Just Enough to Be Dangerous…
Way back when, during my first several months of dating Al, someone made the comment one day while we were going through an open house together that I “knew just enough about real estate to be dangerous.” The timing of that statement also corresponded with the first few years of my real estate career, and even though I, intellectually, understood that the comment was just a little “jab” made out of jealousy, hearing the words still hurt. As it turns out, not only did the comment sting, but the person who made it couldn’t have been more mistaken. Don’t get me wrong, I had a few “lucky,” successful years as a real estate agent, but after we get through the rest of this blog entry, I’ll let you be the judge... “if I knew just enough to be dangerous?”
After meeting, dating, living with, having a child together, getting married and traveling between homes in California and New York for the better part of three and a half years, from August 1989 through February 1993, I ONLY knew the part of Al’s life that Al wanted me to know. What he chose to share with me, what I saw personally combined with some additional, unpleasant, even tragic, information relayed to me, together with a few other details that I picked up on my own were the items that filled numerous pages of notebooks with “Pro/Con lists” that I spent years making. Originally, I fell hard, and completely, for the carefully calculated, and artistically painted picture Al so deftly crafted for my benefit. By the time our daughter was born, I had learned much more than I wanted to about a different, and unfortunately, very real side of Al that didn’t match the storied version he had shared with me initially. I knew of a past girlfriend’s suicide in the garage of one of his homes after he learned of her own pregnancy (detailed in one of my first blog entries entitled, Lights, Red Flags and Shadows), and by the time we were married at the end of 1992, he had already walked out and abandoned me twice, once while pregnant, and once following Emily’s birth; both times, he reappeared and came back begging forgiveness and pleading for an additional chance. I’d really much rather NOT remember those examples from when I was naïve, not too sharp, and way too trusting, plus those particular instances don’t reflect anything about real estate or my “knowing enough to be dangerous either. So…what might lend some better insight into that specific comment to help you decide if it’s true or not? There are probably hundreds of examples I could cite; after all, in the 19+ years that I was intimately involved with Al, he owned at least 35 properties that I knew of, and that doesn’t come close to accounting for the endless list of other “assets” he/we acquired. How about I choose a random handful, or two, of examples and once again, let you be the judge?
EXHIBIT A: February 1993
From what I knew at the time, Al owned numerous properties in New York, as well as the home we shared with our two year old daughter in Rancho Santa Fe, California. Among the list of New York real estate holdings, there were several commercial properties, as well as four to five residential properties. It was hard to keep track, and Al wasn’t exactly a fountain of information, so I was generally unclear as to the origin of, and reason behind the ownership of each property, but I had physically seen every site at least once and in many instances, had also spent a considerable amount of time visiting, staying in, or spending time at several of them, including a golf course property that he owned with a partner in Lusby, Maryland, *note to self and others…not a great place to visit with a 6 month old baby! However, it wasn’t until Al was served with the Embezzlement Suit in February 1993, that I experienced my first taste of bitterness resulting from just how LITTLE I knew about Al’s professional dealings. If you go back in my earlier blog entries and read “Money, Marriage, Mafia and Saudi Arabia,” you’ll understand the bigger puzzle that this one example is merely just a piece within! The bottom line of the Embezzlement suit was not just that Al had misrepresented that he, HIMSELF, owned several of those New York properties, but he completely failed to mention, or even acknowledge, that the enormous supply of funds required to buy and maintain all those assets had NEVER been Al’s at all? The huge influx of cash belonged to the Saudi Prince, who just, three months earlier, had been one of the Best Men in our wedding. At least three to four of the high profile New York properties which Al “owned” were suspect, in addition to several of “his” legendary vehicles!
Al and Bruce discussing “prospects” at a Concours D’Elegance in New York…1990!
I don’t know the intricate details of how Al engineered the whole elaborate sham, but what I did learn was that Al “USED” Prince Bandar’s money to purchase properties, then encumbered them with mortgages, and used the “liquid” cash to perpetuate a very extravagant lifestyle and persona. Al insinuated himself onto the world stage by purchasing renown collectible cars, like the Gulf GT40 and the Rothmans Porsche, both of which had won the coveted “Le Mans” Formula One race in France; additionally, he was buddying up with car legends like Vern Schuppan, Carroll Shelby as well as large Auction House owners. The outcome of those associations led to a very notorious and lavish manner of living, that Al both enjoyed and wore well. I don’t believe he EVER considered that his actions might be, eventually, exposed for what they really were…fraud? Somehow though, between Prince Bandar and Al’s assistant, the two men had not just uncovered the scheme, but engineered a very careful plan to expose Al’s elaborate deception and use of funds, that were anything but his. I was never made privy to the exact details of how Al settled and financially survived that incident, but I do know (because I was there) that Al had suffered a huge blow, once the suit was settled. Many, if not most, of the New York “vanity properties” were gone; Al’s, once-legacy Architectural firm was dissolved, with the remaining three partners seemingly vanished; his coveted car collection had been substantially diminished, and Al himself appeared a defeated man. The nitty gritty details of the Embezzlement suit were kept from me; I only knew, and remember, the story that Al would give…..to me, or anyone else that was either dumb enough to ask, and/or gullible enough to accept his explanation. Al maintained that he had been set up, and was insistent that Bandar had always entrusted those monies to him as if they were his own…. ”they were like brothers, he claimed!” But, there were too many other mysterious events which occurred at the same time that made it difficult to accept Al’s words at face value. There wasn’t just the matter of that hollow feeling in my gut, nor the casualties of properties, and assets that were simultaneously just gone from his New York life and beyond? All of a sudden, Bruce, Al’s partner in Valley Classic Autos, (the car business Bruce and Al ran in California), and once an integral part of our life, became “persona-non grata,” overnight it seemed? Even though Bruce was one of the very few loyal “friends” who were immediately at Al’s side following the Embezzlement service,” I never saw him, nor his wife and their two daughters ever again? Then Al’s architectural firm known the world over, previously operating from the East 79thStreet building in Manhattan, as well as the 20 Audrey Avenue location in Oyster Bay, was dissolved, and like Bruce and the cars, Al’s three business partners in the architectural firm were just gone……as was Bandar, Jonny, and most of Al’s other staff and cronies. Only one of the secretaries, “Bumby,” the Accountant (*mental note: remember the next three names*) K. Ass, along with the various attorneys working on Al’s behalf (Brenner, Goldman etc…) and our dear “Uncle Ed” were, really, all that was left. The Oyster Bay Marina remained, as did the Chesapeake Golf Club, because Al owned those two properties with Ed, which I knew, only because Ed was far more approachable, talkative, and less “cagey” with information, as he showered attention on Emily, his adored God-Daughter. K. Ass talked incessantly, but said little…at least nothing that was of substance when addressing me; he was far more interested in numbers, and “fixing” Al’s little problem! The specialized and “hired-gun” attorneys I mentioned, but never met, (even though I sat in the lobby of their Manhattan offices a handful of times) had their names liberally sprinkled through most, if not all, of the conversations Al and K. Ass engaged in, and their contact information was added to our Christmas card list, as well as the contact file in Al’s office and phone. Al’s indoor Park Avenue Tennis Club in Huntington remained a fixture, as no matter what else might be happening in the world around him, Al’s tennis habit was a given. The club’s management would become a “dicey” and changing issue over the next few years, but the facility endured. It was definitely a dark time, in more ways than just the embezzlement. Al was even more guarded and secretive, if possible, than he’d been in the past. At the time I chalked it up to the feelings of betrayal he must have been experiencing with the loss of Prince Bandar, and all that had come and LEFT with him. Meanwhile, during that entire time, both our young daughter and I were in New York with Al, at his insistence. We were clear across the country from my family, my home, my sense of security, and I felt very isolated, vulnerable and helpless, while also trying to be a supportive wife, “partner” and loving Mom to our two year old daughter. I’m not sure if I gave much attention to this next part back then, (if at all), as I was so shocked by the drama that had unfolded, but I realize now, I felt betrayed as well. Not so much by Al, whose explanation at the time I accepted as fact, because that’s how it was presented to me (as the saying goes, “hindsight is 20/20”), but when looking back, I ALSO see the absence of any concern extended to me and my child, not just by Al, but by either Prince Bandar or Jonny! We had spent so much time with Bandar, and I had even spoken to and shared with Bandar on several occasions details about my relationship with Al? A few of those conversations were during impossibly painful times that preceded, or were right in the midst of the two times Al had “bailed” on being a Father. On both those occasions I was either about to leave him, or just had, but both times I was emotionally a wreck, and each time, after speaking to Bandar, Al would return. The first time, it was a couple months after my leaving, and I was on the path to a different, fresh life, but there he was.
He showed up on my Birthday, in October of 1990 with a large diamond ring, begging me for another chance? There I was, five month’s pregnant, determined to keep and love my baby, but terrified at the prospect of doing it alone, and having already lost the support of “R” (see my post, “My Brand Is Ten Minutes Late”) I was emotionally torn! Against the wishes of my family, and a few close friends, I accepted his proposal, and (wrongly) assumed it meant we were moving quickly forward. Finally, he was ready to match his actions to the emotional and “sincere” tale he had told me during the first few months of dating. My own family of origin had always known PLENTY of drama over the years, but nothing quite like this, and nothing from which I could draw a parallel, gain some potential guidance or take any reassurance from at all. The second time Al and I split, was in the midst of another troubled time which presented both more “New York” and more “Al drama.” Emily and I were in New York for an extended stay, and with everyday that passed, it became more and more apparent, that Al was completely detached from any motivation to move from engagement to marriage…even with a darling, almost two year old child that was now walking, talking, and needed more than an “unsuspecting, uninformed and gullible” Mom, nor a part-time, when convenient, which was regrettably seldom Father? I, too, needed more and this time I had grown far beyond mild impatience and was becoming more resolute with each hour, in my determination to move on and “go it alone.” I had literally, just gotten off the phone with the airlines to schedule our (Emily’s and my) flight home to California, when Bandar called.
Smack dab between The Creek Club and Piping Rock Beach Club on Sheep Lane…..pretty special place! The Fireworks Show from Rye Playground across the Sound on Wednesdays was my favorite, not to be forgotten.
I was sitting in the “great room” of the Sheep Lane, Lattingtown house, watching Emily draw on her easel, with the gray stillness of the Long Island Sound immediately outside the large room’s floor to ceiling window, wondering what the future held? Bandar must have heard something in my voice and asked what was wrong; I told him, simply “that I had given Al enough time, and I was finally done. I had plane reservations for the next day and was leaving, not just New York, but Al and our life together. I wasn’t willing to put my life and Emily’s future on hold any longer.” Bandar begged me not to do it. He just kept saying he knew Al loved me and was ready to take the next step. I politely but firmly told him it was too late, and we were leaving the next day. He hung up with a sigh, and I felt genuine relief that the call was finished. It was maybe three hours later, Al returned to the beach house. He was clad in his usual afternoon tennis garb, but the winter version as it was early November and already very cold. I had Emily’s and my bags packed but stowed in the spare, 2nd bedroom downstairs, as I couldn’t endure any more dramatic exchanges that day, and maybe too, because I hoped for an easy exit the next day, once Al was well on his way to work? I was in the smallish kitchen area overlooking the tidal creek, prepping dinner, when Al walked up the staircase from the Master suite, a level below, and said “ he didn’t want to wait any longer, and we should plan the wedding for the weekend after Thanksgiving”….just three weeks away! My chin must have dropped to my knees, giving away my total shock, and I was utterly frozen in place. He walked over, put his arms around me, apologized for the long delay, his on again/off again emotional distance, and said, “he KNEW this was it, and the time was finally right to formalize and seal our commitment!” One wonders, at least I do now, why I didn’t pause, give some consideration to the phone conversation I had had just hours before with Bandar, put one + one together, and hesitate before responding, rather than getting caught up in Al’s new fervency? I didn’t though! The immediacy, and the promise that a future together was about to become a reality, simply carried me, (and all rational logic), away. I was finally going to be married to my daughter’s father and we would be a family. Three weeks later we were married, with both Prince Bandar and Jonny in attendance, as part of the small, intimate and joyous occasion that was being celebrated. ,
Life has a way of surprising us! So blessed that both Emily and I had the presence of “Uncle Ed” in our lives for as long as we did.
Pictured: Ed, myself, Al, Prince Bandar, Jonny’s wife, Jonny, and Al’s one female EDS partner at our wedding.
Three months later, and Al was being sued for embezzlement by Prince Bandar, with Jonny’s assistance. In retrospect, I’m sickened now! Not only was I unaware of the serious, potentially illegal, actionable transgressions committed by my new husband, which should have been cause enough for me to reel in fear? But to make everything worse, the two men who had been a significant part of our lives, had just played a pivotal role in our long-awaited wedding, and one of which had also been an instrumental part of the reasoning why I had stayed, and waited for Al as long as I did. Nonetheless, that same Prince Bandar, Al’s Best Man and “brother,” had just made a move that carried implications beyond what I ever imagined possible. They had not just threatened Al’s legal and financial freedom, but they had been complicit in allowing my two year old and me, to be drug through the mud, the mire and the frightening prospects that were all on the horizon? Not to mention I had been encouraged to make a lifetime commitment to a man who, they already believed to be a thief and a criminal, whose misdeeds they were exposing for the world to judge, and who they planned to leave, along with me and our 2 year old, in a twisted mess of deception and fraud? Al aside…..those other two were certainly not the men I had been led to believe they were. Bandar’s motivation was a bit more transparent…..he had serious assets and monies to recoup, and I could understand that. But what was in it for Jonny; what was he set to gain from all of this? Was he clearing himself of any personal involvement or insider knowledge of the scam, or perhaps there was the promise of a “financial carrot and huge score ahead,” if he helped with the set-up and undoing of Al? I guess that question might remain unanswered?
EXHIBIT B:
December, 1994 Who knows how, probably due to my sheer stubbornness and loyalty, but somehow, we did weather that storm, and found ourselves just eighteen months later, looking at properties in Santa Barbara and Santa Ynez, California…..about four hours north of our home on Rancho Cielo in Rancho Santa Fe. Both Al and I needed a fresh start of sorts and hoped a change of scenery and community might represent a new beginning and brighter days ahead. We settled on a 22 acre, hilltop home with dramatic views of the beautiful and rural, valley floor below. 3981 Roblar was a large, rambling, charming (if somewhat dated) home with attached guest house, spacious patio area, completely engulfed by an enormous lawn, and made even more distinctive by a dramatic gated entry at street level, which opened to a long, winding, tree-lined drive, climbing and meandering its way to the private, fenced and gated property which awaited at the top. The property also boasted a lighted tennis court with viewing deck, as well as a large swimming pool, jacuzzi, and even an in-ground trampoline. It sat peacefully like a crown atop the 100+ acre compound, which was home to three other families’ houses too; all were about the same acreage as ours, but sited below and out of view from our new place of refuge! “Roblar” became something of an icon…..not only would it host more gatherings than can be enumerated, but it also served as a year and a half long safety net and home to my eldest stepdaughter; it was the home where our Son would return following his birth; was the site of my youngest sister’s wedding reception, as well as a weekend destination and celebration site for all our family holidays, birthdays, and a visiting spot for friends from far and wide. There’s more to remember about Roblar. There were many occasions which occurred and aren’t as happy to recall, and to which again, I probably should have paid much more attention? Maybe the time our housekeeper of seven years resigned, telling me she had witnessed something during the kids and my absence which made it impossible for her to work for us any longer; that admission surely deserved more investigation than what I gave it? Why did I accept her resignation so easily; could it be I was afraid to learn what she had seen?
EXHIBIT C:
November, 1995 When we moved from 7024 Rancho Cielo, our home in Rancho Santa Fe, and started life anew in Santa Ynez at Roblar, I felt optimistic and thought life in general, and especially for Al was looking up. The bitterness of the embezzlement seemed like a thing of the past. Al was working on an exciting Resort Master Plan, redesign and development project in Georgia, and appeared more upbeat across the board. He was also behaving very “bullish” financially. We had started a huge cosmetic update and redo of Roblar, and after spending the first summer in Santa Ynez, Al proclaimed that we would need a “backup plan” and a spot to escape the heat and 100+ degree days that were a reality in the beautiful Santa Ynez Valley during the summer months. We started combing the coastal communities of California’s central coast for an easy and temperate getaway. We found it in the, then, sleepy and pine-tree covered town of Cambria, a relatively quick 100 mile drive from Santa Ynez. The oceanfront home we (Al) decided on was unique to say the least. It had a lovely, wrap-around deck which separated the home, something akin to a contemporary, cement bunker, from the rocky, coastline below, and sat on a promontory which ensured privacy from the few surrounding homes. It did indeed provide a respite from the stifling hot August days in the Valley, and it was fun to have a getaway location. Cambria became a destination for more than just escaping the heat of a Santa Ynez summer, and we used it frequently. Because Al had started travelling so much again between California and the Georgia resort project, I often took the kids, my Mom, sisters and their families, as well as friends for quick little breaks, and an enjoyable change of scenery. We didn’t really (or EVER) vacation as a family; we went from house to house, all outfitted as needed, and that served as the Capone version of vacation. It was a blessed experience that I don’t take for granted, but it was also a great deal of work. There was endless cleaning, constant changing of sheets, towels, laundry, grocery shopping, the loading, and unloading of carfuls of kids, belongings, provisions, all requiring a huge amount of effort. But, combined with the planning and work that Cambria entailed, it also held the happy promise of cool days, stunning sunsets, the everyday scene of sea otters frolicking in the water or sunning themselves on the huge rocks that made up that stretch of coastline, and a very picturesque way of life. Sherwood Drive, where our house was situated, sat just a short distance from a huge land preserve with a walking trail spanning the entire distance from one side of town and shoreline to the other. It was an incredible thing to walk the expanse of a huge ranch with cattle grazing nearby, all the while watching sea otters playing immediately next to the ranch’s bluff on the rocky, tidal coastline. The kids were endlessly content to explore the rocks and climb around the tidepools; we found more barnacles than I ever knew existed, and could on any given day see groups of whales dive in and out of the surf, while still delighting in the families of sea otters that called Cambria home as well!
Emily and PJ on the Cambria Deck
EXHIBIT D:
By the time Y2K, arrived, our little family was also spending more and more time in Georgia. Al’s work at Sea Island had exploded, the resort’s Master Plan was moving ahead with a vengeance, and was evolving into a redo of the resort’s entire physical plant, spanning miles and miles across two coastal islands, just a quick hour south of Savannah, or north of Jacksonville, Florida. It seemed to be our destiny that home after home was added to our family experience, and Sea Island was no exception. OF#1 was our first home in Georgia, after spending many weeks each summer for several years, in…first, the River House, one of the original resort’s hotel buildings on the Black Banks river, then the OF Club Guest Cottage, where Bubba 3 (the resort’s owner) and his wife resided, part-time. Al decided towards the end of 1999 to buy one of the residential cottages that was a part of the OF development at the end of the island, the first of his new creations on that little inlet of the Georgia coastline. I guessed by this point, our finances must have REALLY recovered over the past seven years, but I didn’t know the numbers, or how “explosively” it had happened. As the course and rules of our relationship had been chartered from the beginning, Al always said “he could handle the financial part of our union, and I could do the rest”..….you know the emotional, nurturing, caretaking part. I believe in today’s world, it’s called being “the gardener.” Admittedly, I didn’t know a thing about the business side, and was not at all proactive in trying to learn about the financial “wheeling and dealing part;” not that I would have been told anything (certainly not the truth) if I had inquired?
Sometime in the few months after the purchase of Roblar in ‘95, Al and, accountant, K. Ass insisted that we create a family trust, so that “we could benefit from tax advantages, and he could buy and move assets around more easily etc…” The “family trust” (aka, the Capone Revocable Trust) was born and, also, for better or worse, I learned NOT to question or ask the details of all the deals, houses, cars, art, collectible memorabilia and other acquisitions that Al put into the trust. Any question I asked was met with immediate suspicion, disdain, and finally…dismissal. The dismissal would then be followed by pouting, at first for hours, then for days, and eventually weeks. If I tried to ask Al about his reaction, it only made matters worse. Shortly thereafter, was probably the first time I summoned the courage and asked Al about going to counseling/therapy with me; we went once or twice, but it was abundantly clear after visit #2, that Dr. James was not going to be able to help much, at least not BOTH of us? Al declined to go again, but “offered” that it was fine for me to continue.
EXHIBIT E:
A new house at Sea Island, Georgia wasn’t the only thing being planned and designed. We had been talking about purchasing a place in Santa Barbara for a couple years; the choice of schools in the Valley was discouraging, and we just couldn’t seem to find a good fit for Emily. There was either the rigid religious option, or the “hippie dippie” world, where kids were chastised for saying “yes, ma’am,” and there weren’t grade level distinctions, there were only different “door colors.” I tried desperately, during our tenure at each, to make both the options work, and I got involved…very involved in each school. Because I’m an eternal optimist and desperately wanted one of the situations to be successful, I chaired multiple fundraisers, was on tons of committees, hosted most every “class party” and drove on every field trip for each school, as well. None of those actions, however, were going to make either school a good fit for Emily, though; just like going to therapy wasn’t going to fix the lack of communication between Al and I; nor was buying tons of lacy, slinky lingerie and throwing myself at him (yes, with some embarrassment, I confess to having tried that too) going to improve our sex life or marriage! So I did what I was trained to do, I ignored the problems, hoped for the best and just continued going along; attempting to turn lemons into lemonade all along the way.
Options…
Part of “going along” meant rather than pursue the house I loved on Hot Spring’s Road and had everything we needed, even a tennis court and guest house, which we had also visited a number of times, including once with the local, but well-known architect who had designed the Southwestern contemporary, and even flew our interior decorator from Georgia to go through the house with us and make plans about décor, I would have to accept that another location was ultimately chosen. As such, Al decided to go in a totally different direction, and bought a large 24 acre parcel of land planted in avocados. It was a beautiful property with sweeping ocean views and many other reasons to love it, but it was also absent of any building at all, not even a wreck that could be redone? 574 Freehaven would be years and years away from fulfilling the reason we started looking for a Santa Barbara property in the first place…..which was to buy a home closer to better schooling choices for our daughter immediately, and our son, who had arrived in 1996, eventually? When I protested and mentioned my concerns to Al, he looked at me with a rare, slight hint of vulnerability, and said slowly, “he knew what we were “suppose” to be looking for, but in all of his years of being an architect, planner and designer, he had never built a home of his own from the ground up, and this was the perfect property to pursue that goal; this was his dream come true!” Al’s declaration and seemingly humble sincerity with which he said it, was not something I heard often, nor something I felt I could deny him. He assured me we’d find the right schooling fit, and this would be a great adventure in the meantime, and so “it was all settled.” I was correct about one thing though; we purchased Freehaven in September of 1999, and weren’t able to move in until late May of 2005, when our interior designer and her team did the first stage of “install.” The landscape was still FAR from complete, the driveway was unfinished, and the “hidden,” secret billiards room and bath below the pool level was yet to be completed, or actually barely started. It had taken four years to go from purchase through the permitting/planning/design process and another two years to build, and still Freehaven was far from finished. But Al had been “spot on” about the siting of the house on the property, and the spectacular presence it commanded. It really was something special and truly breathtaking.
I’m still connecting the dots…even today!
EXHIBIT F: 2004
During that same period of time, we had made more “adjustments” in Georgia, and were living in our third home on Sea Island. My beloved Cottage 64 on Tabby Lane. The journey leading there was circuitous, and to this day, I have only a small bit of the paper trail, and my memories, that served as the road map, when looking backwards. There is much I don’t understand about how it all happened, but I do know this…..when we left Georgia and flew home for the summer in May of 2004, we were in our second OF home. Al and Billy Ray called it the “Draper curse,” but (personally and not too secretly), I loved it. OF#1 had been a good choice initially, and perfect for Al when he was in Georgia working alone, or for a few months at a time when the kids and I were there with him over the summer months, but when our world “flipped” and suddenly Al had four to five active building projects, with others in the development or design phase all going on simultaneously at Sea Island, he begged the kids and I to try doing the school year in Georgia and fly home for holidays, summers and special occasions. It made sense to accommodate the crazy workload Al had in front of him, and this move combined with the addition of the Lear Jet made his life (and our’s too) so much easier. I would have felt very selfish to say no; even if a “no,” or any other response on my part would have been considered? Truth be told, our marriage worked better (I thought) in Georgia; Al was super engaged, upbeat, and we had an active life socially; whereas at home, it was difficult. Al could play tennis, which he did daily, and he had his home office/studio, but our social life revolved around family (all mine, with the exception of Maren, who I felt was like mine too), and the many events I enjoyed hosting. It wasn’t a life that made for a happy Al, and with the substantial difference in our ages and life experiences, none of my friends or contemporaries had spouses that Al could relate to, or even tolerate. Also, the private school, Franklin Academy, on Sea Island’s adjacent St. Simon’s Island was a huge improvement over the Valley schools. Our kids, including Maren, and the rest of my family were less than thrilled (to say the least) about the school/time exchange, but I felt it was only fair that I “hold up my end of the bargain” in this marriage, which, to me, symbolized a partnership…..so we moved just down the cul-de-sac from OF#1, to the bigger house and lot that was the “Draper curse.” I really did love that house, and if I were to design a perfect floor plan for a future home, it might well be that one? Al was quick to let me know, “Draper” was not to be a permanent “fix” however…..he despised it! Little did I know he had already negotiated a deal for one of the oceanfront OF condos, which he was also designing and, after the fact, disclosed that “IT” would be our permanent, future Georgia residence, when we were there. When I learned of his plan, I was stunned, and asked what could he be thinking? Was he seriously considering that “our crew” could possibly live in an attached three-unit condo, with nothing separating us from neighbors but a joint wall? After all, we did have two young kids, three dogs (the travel team), and we were NOT accustomed to having immediate neighbors. Plus, we were probably half the age of most of the other OF homeowners, at least the ones who were full-time residents? We were used to having much more space surrounding us, and admittedly, we could be a bit on the noisy, raucous side. The kids and I particularly loved to turn up the music, dance in the kitchen while making dinner, playing outside by the pool, and walking the dogs on our daily beach treks and shell hunting. There was NOTHING about a condo making much, IF ANY sense, and I think I was pretty direct in my response when Al told me that the condo was the plan…period. His retort was to say “it was good then that all our new neighbors were that much older; they wouldn’t hear our extra level of noise!” I wasn’t amused however, and even got bold enough to try and reason on a level I thought he would appreciate and respect? I explained that “I knew the oceanfront
OF homes, even condos, were all about three and a half to four MILLION dollars MORE than where we were already settled and fit perfectly….at Draper. Didn’t it make sense to choose the more economical option, I asked?” I also pointed out that if we added more landscaping, or an additional jacuzzi under the huge expanse of covered patio, which could be used far more frequently than the one attached to the already existing pool, he might like it better? No matter what I said or how much I begged to stay where we were at Draper, Al was insistent that a prolonged time at Draper WOULD NOT be happening. Furthermore, he added, “it was not my job to do the financial planning or concern myself with the investment strategy in our marriage.” He continued on saying that “he didn’t know for how long we would be spending such a concentrated amount of time in Georgia, so he was pursuing the OF ocean condo, and that was final.” He later tried cushioning the blow, by saying his work at the Resort wouldn’t last forever, and we’d be moving back home to California soon enough anyway.
EXHIBIT G:
The summer of 2004, we spent between Roblar and the NEW beach house at home in California. Hope Ranch is a smallish, rural, but upscale residential enclave towards the northernmost edge of Santa Barbara. While the kids and I had been in Georgia for the 2003 fall semester of school, Al had “engineered,” (during one of his many back and forth CA/GA excursions) some hush-hush deal with the friend of his “ultra sketchy” car buddy, Barnie and had “traded, in-part,” the Cambria house, which we (I mean Al and Katie) had just totally redone the year before, so it finally and truly worked for us when we spent time there) for a four acre, bluff-front place on Marina Drive in Hope Ranch. It was another unique situation, which seemed to be such an integral part of the “coding” in Al’s DNA. His special “gift” seemed to be the finding and ACQUIRING of all different kinds of properties, and putting together deals that were as odd or complicated, as the properties themselves? How he found these deals and made them happen was beyond my imagination, and by now I’m pretty sure it’s apparent I was never included in the details, nor asked for input, or even informed before the transactions occurred. That we furnished, decorated, and “stocked” pantrys, shelves, drawers and closets in each location; lived in, entertained extensively, and considered many of them home…..mattered not! This particular “deal” Al explained had been a “real score.” There were three houses on the new property; one at the top of the lot, just inside the incredibly imposing, gated entrance; the second, and main home was a little further down the drive and was reportedly “the precise site where a James Bond movie had been filmed.”
4353 Marina Drive…..looks can be deceiving!
The second, main, house had the interesting distinction of being completely round in shape, and also had a pool that went from both the inside to the outside, and vice versa. The kids found it intriquing and thought it was super cool. While the “wow” factor was not lost on me, I once again found myself trying to make livable sense of a house that was outrageously strange, out-of-date, and unsettlingly uncomfortable. It seemed uncanny that every time, we’d get a property settled, do all the fixes that made it comfy, personal and “ours,” it would go on the proverbial “chopping block?” The first time Al showed us this new “find” he couldn’t wait to get to the bottom portion of the property, and all of a sudden, something clicked in my brain and the pieces began to make sense! Geno, Al’s real estate agent, turned best buddy happened to be with us that morning, as he was the one who helped facilitate the obsessive property acquisitions and knew all the details and nuances of the property. We must have all spent the equivalent of months together in one car or another looking at property all over Santa Barbara County and beyond. It was a pastime that our kids weren’t too keen on, but any free time with Al, when he wasn’t playing tennis, meant looking at real estate; it was just part of the deal. I always got a kick out of Geno and his endless stories, and I’m pretty sure I was his best audience, as I often found myself laughing til my sides hurt, and Geno was equally enthusiastic to be in the spotlight…performing. That one day, when we finally made our way down the winding, steep path leading to the tiny little shack, and I’m not kidding…it was a shack, both men’s faces lit up! Regardless of the ragged state of the little white “building” with its balcony that hung directly above the white sandy beach below, you’d have thought it was the Taj Mahal as they started to discuss what Al planned to do with the space. Geno was regaling us with the tale of the time he had negotiated a deal on that very same property with the Seller, who just happened to be doing a stint in Sing/Sing…..Geno said “it was a good thing he talked fast; phone calls in maximum security prisons had very strict time constraints!” Another time Geno had arranged for a long-term rental of the tiny cottage, precisely where we were standing, to Rudolf Nureyev, the famous ballet dancer, who had apparently been going through a rough patch and the proximity, together with the sound of the surf washing up to the sand was all that could calm him, and his growing depression. Geno’s stories were always interesting, and it was up to you to decipher how much of it was fact vs/ fiction. Al was ecstatic as he shared with the kids and me that THIS, the little white shack, was going to be his new design studio. He was already working on plans for the overhaul, and Sal, our longtime contractor, was ready to get started immediately with a second smaller crew, that he could dispatch from Freehaven, where he was already spending five days a week with his large group of trusted subs, who had all, at one time or location, been working for us for what must have been seven to eight years by then. Al envisioned a total scrape and redo of the interior space, a coat of “Swiss Coffee” throughout, with an enormous flat screen TV, expansive drawing board, state-of-the-art sound system, a modest bath addition and “nano doors” that would allow him to work literally beachside everyday!
2004 felt like an especially long summer, which normally would have been a treat, but not this one! The kids and I spent most of our time shuttling back and forth between Marina, the new beach house, where we spent Monday through Thursday, so PJ could go to summer school and Al stayed mostly at Roblar, but came and went as his schedule and liking permitted. The bottom line always remained….. Roblar had the tennis court, as well as an already existing, perfectly set-up studio/office, sparkling pool and beautifully appointed and comfortable home….we would have ALL chosen to be at Roblar, but summer school was critical at that point and the back and forth, 45 minute drive each way on top of a six hour day at LindaMood Bell would have been next to excruciating for PJ, so the kids and I stayed, and spent the majority of the summer at the “whacky” round house.
EXHIBIT H:
At summer’s end, the kids and I returned to Georgia, and I’ll NEVER forget the feeling and chill that came over me when the Sea Island driver made a right off the drive onto 12th Street. I asked Andrew what he was doing; did he forget that we lived down off 36th Street in Ocean Forest? He answered in his unmistakenly kind manner, saying “no ma’am, I’m taking you to your new home!” Al had purchased, planned and arranged for us to be completely extricated, with all our belongings packed and moved, from the “Draper curse” to Cottage 64 on Twelfth St., aka…..Tabby Lane. I was beyond ecstatic; I so adored that home. Tabby Lane had a soulfulness I had rarely felt in a property before, except, maybe at Roblar. It felt like a fortress, and the thick whitewashed brick walls were there to warmly envelop and protect you…..surely nothing bad could happen there, and if something was wrong, you could look out any window on the ocean side of the home, and the rolling blue/gray waves could soothe away almost any burden. By contrast, the huge thunder heads, and lightning bolts that stretched from the height of the sky to the sea below during any big storm, could have been frightening when you were looking at them just yards away on the horizon, but instead, I found them both fascinating and spell-binding. I also felt an overwhelming sense of appreciation for this surprise twist of fate. While I did feel hugely grateful and fortunate, I was also incredulous that it could all happen without a single word to me? How could that be, and what other acts of such enormity was Al capable of orchestrating on his own? Even if they were happy acts, these were changes that many people consider life altering, and these acts of Al’s were occurring more and more frequently? They were also decisions and actions that affected each and every day of his wife and two young children’s lives, but for which we had ZERO input.
Tabby Lane’s backyard and pool, with the ocean just beyond!
Tabby Lane had previously belonged to our interior designer and her husband, and when Katie had last been in California over the Christmas break to see about the move from Cambria to Hope Ranch, she had shared that she and Robert really needed to downsize and were going to sell Tabby Lane, and live exclusively in Atlanta where their other home, and family, was. Al made that possible! Please don’t misunderstand me…..I was, and will always recognize, and be grateful for, how privileged my children’s and my lives were, but it was disconcerting and unnerving to know, too, that everything about our lives could change with a snap of Al’s mood, and with or without a moment’s notice. I felt like one of the kids myself, and we were all just expected to move on a dime with no advance warning, leaving us unable to form an emotional attachment whatsoever to any one place. Meanwhile, from very young ages, our kids were on record, saying that had they been given their way, we would have lived in California…..their home, in just one house. They longed to feel settled, secure and given some semblance of consistency. I think, looking back now, they probably appreciate and are grateful for the varied and extravagant experiences they knew while growing up, but at the time, “all that they wanted was to be like a normal family,” whatever that may look like? Maybe that’s what I longed for too?
Marina Drive’s entry gate was a perfect backdrop for a photo shoot with my treasured show dog, Jerrico, during his campaign for Westminster! (Not sure this qualifies as a ‘normal life,’ but confess this part was all my doing!)
That would never have been possible though, not if I wanted to keep our family and my marriage intact! Everything was constantly changing, and the only way it seemed possible to keep Al happy was to give him the freedom to behave like the Ringmaster and/or a Juggler in a Circus. He was compelled to direct and control everything, all the while keeping an entire basket of balls circling round and round in the air.
I didn’t even know at the time, that he had also, recently, bought another property in California. Coincidentally, the property was a vacant lot directly across the street from the Southwestern house in Montecito that I had originally liked, back when Al bought Freehaven in 1999; as Al would explain later, it, too, would be a great “project” for him? Then, it wasn’t a mere year or so later, under very suspicious circumstances involving another suicide attempt (this time with unsuccessful results), that Al bought back our original house, Rancho Cielo, in Rancho Santa Fe, and there was some discussion about moving back there? I’ll never begin to understand the machinations of Al’s brain that kept all this going, but Al presented the “re-buy” of Rancho Cielo under the guise of better schools for the kids, once again. I suspect the reason was actually something more sinister; whatever it was, I guess I musn’t have been ready to accept it at the time. It was truly dizzying, and I never knew the when and where of whether I was coming or going? What I did know was NOT to ask questions and, instead comply and cooperate! On one previous occasion, following Emily’s sixth grade year at Franklin Academy in Georgia, (probably best to save that entire story for another time), I had challenged “the plan” and proposed what I thought would be a better and more secure circumstance for our kids. Both my idea and I were met with stern consternation and an ultimatum….do it Al’s way, or “it” could all be over, and life wouldn’t go so well for me. Breaking up my kid’s family, our marriage, and further complicating an already disjointed set of lives didn’t seem like a reasonable solution, so I backed down, doubled up on my therapy sessions with James, and fell back, “lock and step,” in line with Al’s plan. It must appear I’m a pretty “slow study” from all that I’m recounting here, but it would be awhile longer before I questioned or hesitated to follow the path that was laid out before me…..at least not for another year or two!
EXHIBIT I:
For another year, or maybe a little more, I was once again the “good soldier” that Al expected of me, and was also the way I had been groomed to be throughout all of my childhood and upbringing. Eventually, it just became impossible for me to sustain that “good soldier” mentality. As such, it wasn’t long before the next occasion occurred when I got fed up enough to challenge the system; it was in June of 2007. By the time 2007 came around, we (particularly Al) had gotten very “chummy” with a car buddy from his old days, who had transformed himself into something of an “Aero” tycoon over the years and was Al’s connection to obtaining our Lear Jet. Mel, his wife and less frequently, his son and daughter were in and out of our lives for several years!
My one and only trip to Canada…my kids, Montreal, the snow…good weekend!
We had all, many months earlier flown with Maren included, on Mel’s “Global,” from the small St. Simons airport to Montreal, Canada for a weekend excursion and another real estate acquisition. This time it was a very ornate apartment building, and Al and Mel were to be 50/50 partners. I had never been to Canada, and during this particular weekend it was snowing, absolutely lovely, providing a much-needed break, and we were “doing it up big,” which was always entertaining. I don’t remember if it was because I was distracted by the occasion of a family trip, or because I had little concern that Al would ever move us to Canada, but I wasn’t worried about or even interested in the details of that apartment deal. Turned out that my lack of concern was a wise choice, because a few months later, the apartment was a forgotten topic, and I believe had been sold. All that remained was the memory of the trip, the pictures that accompanied the memories, and Al’s introduction to a man who was known as the dairy and cheese Czar of Canada and North America. He and his lovely wife even came to visit Sea Island for several weeks in the Spring of 2007, and sent a kind note thanking Al for everything and commenting on our lovely dinner at The Lodge. If you find yourself with a spare 5 minutes someday, look up Mr. Sapato’s name, and you’ll find, what could be a very interesting thread of possible past connection between Al and his new friend.
We had flown home from Georgia for the summer, and we weren’t even in California for two weeks when I discovered that Al had sold Marina Drive. It had been several months back when the property got “red-tagged” by the County for the construction Al was doing on the beachside “shack,” without plans, permits etc, along with the fence and hedge he had planted along our neighbor’s property line, again without permission or plans and which hadn’t been well- received, and now Marina had become just another headache and source of annoyance for Al. The whole mess was all going to require several lawyers, as well as many “zero’s” to correct and resolve the matter. Al seemed not be merely furious and indignant, but suddenly devoid of all interest in the property, too? Without so much as a mention, Marina Drive was gone, but there was more? He had ALSO bought a 100+ acre parcel of land in Santa Ynez. I thought, at the time, the difficult part of that property was how I learned about the purchase….. I was wrong.
Surprise purchase…..Summer of 2007; 108 acres
Several days after being back home and on one of our frequent jaunts over the San Marcos Pass from Roblar to Freehaven, PJ was exclaiming from the back seat how excited he was to get to Freehaven and ride his dirt bike. Over the previous summer, Al had asked one of the construction guys to excavate a “makeshift track” on the bottom portion of Freehaven’s 24 acres, and it was a huge hit with PJ. Now he had a relatively safe place to ride either his quad or his dirt bike and thus it was a win for me too. The words had barely escaped PJ’s lips, when Al responded excitedly saying, “just wait til you see the new ranch we have in the Valley; it’s over 100 acres, has a stream and all kinds of paths and trails that will be perfect for the dirt bike…..you’re going to love it! Emily had her headphones on, so I don’t think she even heard the exchange, and I just swallowed hard, trying to ignore what Al had just said. At that point, I didn’t know the half, or any of the details, but I recognized, way too well, the knot I could feel growing in the pit of my stomach. It was later revealed that one of the agents on that particular transaction, Al’s agent to be exact, was also a member of “The FFP Club;” but you’ll have to go back to my DearEasyDiaries blog entry dated 4/22, with the same title, to see why that not-so-little detail was less than pleasant for me to learn! As I already mentioned, the summer of 2007 was brutal, and deserves a post of its own (in the process), but in the meantime, it’s important to remember, for context, that in less than two weeks of being home for the summer, I had learned, for the first time, that Al had sold one property, our California beach house, and bought another……a 108 acre ranch. My mind was spinning!
EXHIBIT J: July, 2009
A year had passed since our MSA was negotiated and recorded with the courts; at Al’s request, and against Sorrell’s (my California counsel) wishes. But after two days of mediation in Al’s, Brunswick Georgia attorney’s office, and dogged insistence from my Georgia attorney that the deal Al was offering in this mediation was better than anything I’d see should our divorce proceed to trial in Georgia; I considered how much my kids wanted to return home, leave the fish-bowl existence our lives had become in Georgia, and be done with the whole ugly, dramatic mess…..and I agreed. I signed a Marital Settlement Agreement on September 5, 2008, thinking that what was outlined throughout those pages were circumstances I could live with? Three days later, the kids and I were back in California, and I was busy with the process of getting them settled in new schools. Almost a year later (10 months to be exact) and Al had managed to dodge each item that our agreement outlined should have occurred thus far; plus he flatly refused to adhere to 98% of what our MSA mandated was to happen moving forward. I found myself that July day of 2009, sitting once again in a conference room of another one of Al’s attorney’s offices, and feeling as defeated and low as I had ever known. The only consolation was that now I had Trope & Trope sitting on my side of that long, black, conference room table, and it was my side conducting the deposition. That day was the very first time in 20 years, when I felt like I could put at least one checkmark in the “WIN” column of my dealings with Al. It goes without saying that my kids would ALWAYS be considered “wins,” but otherwise, I was left with little but experiences and lessons to show for all of the days, weeks, months and years that I spent believing I had a partner and a marriage worth fighting for.
My Trope & Trope attorney did not disappoint, and while I hated being in situations like that, I sat there still as could be and only interjected a couple words, once. I confess to taking satisfaction from watching Al sit there, disgusted that he was having to comply with this measure but at the same time having absolutely zero choice in the matter; it was probably reminiscent of the way I had felt for nearly 19 years? I had no idea what the deposition would reveal and both John, (my “depo” attorney), and I discussed later our utter shock when Al revealed he had failed to disclose the sale of one of the Georgia properties (the Beach Club Penthouse) for just over $2 million dollars. Not only did he not disclose it, but he promptly used the funds…..and not to provide a home for the kids and I, which was a part of the MSA’s stipulations. By that time, the kids and I (plus our three dogs and turtle) had lived in my Mom’s tiny two bedroom, two bath home with her for two months, and were now on to our second rental, all in just a 10 month period. But wait, that’s NOT all! The next bombshell was revealed shortly after the first one slipped out. When asked about his financial disclosures that were used to gauge child support numbers, Al admitted, actually almost bragged, with smug condescension, that he had NOT been forthcoming or transparent during our MSA negotiations. He had reported a monthly income of $40 - $50,000. In the deposition, though, he divulged that his monthly income had actually been around $120,000 per month! Maybe it’s just me, but I think that is a pretty SIGNIFICANT discrepancy; particularly when it’s regarding the support of your children? I found Al’s dishonesty and deceptive behavior beyond repugnant then, and the sentiment has only strengthened, not mellowed, with time.
EXHIBIT K:
It’s often hard to fathom that I managed to survive those years…..the twists and turns, the non-stop cycling of lies, and the constant “shell game” that was designed to frustrate any, and all, attempts to piece together the entirety of Al’s elaborate and bizarre ruse. All of that mental stress, combined with trying to be a good Mom at the same time, keep the three firms of attorneys that all of Al’s actions required, paid just enough that they would stick by me, and not leave me hanging, like some neurotic mess headed straight for a padded, white cell, pushed me far beyond any strength I thought I had ever seen, or known, much less harness for myself? I was, ironically, grateful that Al had such a penchant for the generous gifting of jewelry. It was one of those gifts that keeps on giving, as I was forced to sell every single item. The real gift was that the jewelry held the power to pay many of those billable hours attorneys charge, and Al’s multiple motions in multiple states required my participation. Between the two times he took me back to court in Georgia to challenge the Settlement Agreement, the countless motions he made in California to evade performance of the MSA, and finally his filing of bankruptcy, I should have been broken…..in every way a person can be broken? Plus let’s be honest and call a spade a spade, I started the divorce phase financially stripped and broken, as Al had designed from the beginning. The part of me that he never understood, and definitely underestimated was my soul and my faith. Those two items he couldn’t touch, and because of that, he couldn’t break my spirit. There were so many times I felt weak and unsure of how to continue, but I couldn’t give up, and I was determined to keep fighting. I guess if there was one bright spot through all those years of day in/day out legal battle (2008 – 2014) the one thing that Al never fought FOR, was the kids. If he had gone after me regarding Emily and PJ, with even “an iota” of the the vengeance he exacted for “HIS” properties, I probably would have just dropped. BUT AL NEVER ASKED FOR, NOR EXERCISED, NOT EVEN ONCE, A SINGLE PROVISION THAT OUR MSA GRANTED HIM REGARDING CUSTODIAL RIGHTS. About that too, I kept meticulous records, and have a box of all my cell phones over the years with all the text messages I sent regarding Emily and PJ’s school activities, extracurricular events, surgeries, injuries, E.R. visits, rolling of a truck, etc… Never again would I not be prepared for his crazymaking. I was lucky to find out early on in the divorce proceeding that we were incapable of co-parenting, with any kind of genuine, reciprocal concern or throughtfulness. Once I learned that lesson, I could be polite to Al when required, but I never engaged with Al regarding the kids verbally, as it was all a game to him; just one big series of “GOTCHAS!” Initially, interactions with the kids became just another tool he could use; whether he would twist my words, or straight up lie, it only required two or three of those instances before I caught on, and from then on, I put in writing every single event, big or small that involved our children, as well as most everything else. Our kids were not a game; they were not chess pieces to be moved around a board in order to capitalize on the next big “score,” nor were they pieces of property to be traded, left behind, or sacrificed, to serve up as a win in a column on a checklist. Emily and PJ were, and remain, the greatest gifts of my life.
We survived; we bought a ranch; we added another “son” and we made our way…..
Now, with both the kids adults (the youngest at 24), it’s almost inconceivable that I still continue to find more skeletons from the games that Al played, sometimes with the assistance of K. Ass and others (maybe a Morty, a Miss Piggy, here and there), or all by himself? It’s those times when I’m reminded of all the OTHER games Al played. I find it funny (not funny, haha, because there’s nothing entertaining or comical about this subject), but funny, odd that most of the time Al played his games, he played against himself. He was driven by the “pieces” that motivated him…..his control, his power and his precious properties. Had he known me at all, he would have used the “chip” that mattered to me….my love for my children and their well-being. It was that love that kept me fighting, and propelled me forward when I was at my lowest. I hesitate to say it, because as soon as I do, something else will happen to rattle my cage again, but I’ve got to believe that there isn’t much left that Al could do that would surprise me! However, if I wind up dead in the next few weeks or months, I’ve outlined a pretty solid case for where an investigation might start, right?
CLOSING STATEMENT:
At the very beginning of this blog entry, I said “YOU BE THE JUDGE!” So, forget what I think….. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS? Do I “know just enough about real estate to be dangerous?”
Regardless, however, of whether I know enough to be dangerous, I DO KNOW enough to share some warnings, red flags and items to be cautious of when dealing with seemingly charming, but in reality, narcissistic, unscrupulous, and corrupt people. I’ll save some more of the salacious legal details for another time, like 1031 Exchanges, 8 Shady Path, or “creative” IRS accounting.
For now, let’s stay with what might help preserve your sanity, today or tomorrow…..if needed. Although, heaven knows, I hope you DON’T EVER NEED these tidbits.
~ For example, if you’re in the beginning stages of a relationship, and after a few months or so, the person begins to behave completely opposite to everything they said and demonstrated during the first couple months…..RUN! Run fast and go anywhere, but get away from them, and stay away!
~ Next, if you’re newly married and your spouse says something like, “they know how much you hate dealing with tedious items like balancing your checkbook, or they just want to make your life easier, and they’ll have the accountant handle your finances?” Again…..RUN; if not permanently away, then at least to the nearest therapist, lawyer, or both!
~ Also, if you’re in a relationship, or married, and you return from a trip, which your significant other didn’t also attend, only to find all of the seat, radio and mirror settings in your car changed, plus a faintly different fragrance wafting through your home…..BE AWARE AND PROCEED WITH EXTREME VIGILANCE!
~ I CAN NEVER RESTATE THIS NEXT ONE OFTEN ENOUGH, but NEVER second guess your gut instincts!
Otherwise, it’s possible you could end up 15-20 years later with NOTHING! Nothing but, (and I’m NOT kidding), a monthly allowance….. no joint credit cards, no joint accounts, no properties with your name anywhere on the paperwork, no trust accounts that mention your name…..NOTHING! And, believe me, nothing doesn’t house children; nothing doesn’t provide a stable future; nothing doesn’t pay multiple lawyers in order to survive a 9+ year divorce settlement battle; nothing doesn’t guarantee you, that what you worked to help achieve for 19 years will be credited to you; and finally, nothing doesn’t stop the lies that are told about you to anyone or everyone that was a part of your life, and will listen. Nothing is the equivalent of the person who did all that; and did it without beating an eye, losing a wink of sleep, worrying about the concern and welfare of children involved, or without hesitation to defraud and commit perjury in multiple cases, in multiple courts, in multiple states and for multiple years. Again, I urge you SO strongly….be careful before you “fall” for NOTHING!
As for me, I’m grateful. I feel blessed everyday to be gone, and far from Al’s reach. Even if it’s just down the road, I’m free, and the ground I walk on NOW is clean…..free from the eggshells I used to tiptoe around and over. Never again will I walk on any path that bears any resemblance to that previous one. I hope you don’t either! Maybe it was never about whether I “knew just enough to be dangerous?” Maybe it’s far more important that I knew just enough to survive, because survive I did.
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