Duty to Investigate

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

0440, 16 November 2003

DNS Office

Downtown Chicago, Illinois

Anne Merrill saw less than ten vehicles on the road when she turned off the I-290 onto LaSalle. She thought of how she had ended up working for Joe O’Daniel.

Dr. Nichols could never say no to his only daughter Anne, and, as expected, she made straight As in college, obtaining a Bachelor of Arts degree in photography from the University of Illinois. She dated a good-looking pre-med student from a wealthy family. They graduated in May and had a June wedding. Dr. Nichols expected that Anne would live the life of a wealthy housewife and start having babies. It didn’t turn out that way.

Anne remembered her husband Brian’s admission to medical school and how she looked for a job as a photographer. She got lots of interviews, but the prospective employers always took one look at her and insisted on referring her to a modeling agency. When she became bored with modeling, she went back to school for a masters in photojournalism at the University of Missouri while her husband completed his internship at Barnes’s Hospital in St. Louis.

Between the demands on Anne’s study time and the lengthy hours her husband spent at the hospital, the two lacked time to develop a close relationship. When they left St. Louis for Chicago, Anne knew that their marriage had already turned cold. It lasted another two years, when Brian fell in love with a nurse and decided to divorce Anne. Anne felt relieved to be out of the marriage. She’d merely been going through the motions. She was someone who pushed to get things done, and a stagnant marriage had not been what she’d signed on for.

A year after the divorce, Anne applied for a position with the Dearborn News Service, a company that owned both the Chicago News and a local television station. Anne was aware that the Chicago News was notorious for its support of local Democrats, and at the time Anne went to work she knew that the newspaper depended on its core anti-Bush readers for its circulation numbers and profits. Every edition contained some article bad-mouthing the Republican Party.

Joe O’Daniel, the Vice-President of Operations at DNS, ran both the newspaper and television. He offered Anne a job as a television reporter. At first she turned down the offer, but Joe persisted and offered a deal. Anne could pursue her photojournalism career as long as she also worked for the television station. It was double duty, but Anne figured that at least she would stay busy—and it would be easy. She was ambitious, and now that she was divorced, she would enjoy channeling her professional energies into her job.

0500, 16 November 2003

DNS Office

Chicago, Illinois

When she arrived at the office, Anne began researching everything she could find on Newport Financial. A dozen companies with similar names existed, but none of their customer representatives Anne spoke to would admit having any record of Mrs. Oliver’s loan. Finally, Anne asked Frank to interview the process server.

Four blocks from the old Cook County Courthouse, the process server occupied a rundown office in a 12-story building that now housed fringe government agencies without budgets to make lease improvements. No name appeared on the door, just a piece of cardboard stuck inside one window that listed basic information: Michael H. Berne, Registered Process Server, 222 N. 44th Street, Chicago Illinois, 60602.

“Get ready, Anne. When he opens the door, you snap his photograph.”

Frank pounded on the door and then stepped back. When the process server opened the door, Anne flashed a picture. The process server stood well over six feet and weighed over 250 pounds. He looked like the quintessential bully.

“Hi. Michael. Frank Tobolski from DNS. I’m sure you were expecting us sooner or later.”

Berne crossed his arms defensively and responded. “Now why would I be expecting you?”

“Because of Mrs. Oliver. We were there the day you called the police.”

Berne paused, suspicious of his visitors. “If I talk to you, are you going to take my name out of the story?”

Frank looked Berne in the eye. “I want to do a story on the people that hired you. I promise that no one will know the source of any information you provide. Your clients will never know where I got their names.”

The process server thought a while and smiled the same smile a wolf shows a cornered lamb.

“I have been working for one of those law firms uptown,” Berne said. “The name is Forrester & Seubert on La Salle. I work for Mr. Seubert’s assistant, Brian Townsend. They send me a couple of files every week and pay me a flat fee of a thousand dollars for my services. My job is to get the owners to move out and sign a release. I’m authorized to pay them ten thousand dollars in cash. Until Mrs. Oliver, every case has been the same. The people claim they made their mortgage payments and don’t know anything about a foreclosure. However, they all fold their tents when I make it clear that I’ll give them the ten grand just to avoid any trouble.”

Without thinking, Anne interrupted. “Did you offer Mrs. Oliver the money?”

“I offered Mrs. Oliver the standard ten thousand. She wouldn’t consider it. I should have sent the file back to Forrester & Seubert, but that damned dog went crazy on me. He attacked me right there on the porch. I screwed up and called the police. I thought they would explain that her house had already been sold, but the cops couldn’t get close to the dog or the old lady. Brian came over the next day to tell me I was fired.”

Anne decided to let Frank ask the questions and kept quiet.

“You say that homeowners claim they make their mortgage payments?” Frank asked.

“Sure, but not only on the Forrester & Seubert cases. I serve a lot of eviction notices, and believe me—everyone says that they paid.”

“Did you ever wonder why Forrester & Seubert was paying you a grand to give away ten thousand dollars?”

“Of course, but ask yourself why a downtown firm is doing foreclosures? I figure they must have some high-powered client who doesn’t want to take a chance that his name is going to be connected to kicking people out of their homes. Maybe a movie star or politician.”

“So you really think this is on the up-and-up.” Frank pressed the issue.

The process server nodded his head. “Are you going to tell me that Mrs. Oliver couldn’t be a little confused about when or where she sent her payments? When I asked her where she was sending the money, she gave me the address of her insurance company.”

Frank nodded his head. “I guess we’ll find out when we trace her checks.”

When they returned to the DNS office, Anne’s telephone messages included one from Mrs. Oliver. Anne returned the call and discovered that Mrs. Oliver had been served with an eviction summons. The plaintiff’s attorney was Robert Seubert of Forrester & Seubert, 120 N. La Salle Street, Chicago, Illinois. Anne rushed down to Frank Tobolski’s office with the news.

“Well, this story will probably go nowhere, but at least no one at DNS will be complaining about it,” Frank said. “Forrester & Seubert are big-time Republicans. I think John Forrester has been chairman of the Republican Fund Raising Committee since you were in high school. O’Daniel is going to love this, and we’ll both get a raise if we can nail a Republican law firm. Mr. Oliver was a Marine. I think I know someone who can help.”

Frank clasped his hands and smiled smugly. A reporter scored points where he could.

1200, 17 November 2003

Johnson and Beck’s Office

Chicago, Illinois

When Mike Beck returned to the office from the morning motion calendar, the receptionist informed him that Mr. Johnson needed to see him. Mike went straight to Sidney’s office.

“Hey, Sid. What’s up? You need to see me?”

“Yes. I’m trying to prevent a widow from being thrown out of her house by some mortgage company. Her husband served with me in Vietnam, so I thought I’d give it a shot. Got a heads-up from some guy named Tobolski at DNS. I had Karen Schuman do the research. She says there isn’t a damn thing we can do after they have completed the trustee’s sale and recorded the deed. But I have to do something. Hell, I’ll buy the house back if I have to. I already deposited eight grand in our trust account in order to help her. I think the eviction hearing is on Friday.”

After listening to the rest of the facts, Beck concluded that even with the $8,000, the only thing to buy time was to file bankruptcy. He remembered Sharon Steinberg, a bankruptcy lawyer in Calumet Park. He telephoned her from Sidney’s office.

“Sharon, I’m doing a pro bono for a widow with an eviction hearing on Friday. I think with some time I can reach a settlement. Any chance you could file a bankruptcy for her while we figure this out?”

Steinberg sounded excited to help. “Sure, but if the hearing is on Friday, she better get in to see me today. She’ll need the filing fee and a list of her creditors.”

Beck took a quick look at his calendar. “No problem. I’ll bring a check for the filing fee and will have her over at noon, if that’s convenient.”

“That will work perfectly, Mike. See you then.”

At noon, Beck met Tobolski and Mrs. Oliver at the bankruptcy lawyer’s office located in a strip mall off Interstate 57 and Burr Oak Avenue. Tobolski walked up and shook Beck’s hand.

“I’ve heard of you, Mr. Beck. Thanks for helping us out.”

“My pleasure, Frank. I’m sure that between the press and the law, something can be done for Mrs. Oliver. The military service angle won’t hurt either.”

Steinberg shook her head and moaned when Tobolski explained that Mrs. Oliver had no checking account, paid her bills with cashier’s checks, had no proof of making her mortgage payments, and didn’t keep financial records of any kind.

“Well, Mike, I can’t promise anything,” Steinberg said. “I don’t think there’s anything that can be done once the foreclosure sale is completed. Without any records, the bankruptcy judge may allow the eviction to go forward. If you can’t come up with anything fast, the bankruptcy court will probably allow the state court to proceed.”

Mrs. Oliver didn’t seem to have a clue what any of Steinberg’s talk meant, but Beck convinced her that she wasn’t going to be thrown in the street. Frank made it clear that she should call the minute she heard anything from Sharon Steinberg.

1830, 19 November 2003

Forrester & Seubert Law Office

Chicago, Illinois

After work on Friday, Bob Seubert and John Forrester walked to a bar four blocks from the office. The place looked crowded, but they grabbed a corner booth. Bob Seubert explained what had happened in the Oliver case. John Forrester appeared nervous. “Where is this thing headed?” he asked.

“I’ve done the research. The deed was recorded and there is no way that the bankruptcy court or any other court can set aside the foreclosure. Since the foreclosure is complete, it cannot be restructured in the bankruptcy, and the bankruptcy judge will have to allow the eviction to proceed. That old b***h will either have to settle with us or get her fat ass out by the end of next week.” He paused. “Don’t worry so much, John. I have this under control.”