Michael got stronger and stronger, week by week, and he shed weight when I didn’t think he had any more to lose. Again, some people point to this ‘thinness’ as if it were a disturbing sign, but he had shrunk ever since the trial and his fitness regime made him skinnier. It was also normal – during each tour he ever did, he’d lose three inches off his waist. Michael was simply shedding weight because of those daily four hours of dance. Not bad for a man who, according to one biographer, ‘needed a lung transplant’. In late 2008, he was so fit that, further down the line – eight weeks before he died – when he bumped into a friend in a doctor’s office, he lifted his shirt and said, ‘Have you seen my six-pack?’ The private truth versus the public image.
Those around Michael sensed he was warming up again when he started requesting CDs, just like old times. He was so obsessed about staying up-to-date with musical trends that every week he was sent the Top 10 from the Billboard Hot 100 burned onto one disc, plus four other discs with songs from the R&B, electro, dance and Euro scenes. He would listen to every track to determine what was hot and what was selling because he wanted to stay ahead of the curve. He hadn’t done that for a while. As one of his inner circle put it, ‘He was getting ready for his close-up again. He was writing songs, looking better, looking sharp, getting his act back together. He was at peace with himself.’ To me, this is both the beauty and the travesty: Michael was so excited about what the future held, and he had so many plans. He was buying a new property in Vegas and was determined to build a new Neverland, unstained by a police raid; he looked forward to a short residency tour so that Prince, Paris and ‘Blanket’ could see their daddy on the road properly for the first time; he also knew that touring offered him the chance to regain control and make enough money so that he could, finally, clear his crippling debts. His outlook was positive again. His body was back in shape. His focus was the future.
After his ‘This Is It’ concerts were done, and he’d had a few weeks off, he looked forward to performing spot dates in China. In 2011, he was eyeing up the half-time slot at the Superbowl (the one that the Black Eyed Peas would end up doing) to repeat his legendary show of 1993. And then, some time before 2014, he had two more tours up his sleeve: the ‘back by popular demand’ dates that no one knew about. Despite what everyone thinks, the comeback concerts in London were the beginning, not the end. I know what Michael said in March 2009: ‘When I say this is it, it really means “this is it” … This is the final curtain-call.’ That was his great tease: he was a master salesman, too, and if the world thought that London would be their last opportunity to see him perform, then they would rush to buy tickets. The rules of limited supply and big demand. Many misunderstood his commercial astuteness because he excelled at smoke-and-mirrors, mystery and big surprises.
Admittedly, it wasn’t all hype. He worried that the tickets might not sell, so the tour announcement was also a toe in the water, to test the temperature of the public mood – his confidence had been shattered by everything he had been through. Could he sell out five concerts, let alone 10? That was why he chose London, not America: he was concerned that America wouldn’t accept him the way Europe would. That’s not a reflection on his fans: it’s an indication of how scarred he was by those years of child-molester headlines and the treatment he had received in his own country. It had made him doubt that his popularity had survived the allegations. Remember, it had been a long time since the ‘HIStory’ tour, and he was 50 years old now. It was also why the O2 arena, with 20,000 seating capacity, was chosen by a man who had once played to 180,000 people on Aintree racecourse in northern England. Start small with the rebuild. Ease yourself in. I think he needed to see the scale of the love before he believed that his fans hadn’t turned against him.
Come 2008, Michael was not only hungry again, he had a five-year plan sketched out. But to make sense of all this, and to understand how this secret future started to form, I first need to take you back to 2005 when he walked out of court, vowed never to live again at Neverland, and went to make music in Bahrain with Prince Abdullah.
THE MOMENT THE AUTHORITIES RETURNED HIS passport, Michael headed east with the kids and Nanny Grace, and explored the option of permanent residence. He viewed America as a great friend who had betrayed him and he wanted nothing to do with her for a while. But as some friends who didn’t step up in his hour of need will know, Michael always came around. He needed time to decompress because he suffered bouts of depression after the trial, which I believe was a natural reaction to the stress. When he boarded that plane, he was a shadow of his former self and he was immensely grateful to the Bahraini Royal Family for providing him with sanctuary.
I had initially worried about the outcome of everything out there: having been instrumental in setting up the framework for Two Seas Records, I found myself cut out of the equation. Suddenly it became a partnership between my brother and the Prince. In theory, I could have waved my signed contract but that was never an option because the last thing Michael needed was a lawsuit with himself stuck in the middle. Some grievances are not that important when measured against other priorities. What mattered was that Michael was having fun and everything seemed to be going well: the Prince paid for much of his lifestyle while he was in Bahrain. This kind of ‘hospitality’ is often customary with some of the Middle East’s ruling families. ‘Gifts’ are the norm, and that was why Michael, in good faith, considered the hospitality he enjoyed to be a gift; he didn’t realise this was all part of his contract. He just felt he was there to create one album only – and that was when the project hit a giant misunderstanding. The signed contract had Michael tied up in some general management lock-down on music, musicals, movies and books. When Michael realised that, he walked away: he wasn’t being ‘owned’ by anyone. He diverted to London before switching to Dublin, Ireland, where he collaborated with will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas, first staying at the dancer Michael Flatley’s house before renting another place. Then he flew over producer Ron Feemster: Ron had worked with the likes of Ne-Yo and 50 Cent.
Collaborating with these music-makers dovetailed with Michael’s need to stay current. But back in Bahrain, the Prince was not happy and, long story short, he filed a lawsuit in London, which cost Michael $5 million. It was disappointing to see a king’s son scrambling around like that, especially after my brother had done more to put Bahrain on the map in many minds than Formula 1 ever could. But it was also frustratingly characteristic of Michael to sign a contract without reading the small print – just as, in 2000, he had discovered his masters weren’t being returned by Sony. His blind faith in his advisers and the face-value honesty of others was his own Achilles’ heel and had been since Joseph handled our contracts as boys. The power he’d vested in others dawned on him one day when he overheard an attorney’s arrogant remark: ‘Michael can’t sign off on his own stuff! He can’t approve anything … We approve it.’ It was a stinging reminder that he was viewed as a business first and foremost, a person second.
It was that kind of comment, I think, which spurred him to try to assert his authority with certain agreements, but the reality was that his quest for autonomy left him vulnerable to lawsuits or being controlled. It always amazed me how, over the years, many professionals came and went through his revolving door and tried to control, manage or interfere in his world, always ring-fencing him. It was the strangest phenomenon to see professionals change when they were with him, adopting delusions of grandeur at having his ear, access to him or otherwise holding the reins. It was also hard to hear my brother complain about different people being ‘controlling’, especially when he felt unable to speak up or take responsibility because of his dislike of confrontation. He terminated many associations by letter. As he always said, ‘I’m like my mother – I can’t fire anyone!’
But I don’t think we understood how much people took advantage of him – and how much he allowed it – until the 2005 court case, when we heard he had given June Chandler free rein with a
credit card, and that almost $1 million was unaccounted for under one person’s watch because he’d signed over Power of Attorney. It was this kind of incident that prompted me to find the right kind of people to put around him. To be fair, Prince Abdullah appeared to be a fan, a good man and earnest. Unfortunately Michael misunderstood the contract; he often didn’t read contracts and so ended up walking into a $5 million debt that he simply couldn’t afford.
IT IS NO EXAGGERATION TO SAY that Michael was under siege from lawsuits: they were flying at him from all directions – and from people who must have known he was in difficulty. He was the man everyone decided to kick while he was down: he was facing litigation totalling in excess of $100 million, with the added burden of his $300 million-plus borrowings. Had those lawsuits cashed in simultaneously, he would have been wiped out financially. Michael had tried to stop the buckling by restructuring his loans. The New York-based Fortress Investment Group bought his $272 million Bank of America debt, releasing him a new loan in excess of $300 million to free up more cash. I had thought that by paying off his first loan, as guaranteed by Sony, the record label would be out of the picture. I was wrong. It would become clear that Sony had helped facilitate the restructuring and in return, it secured the option to purchase 25 per cent of Michael’s half of the music catalogue. If his finances worsened, it held the right to match any future offer on his remaining 25 per cent to ensure it didn’t end up with an undesirable partner. But these were rights on paper: Michael still held his 50 per cent, even if the arrangement strategically weakened his position.
In a crumb of good news, he bought back a 5 per cent share of the catalogue that his now ex-attorney John Branca had held. Michael was happy that John no longer had any financial interest in, or influence over, the catalogue. In my mind, this once great business relationship had floundered because John hadn’t nailed his colours exclusively to Michael’s mast when it mattered.
Meanwhile, Neverland was in trouble because Michael had struggled to meet the staff payroll and veterinary bills. As a result, he was forced to pay employees $300,000 in back pay. Not only that: composers and musicians had been unpaid for months. But those who loved Michael didn’t complain or pressure him because they trusted that he’d look after them once he’d turned his life around. That is the response of true friends.
Michael was furious, of course, over his financial situation. In his mind, he had paid accountants to settle his bills and distribute his money. Like any artist, he entrusted a team to keep his house in order. By March 2006, his circumstances forced him to shut down the ranch and all the animals were sent to sanctuaries or specialist centres. It saddened me to see Neverland’s demise – I knew how much of his heart and soul was invested there – but it was a time for salvage, not for sentiment. He had to trim the fat and keep the rump of his assets: the ranch and the catalogue.
THAT SAME SUMMER, MICHAEL RECEIVED A set of documents that made sense of everything, he said. I never saw them so I don’t know their content, but he shared his discovery with Randy, who was bringing in a host of advisers to get to the bottom of everything. Those documents were sufficient to convince Michael that there had been a deliberate plan by named individuals to ‘solicit other attorneys, vendors and creditors’ to file lawsuits that would have forced him into involuntary bankruptcy. He immediately instructed his new legal team to investigate and explore his rights. He also wanted the documents forwarded to the US Attorney General. In a statement, his team said, ‘Based on the timing of events that have impacted his personal and professional life in recent years, Michael has long been suspicious of some of those that he entrusted to act on his behalf.’ I don’t know what happened to those documents – after his death, a lot of things simply disappeared.
MICHAEL TRUSTED FEWER AND FEWER PEOPLE, but there was one individual he trusted as he would a friend; this person had advised him discreetly behind the scenes in a non-professional capacity ever since 2000/2001. Over time, though, and because of two incidents, Michael grew ever more concerned about this person’s loyalties. The first came when, at a private social gathering, his friend suddenly asked Michael to dance. He chuckled, thinking it was a joke. ‘No, Michael, I would like you to dance for my friends,’ said this man. Michael remembered the advice Fred Astaire had once given him: ‘Remember, you’re not a performing monkey. You’re an artist. You dance for no one but yourself.’
‘I’m not in the mood to dance,’ said Michael, ‘but thank you for asking.’ Point made. Character flaw noted.
Ever trusting, he stayed in touch with his friend to the extent that he was often a guest at his house. But, of course, Michael was never a good sleeper … and he still liked to snoop. One night when he couldn’t sleep, he went for a wander and overheard his host talking about him on the phone. As he listened, it became clear the person at the other end of the line was a high-powered Sony executive. This was around 2002/2003 – during Michael’s self-declared war on people like Tommy Mottola. Michael had shared all his feelings with his host about different people, what he was thinking and what he should do. He felt that person was loyal. But when he heard that furtive late-night conversation, he realised that his ‘ally’ was friendly with the higher echelons at Sony. Michael was freaked out because he heard things that were not favourable towards him, but he said nothing. The next morning, he packed his bags and was out of there, leaving his guest to wonder why he was departing early.
Once again, the brothers felt the need to protect Michael. He struggled to trust his own shadow now, but all we could do was bring in new people to come up with a different strategy and turn his life around. By 2007, he was seriously in danger of falling into a financial black hole that would have cost him everything. The clock on his assets was ticking loudly.
He probably couldn’t hear it because his head was full of too much noise concerning his safety. Around this time, whenever Michael visited New York, and sometimes in other cities, he discreetly wore a bullet-proof vest but made no big deal about it. It probably gave him peace of mind. That is how worried he was.
THE WIZARD OF OZ AND WILLY Wonka & the Chocolate Factory were two of Michael’s favourite movies. Through his network of producer friends, he had heard that Warner Bros. was in development to re-adapt Roald Dahl’s book and he was desperate to play Willy Wonka in what would become the modern version of the movie, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. However, events in 2003 soon made everything impossible, and what he called ‘my dream role’ fell to Johnny Depp. But, in 2007, he got excited by a chance to re-create a Wizard of Oz-style Emerald City in the shape of a leisure and entertainment vision.
‘Crystal City’ was devised so that Michael and I could create our own leisure kingdom, which, on paper, would have incorporated a Neverland theme park and a Jackson Academy of Performing Arts. We had four meetings in which we let our imaginations run riot. The plan was to build an entire city in the Middle East, on reclaimed land rising out of the ocean. It would have included a replica Rodeo Drive built on a Venetian-style canal with gondolas, Bel Air-type estates and neighbourhoods, a shopping mall shaped like an octopus, a technology corridor, an 18-hole golf course, an amphitheatre for concerts, a marina, and a monorail system connecting every facility. ‘And we could do what Disney does,’ said Michael. ‘We could do a Crystal City parade and have the most spectacular light show at night … every night!’ He wanted to place giant crystals on the top of each of the 14 hotels and then, in the light show, each crystal would refract a beam to the next, connecting the hotels with a web of light that would radiate across the city. But we didn’t have the money to fund the dream.
So, when I found myself sitting in Gabon, in Africa, among a delegation of businessmen in December 2007, I put out feelers and came across a potential introduction: an architect friend mentioned that he knew of a ‘doctor’, who ‘knew a lot of people’ and lived in the Brentwood area of LA. I’d gone to Gabon and been recommended someone in my old neighbourhood, but I guess that’s how life wor
ks. ‘His name is Dr Tohme-Tohme,’ said the architect. ‘I’ll hook you up.’
DIRECT, TOUGH, PULLING NO PUNCHES, THE Lebanese Dr Tohme-Tohme was no smooth-talking businessman and he certainly hadn’t earned his doctorate at Charm School. But when my wife Halima and I visited him at his home in March 2008, he was gracious and everything about him supported the glowing testimonial I’d received. At first he seemed out to impress, showing us old military photographs and albums he had sung on in his younger days, but we were soon talking business and Crystal City. I deliberately didn’t mention Michael because I wanted someone to see the value of the project first.
Over the next four meetings and two weeks, Tohme-Tohme seemed genuinely interested to explore the project with his contacts in the Middle East, looking for a consortium of oil-rich investors to raise $6 billion. He said he would report back.
OUT OF NOWHERE, NEWS BROKE THAT the lender was to foreclose the $23 million debt on Neverland because my brother was way behind on his payments. The idea that the ranch was under threat made me feel sick. I watched reports on television, and read newspapers over the following days, then said to Halima, ‘Over my dead body are any of those bankers going to sell Neverland!’
It seemed that the only way out for Michael was to sell his $500 million share in the music catalogue. My mind went into over-drive, worrying about something I couldn’t control, until a thought flashed into my head: Dr Tohme-Tohme. Halima was hesitant. ‘But you hardly know the man,’ she said.
‘And our other options are where right now?’ I said. If he could lead me to people of wealth to create something as vast as Crystal City, then saving Neverland would cost the equivalent of small change. I called our new friend and we met at his house on 13 April 2008. I hadn’t told Michael what was going on because I needed to get my ducks in a row first. Once there, I outlined my brother’s difficulty and explained his suspicions surrounding his debt. ‘Is there anyone you know who’d be willing to help?’ I asked.