliot. Maybe that’s not such a good…”
“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. Set it up. Here at your office as soon as possible.”
“They might object. Maybe they fear for Solomon’s safety.”
“Funny, Gerry. He’s the one with the gun, remember? Besides, I need him alive to beat him in court. If he died now, the world would always harbor the suspicion that I really was a Nazi.”
Jeffers nodded. “Okay. Okay. If that’s what you want.”
Jeffers reached behind him and picked up a thick bound volume entitled “Defendant Rosenzweig’s Motion for Summary Judgment” and slid it across his desk to Elliot. “I want to show you something my staff has been working on for awhile. Take your time and read this motion. We filed it yesterday. This could be the end of the road for Ben Solomon.”
Elliot read slowly and carefully, nodding his head every now and then. It took him thirty minutes to read the motion and the attachments. “Very good piece of work, Gerry. What happens how?”
“As you can see, the motion asks Judge Ryan to throw the case out of court for lack of material evidence. It’s a summary judgment motion and it’s ‘put up’ or ‘shut up’ time. Solomon has to come forward now and show the court he has material evidence to take the case to trial. If he can’t, then judgment should be entered for you and this case will be over.”
“Legally speaking, would this have the same effect as a jury verdict in our favor?”
“It would be even better. It would show that there wasn’t even enough of a case to take to a jury. It would say there’s no triable evidence.”
“Hmm. Isn’t Solomon’s testimony evidence? What about the pictures?”
Jeffers shrugged. “We’ve argued that they are de minimus, insufficient to sustain a verdict. Without further corroboration or physical evidence Judge Ryan can exercise his discretion and dismiss the case.”
Elliot frowned. “I’m not optimistic. Set up the meeting.”
Chapter Fifty-one
“Can you check the NARA records for Elisabeth Cohen in 1947?” Catherine said to Liam. She stood behind the folding table in her makeshift war room. Ben and Liam sat on metal chairs. “She might even be listed on the same manifest as Elliot Rosenzweig.”
“I’ll go this afternoon.”
Catherine turned on her computer. “There’s an email here from Vitak Zeleinski.”
“What does it say?” Ben said.
Catherine smiled. “I have no idea. It’s in Polish.”
Ben looked over Catherine’s shoulder and read the note. “Hello, Ben. It is good to talk to you again, my friend. Life has so many odd turns. As Mr. Taggart requested, I retrieved my father’s trunk from storage. There were many pictures, but none of them showed Otto Piatek. I have no pictures of anyone in a German uniform. I did find a picture of your grandfather and I am attaching it to this email. I am the little one standing behind him. Nothing else was in the box. Just some of my mother’s things – her wedding dress and a couple of blouses. I guess they were special to my father. He died in 1970. I am sorry I cannot help you. Long life to you, my friend. Vitak.”
Catherine frowned. “That’s disappointing. I had hoped we’d find a smoking gun.”
The doorbell rang and Catherine excused herself to answer it.
“Don’t worry,” Ben said. “We’ll have plenty of guns at trial. I’m certain of it.”
Catherine returned to the room with a thick envelope. She sliced it open and pulled out a bound document running fifty-three pages entitled, “Defendant Rosenzweig’s Motion For Summary Judgment.” Liam and Ben sat quietly while Catherine skimmed through the motion.
“Well, they didn’t waste any time,” she said. “They’ve moved for judgment alleging that we have no material evidence. They attach affidavits, birth certificates, and immigration records all showing that Elliot Rosenzweig was born in Frankfurt and immigrated to Chicago in 1947.”
“I’ll bet the birth certificate doesn’t list Jacob and Mary as his parents,” Liam said.
“I expect he’ll just say he was under emotional distress at the deposition,” Catherine answered.
Ben and Liam looked at each other and then back at Catherine, with schoolboys’ expressions tha
t waited for an answer to the unasked question.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “this motion will be denied. I’m positive. It would be a total abuse of discretion for Judge Ryan to dismiss your case. All the law requires of us at this stage is to have some evidence. The judge is not permitted to weigh or evaluate the evidence. That’s for the jury. The photos, Ben’s testimony, the immigration records, even Jacob and Mary – they’re all evidence. They’re all we need to get us by the motion at this time.”
“When will Judge Ryan rule on the motion?”
“I have 28 days to answer. Then Jeffers has a right to file a reply, if he so chooses. Sometime after that, maybe in six weeks, Judge Ryan will rule. Or he may defer his decision until the trial.”
Ben stared at the motion. “We have to get to trial. The world has to know.”
The telephone rang and Catherine excused herself. She returned a moment later.
“It’s Jeffers. He’s proposing a meeting between Ben and Rosenzweig to take place at his office next Monday.”
“What’s this all about?” Ben said.
“All he said was that Rosenzweig wanted to meet with Ben. No lawyers. Just the two of them.”
Ben smiled. “The weasel’s on the run.”
“We don’t have to meet. There are no requirements. I don’t see how anything positive can come out of such a meeting. But if you want to attend, I think I should go with you,” Catherine said.
“No. He said no lawyers. I’ll meet with him. I want to hear what he has to say.”
“On one condition, Ben. Liam and I will drive you there and sit in the outer office until the meeting is over.”
Ben nodded.
Chapter Fifty-two
Liam, Catherine and Ben arrived promptly at 10:00 a.m. and announced themselves to the Storch and Bennett receptionist. Moments later Jeffers walked briskly into the room, but stopped short, casting an irritated look in Catherine’s direction.
“I thought we agreed there’d be no lawyers,” he said.
“Then what are you doing here?” Liam said.
“It’s my office, Mr. Taggart.”
“We’re here to wait for Ben and make sure there’s no funny business.”
Once We Were Brothers Page 33