Brent Marks Legal Thriller Series: Box Set One

  “That’s right. He was almost killed, and now he can’t communicate.”

  “And you’ve been appointed already as his conservator?”

  “Yes.”

  “I looked at the materials you sent over to me. Of course, I would have to review all of the files, but its looks like when the bank bought the assets of Tentane Mutual after the FDIC seizure, your father’s mortgage was not properly assigned to the mortgage backed securities trust that was supposed to be one of the assets.”

  Before the 2008 mortgage crisis, thousands of subprime real estate loans on over-appraised real estate were assigned to mortgage pools and then resold to investors as mortgage backed securities. When U.S. home prices declined sharply after peaking in 2006, it became difficult for borrowers to refinance their loans. As adjustable rate mortgages began to increase in monthly payments, mortgage delinquencies soared, causing mortgage backed securities to lose most of their value. This, in turn, led to what is known as the financial crisis of 2008; the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression.

  “Yes, they tried to slip it in with a forged assignment three years after the closing date of the Trust.”

  “I saw that. The assignment of the deed of trust was signed by Prudent Bank, who was not even authorized to assign to the Trust.”

  “And it was a robo-signing.”

  Robo-signing was a common practice during the years leading to the 2008 financial crisis, where numerous low level bank employees would sign important documents, as officers of the bank, often with forged notary signatures. Brent could see the prima facie elements of a solid mortgage fraud case against the bank.

  “The branch president talked my father into the loan,” she continued, “to get him back on his feet after he lost most of his capital in the stock market. Then, when the loan adjusted and the payments doubled, he talked him into going behind on his mortgage payments so he could qualify for a loan modification because he said it would be easier than a refi.”

  “But he never got the modification.”

  “That’s right, only a foreclosure notice, and now he can’t pay at all.” April’s lip quivered, and tears welled up in her eyes.

  “What’s the name of the branch manager?”

  “Steve Bernstein. He’s a vice president of Prudent Bank now.”

  “Ms. Marsh…”

  “April.”

  “April, my preliminary review tells me you have a potential case of mortgage fraud here, and we may be able to have the court declare that Prudent Bank has no power to collect on the loan or foreclose on the deed of trust.”

  “I know, but that’s not why I came to you.” Brent looked puzzled.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I came to you because of your landmark case against Prudent Bank last year. My mother was murdered, Mr. Marks, and my father was beat within an inch of his life.”

  “I know. I remember the case. The police never identified a suspect.”

  “I know who did it.”

  “You do?”

  “Well, I know who ordered it, but I can’t prove it, but you can.”

  “Wait a minute, I’m a civil lawyer. You came to me to discuss the case against the bank.”

  “The bank did it.” April’s eyes were trained straight on Brent’s. “I know you may think I’m crazy, but I know the bank is behind my mother’s murder.”

  “And how does that tie into your mortgage fraud case?”

  “Mr. Marks…”

  “Brent.”

  “Brent, do you remember the OJ Simpson case?”

  “Yes I do.”

  “Did you have any doubt that OJ was responsible for Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman’s murder?”

  “None whatsoever. But he was acquitted.”

  “That’s right, but he lost the civil case for wrongful death. I’m here because you proved in the Carson case that Prudent’s employees perjured themselves in Court, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that they committed mail fraud and wire fraud in the process of foreclosing on your client’s home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, aren’t murder and attempted murder predicate acts under RICO?” RICO, the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act, was a federal statute that Brent had used against the bank in his landmark wrongful foreclosure case.

  “Look, Ms. Marsh.”

  “April.”

  “April, I’m not sure you came to the right lawyer for this.”

  “Oh, I’m absolutely sure I did. My mother is dead. My father will probably die soon. I don’t give a damn about the house. I just want those bastards to pay for what they did to my parents.” Her bottom lip, the one that was quivering before, was absolutely stiff. The telltale sign of the problem client who wanted to sue for “the principle” began to rear its head in Brent’s mind.

  “What gives you the idea the bank is behind your mother’s murder?”

  “My father was the principal witness in a grand jury investigation against the bank. All the other witnesses were scared off. He wasn’t. Most people, faced with two difficult choices, prefer not to choose at all. My family is not one to back down from a conflict.” Brent could see that.

  “Unfortunately, violence has a way of overpowering even the strongest of wills,” she added.

  “I’ll look at the case and make a full evaluation. If I think I can win, I’ll take it. That’s all I can promise you.”

  “I left the files up front with your secretary.”

  “Great, I’ll give you a call after I evaluate the case, but I have one ground rule with all my clients.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s your case, but if I take it, as long as I’m on it, I run it. Is that agreed?”

  “Yes, so long as you agree that we have a RICO case and that murder is one of the predicate acts.” April was tough. She would make a terrible damsel in distress.

  “Like I said, I will evaluate the case and let you know.” Brent stood up, showing her that the interview was over. April stood up as well, and shook his hand.

  “Thank you, Brent. I’m glad I found the right lawyer.”

  “I haven’t taken the case yet.”

  As she turned to leave, and Brent watched the swish of her hips, he almost lost sight of his rules. April turned her silky blonde head, her eyes smiling. “You will,” she said.

  5

  Brent set aside the rest of the day to dig through cases. In the old days, you had to go to the law library to do legal research, or buy hundreds of law books, at the cost of thousands of dollars per month. Now, thanks to the Internet, which leveled the playing field, for less than $100 per month, Brent had access to all the legal authorities he needed, and all it took was his computer and a lot of time.

  Brent actually had a social life, but he was between girlfriends at the moment, so he plowed into his work. As his late mentor, Charles Stinson, used to say, “Your first mistress is the law.” Of course, he said that when Brent was too busy fooling around to prepare for a joint case he and Charles were working on until the last minute. Then, early on the morning of the trial, they were both in the office together, copying exhibits and preparing testimony, because Charles also valued his play time.

  RICO, the Racketeering Influenced Corrupt Organizations Act, was first enacted in 1970 by Congress to take a bite out of organized crime in the 60’s, but it also can be used to bring a civil action, and that is where Brent focused his research. Since its enactment, RICO cases had been brought against the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club, famous mafia crime families like the Gambinos and Luccheses, and even business tycoon Michael Milken. But most civil RICO cases never got past the pleading stages. Big business committed big crimes, but they also hired big firms to defend them, and spent big money to get the best defense. Most RICO claims did not have a chance.

  The law was a tool. It was complicated, but being your own lawyer was worse than being your own surgeon. Lawyers are expensive, and powe
rful people can afford more of them than the common man. To go up against Prudent Bank was no easy task for a one-man firm like Brent’s.

  To make a case under RICO, Brent would have to plead that Prudent Bank was a criminal enterprise, and that it had committed at least two serious crimes (predicate acts) as part of the operation of the enterprise. Certainly murder and attempted murder were among the top offenses that could be alleged, but Brent thought it a little far-fetched that a bank could be accused of murder. However, companies do not exist independently of the people who run them, and people do commit murder for many various reasons.

  Brent had seen enough fraud in April’s files on the part of both Tentane Mutual Bank as well as a cover-up by Prudent Bank to stick Prudent with a nice fat mortgage fraud claim, but going after them for RICO was a bigger stretch. The last thing he wanted was for the Court to throw out his case on a motion to dismiss, or for the judge to get a bad impression about it to begin with.

  Tentane and Prudent had falsified documents. They didn’t bother having notaries actually sign and witness documents, as required by law. They just stamped the notary’s stamps on the documents and had employees in their mortgage processing factories in more than 15 states forge the notaries’ names. That was known as “robo-signing,” and, April, being an investigative reporter, had already obtained expert handwriting analysis and records to prove the assignments of the mortgage were forgeries. She also had a forensic report that showed a faulty chain of title of documents on the Marshes’ mortgage. Prudent Bank knew about the fraud, yet proceeded with foreclosure like nothing was done wrong.

  What it meant to Mr. Marsh was that Prudent Bank, who had purchased the assets of Tentane Mutual by an agreement with the government on the eve of the FDIC seizure, did not have the legal right to foreclose on the Marsh home.

  Prudent had already paid millions of dollars in fines to numerous government agencies and investors for their deceptive mortgage loan origination and fraudulent securitization practices. They knew about the problems with the faulty assignments and forgeries, but covered them up and continued to record false documents to try to bury the massive fraud after they took over Tentane Mutual.

  Since they used the U.S. Mail and made interstate telephone calls in connection with their cover up, Brent surmised that he could hang a RICO case against them by alleging the predicate acts of mail fraud (the U.S. Mail) and wire fraud (the interstate telephone calls). That way, he didn’t have to prove a murder case. But now he had to sell this idea to April.

  ***

  Brent looked at the clock. It was already 10 p.m. He picked up the phone to call his buddy, Rick Penn, who was also his investigator.

  “Dude, I think I’ve got a juicy case for you,” said into the phone.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me, it’s 10 freakin’ p.m. If you want to talk about it, get down to Sonny’s and we’ll talk about it over a drink.”

  Sonny’s was Rick’s favorite bar. State Street may be charming during the day, but at night, the lower part of it, near the Santa Barbara Pier, got pretty wild. Sonny’s was one of the bars on the lower side that always seemed to always be full, even on the weekdays.

  “I’ll be there in twenty,” said Brent, and hung up the phone.

  6

  Sonny’s was always packed and the fact that it was Thursday night made no difference. The cops had already parked some squad cars on State Street to prepare for their post bar-closing drunk driving dragnet, so Brent had been smart and walked there from his office. It was about ten blocks, but they were short blocks. Santa Barbara itself was a small town, only 42 square miles, but it had the longest south facing coastline on the west coast, which was beautiful it was referred to as the “American Riviera.”

  Brent planned to take a cab home after the meeting. He knew only too well California’s DUI laws. There was no way he would be caught driving under the influence of alcohol, even though he knew all the prosecutors in the city – especially because he knew all the prosecutors in the city.

  As was typical with most of the bars and bar and grills downtown, Sonny’s had an outdoor seating area on the sidewalk. Brent could see that it was completely full of after-work partiers as he approached. Men in slacks who had shed their ties and jackets, and women in loosened dress wear toasted each other and celebrated being away from the office. Since it was only a few blocks from the coast, it made for a frosty evening even on a summer night, but the peeps at Sonny’s didn’t care. They were insulated from the inside out and feeling warm and fuzzy all over. Sonny’s kick ass sound system was so good, Brent could swear it was really Shakira singing instead of her recording of “Whenever, Wherever,” when he walked in.

  Rick was sitting at the bar. He was easy to pick out in a crowd because he was the tallest guy at the bar. He was always easy to spot, for that matter, because he was always the tallest guy anywhere. When Brent first started hanging out with him, it was kind of intimidating because he didn’t quite know where to look. He wanted to look up because he eventually had to put his head down, and he didn’t want Rick to think he was looking at his crotch. The other thing was, it’s usually nice to make eye contact with someone you’re having a conversation with. Seated at the bar, it was a lot easier. He didn’t have to strain his neck.

  Rick smiled, and put out his hand for the “thumb to thumb” handshake, which Brent tackled with experience as he slid onto the bar chair. Rick was an ex-FBI agent, retired from the Bureau for about five years, about 56 years old, 13 years Brent’s senior, with greying hair that still fully covered his head and, although he tried to look cool, he could never shake that “G-Man look,” which was a combination between “GQ” and nerd. He definitely looked better in a suit than the long baggy grey shorts and black Def Leppard T-shirt he wore.

  Rick had started out with the LAPD, and was hired out by the Bureau after putting in about five years hard work as a street cop, and then spent the next ten years of his career in the Bureau’s LA office until the Santa Barbara position opened. His buddies in LA used to joke that he went “on vacation” when he transferred to Santa Barbara. For Rick, it was a step closer to the perfect retirement. He now worked as a private eye to supplement his retirement income from the government.

  They had met about ten years before, when Brent was taking just about any case for money, just to survive in private practice. Rick had walked into the office, fully suited, and presented himself as Special Agent Penn of the FBI. Brent had almost pissed himself, wondering if this G-Man had come to arrest him for something. It turned out that he just needed a general education on securities, and Brent was well versed in them, having recently settled a big securities fraud lawsuit.

  “What’s goin’ on big dog?” Rick asked.

  “Hey dude.”

  Rick flagged down the bartender, a lanky young guy, who leaned over to take the order.

  “Whatcha drinkin’?” asked Rick.

  “I’ll have one of those chick’s martinis.”

  “Cosmo,” Rick said to the bartender, who nodded and went to work on it.

  “Drinkin’ the chick’s drinks, means you’re getting horny, dude,” said Rick.

  “You know me, I’m always horny.” Rick laughed. “Look, I need you to take a look at a case for me,” said Brent.

  “Who’s the client? Gotta know so there’s no conflict.”

  “April Marsh.”

  “Doncha mean March April?” Rick prided himself as the master of puns. Of course, after a couple of drinks, his corny jokes got even better, or so he thought.

  “Very funny.”

  “So, what’s she look like?”

  “Rick, come on, man.”

  “No, you come on. One to ten, a five? Seven? Is she hot?”

  “Rick, I didn’t come here to talk chicks.”

  “Since when do we not talk chicks? Plus we’re in a bar for fuck’s sake. What else do guys talk about in a bar?”

  “Dude, I can’t get involved with a client.”
/>
  “Oh, so she is hot?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “What? What happened, did your dick go on vacation or something?” What’s she look like?” Brent was stoic.

  “Blonde hair?” asked Rick. Brent said nothing, giving it away. “Blue eyes? Green?” Again nothing. “Whoa, I’m on a roll now. Smokin’ hot body too, right?”

  “If you must know…”

  “I must.”

  “Yes, all of that.” Rick whistled.

  “Can we be serious now?” asked Brent. The bartender slid the pink martini to Brent across the sticky counter. Rick pointed to his own glass with a “pouring motion” and the bartender topped it up.

  “Serious is too boring.”

  “It’s no boring case.”

  “Yeah, you told me.” He covered his mouth, as if to yawn. “Financial fraud, whoopee!”

  “This is different.”

  “How so?”

  “Her parents’ house was in foreclosure, Prudent Bank – major fraud.

  “So?”

  “Her mother was murdered. Father beat within an inch of his life.”

  “You told me. And?”

  “She says the bank VP did it.”

  “Why would a bank VP want to murder her mother?”

  “That was my initial reaction too. Seems the bank was up against a Grand Jury investigation for all their dirty little mortgage dealings and the parents were witnesses.”

  “Now that is interesting. Well, banks are the biggest mafia, you know, except for the government of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Calls for a toast,” Rick said, lifting his glass. Brent took the cue and raised his class as well. “Give me everything and I’ll sniff around for you.” Rick slammed his drink as Brent took a sip from his martini.

  ***

  “Come by the office tomorrow afternoon. Melinda should have your copies of the files ready by then,” said Brent.

  “Don’t have to talk me into it. That Melinda is one helluva fox.”