Jealousy

Greenberg money was quickly placed in the right hands. Several of Giancomo's colleagues were located and confirmed that middle-aged women who could afford their expensive services were frequent clients. One of the men was a certain Konrad Steiner. A native of Obersalzberg in southern Bavaria and a physical trainer in a Hollywood gym by day, the muscular thirty-two-year-old readily disclosed his two experiences with Dr. Carol Wilson in German-accented English. "Of course I remember her.Grosse Gott, that woman was insatiable," he reminisced. "There was nothing she wouldn't try and she kept me going for hours." With Jeffrey's $5,000 cashier's check as his reward, Konrad had no hesitation in relating each experience in lurid detail to the tabloid's tape recorder. He then happily posed for photos in a tight T-shirt and spandex shorts that were skillfully placed next to Carol's face for maximum effect on the magazine's front cover. Additional young men from the escort service further confirmed Carol's identity and the news of this remarkable scoop was soon out ... that paragon of academic attainment and bride of the famous Ambassador Harrison Ward was an out of control, sex-crazed nymphomaniac! Tabloid heaven!

Harrison and Carol were devastated. Dissolving in tears, she confessed the truth of the allegations to her husband. Trying to explain her fall from grace during a period of her life when she was single and desperately in need of physical release from her demanding schedule, Carol wept inconsolably, begging his understanding and forgiveness. "I was never unfaithful to Jeffrey during our marriage despite what he did to me, not once," she wailed, "and I will never betray you, my love. Forgive me, Harrison. I was weak. I sinned. I had to protect my reputation at the university and I thought I could trust those men. The woman that introduced me assured me of their discretion over and over again. I thought I was safe. I can't change what I did but that's not me now. I'm not the person I was then. How can I ever face David and Sarah and your sons again? Even Aaron? They will despise me! Everyone I know will hate me! Everyone else will laugh at me. Oh God, Harrison, I'm disgraced! I need your strength. Help me. Please help me!" She collapsed.

Carol's unhealthy but understandable reaction to the pubic revelations of her mid-life liaisons with young male prostitutes was to retreat into a self-imposed isolation of self-hate. For the week following the tabloid's publication, she seldom left her bed and wept for hours. Harrison cancelled his appearance at an important conference at Princeton to provide what little solace he could. Insisting they consult their family physician, a heavy medication of relaxants was prescribed that allowed her to drift into fitful sleep. He summoned Carol's children, his own sons and their spouses for an agonizing family meeting. He was gratified that his Marine son was in Quantico on temporary duty before returning to Iraq and could attend. He was also surprised that Aaron quietly flew in from Phoenix for the meeting. He did not hide their mother's past indiscretions and begged for their compassion. Because Carol was in no condition to confront the children, he asked his Episcopal priest and a respected psychologist friend to join the assembly to help provide some insight into her past behavior and to urge the succor she so desperately needed. Harrison instinctively knew the media would shred his public persona but he stoically put that future carnage aside to care for his suffering wife. Initially in shocked silence, the family united in their determination to protect their mother from total disintegration. Surprisingly, even Aaron appeared to share the grief of the moment although he remained strangely silent during most of the evening's discussions.

Early the next morning, Aaron called Harrison to ask if they could meet privately. An hour later in the quiet den of the Ward's Georgetown home, Aaron was ashen as the two men faced each other. First asking if his mother had a quiet night, he requested a drink ... "a scotch if you have it. I have much to confess."

Their conversation filled the morning. In tears, Aaron disclosed the existence of, and the participants in, Jeffrey's conspiracy to ruin the Wards and his own presence during several of the planning meetings. In front of Harrison, the archenemy of his father, he excoriated his epiphany. The venomous hatred his father was capable of became painfully clear to him. The sexual jealousy of his father for Ambassador Ward, whose only crime was to honorably love a decent but flawed woman, was transparent. Aaron now realized that his father's loathing of Harrison was not only for his political views. It was because this man had given meaning to the life of a woman who had scorned him. Jeffrey's hatred was personal and it was lethal. In a paradoxim of remorse, Aaron repudiated his father and every malicious feature of his own life that Jeffrey had imposed on him. In deep remorse, he begged for Harrison to forgive his cowardliness in not resisting his father's diabolical plan of revenge. Wrenched with guilt, he atoned for his transgressions with prayers in Hebrew, just as the ancient Israelites had atoned for theirs. In his prayers, he cursed his father and begged for God's intercession in stopping this evil man's actions.

Together, Aaron and Harrison quietly visited his mother's bedroom. Kneeling at her bedside, Aaron bared his soul and pleaded for absolution. In her drugged sleep, Carol remained unaware of her son's presence as her chest slowly rose and fell with her breaths. Her chalk white face was shocking for her son to see and many strands of gray were clearly evident in her disheveled blonde hair.

"Aaron," Harrison softly said, "we must stop your father before the death of your mother is on his hands. Our doctor is worried she could lapse into a full breakdown that might have suicidal implications and I'm watching for the symptoms he alerted me to. But right now I'm talking about her emotional death. Will you help me to help her?"

"Anything," Aaron sobbed. "Anything at all."

With only Aaron among the children at his side, Harrison made several phone calls and swiftly arranged a secret planning meeting with close confidants to answer Jeffrey's conspiracy with a counter strategy. Among the participants were highly-placed officials of the Justice Department, Securities and Exchange Commission, Central Intelligence Agency and a top Medicare administrator from the Department of Health and Human Services. Harrison correctly perceived that Jeffrey's wallet was his Achilles' Heel and that would be the group's first target.

The group's attention first focused on the recent SEC allegations of corporate malfeasance. Next were the claims of Medicare fraud perpetrated by Jeffrey's Nova Healthcare System. "This guy's greed is right up in Bernie Ebbers' league," the SEC official snorted. "Several of us even had a suspicion that he spread some money around our department last year to squelch our investigation of his off balance sheet transactions. I'm going to have my internal affairs people reopen that investigation pronto."

The HHS representative spoke up. "The corporate structure of Greenberg's empire is a rat's nest of interlocking companies that has frustrated every one of our Medicare fraud investigations. He must have spent a fortune in legal fees to set everything up to be as confusing as possible ... very clever on his part I suppose and it's going to take a lot of digging to find out who owns what." With a deep sense of shame of his father, Aaron interjected. " I can help. Give me a list of exactly what you need. I know where to look and I'll be back to you in a few days."

The CIA executive added, "We know that he bribed some Israeli politicians to get dual citizenship status two years ago. The Israelis have a history of being hard-nosed in refusing extradition for white-collar crimes so whatever we do has to be done awfully quietly or he'll be in Tel Aviv in a heartbeat. And with his money in Switzerland and God knows where else, he'll be living there high on the hog ... oops, I hope I didn't offend anyone's dietary laws!" Again, Aaron spoke up. "I know about some of his overseas accounts. It'll be a mess to sort out but I'll try to get enough details for you to start working on."

"Now the press," Harrison introduced what would be the most delicate matter of all to manage. Without their own evidence of the tabloid's allegations, the mainstream media stayed well away from the story in fear of civil litigation if the rumors proved false. Of course this didn't stop right wing radio from linking Carol's behavior with President Clinton's several escapades. "Typical liberal morality, vermin that they are ... just one more example of liberalism being a mental disorder," screeched Michael Savage in his earthy Brooklyn accent. Savage's conservative broadcasting colleagues weren't far behind him in their condemnation of the Ward's family values. It was a depressing period for Harrison and all of the children but there were no further tabloid revelations. In two weeks, the story passed into the dark archives of Washington's forgotten outrages. So it goes in our nation's capitol. There is always new dirt for the muckrakers to report on.

Two universities cancelled Harrison's scheduled appearances as a result of the publicity but after a month his agent reported that his demand was as high as ever, perhaps higher as many people wanted to witness first hand how a husband in such an anguished situation handled himself. For reasons no one could understand, his book sales actually increased after the tabloid story. During the ordeal, Harrison conducted himself with stoic resolve and refused to allow his personal hurt to be visible in public. Thanks to excellent medical care, rest and her husband's unconditional love, Carol began a slow return to mental equilibrium. While she would never again be without the moral pain caused by her indiscretions, her inner strength started to reassert itself. If anything, her adoring love for her husband became deeper in appreciation for his unwavering support during her time of trial. Aaron's metamorphous of love for his mother provided the leadership for the younger family members to rally around and they helped to shield her from further agony. A few fair weather acquaintances refused to see Harrison and Carol again but their true friends created a cocoon of protection and love that surrounded them both.

Harrison's CIA friends made some quiet calls to their senior contacts in the LAPD. Grizzled police veterans in plain clothes swiftly visited Konrad Steiner, Giancomo Pazzini and their other escort service colleagues. Nobody ever discovered the content of the discussions but Professiore Pazzini resigned his appointment at USC and returned to Milan within the week. It was discovered that the forgetful Herr Steiner had somehow neglected to notice that his tourist visa had expired seventeen months earlier and he was passed to the local INS authorities for an over-night stay. The next morning he was extended the courtesy of being personally escorted by two burly agents in a black van with government plates to LAX for a leisurely return to Frankfurt. Under the watchful eyes of the Lufthansa flight crew, the agents thoughtfully removed his shackles once he was rather rudely jammed into a seat in the last row of the Economy section of the waiting 767. The other curious passengers were then allowed to board. Reporters searching for follow-up details on the story were puzzled to find the residences of their primary sources of information empty. The police, however, had assembled more than ample dossiers on Jeffrey Greenberg's involvement in the story's publication and the evidence made interesting reading for Harrison, his family and his many friends in high places in Washington.

The counter attack was launched.

On a Wednesday morning, the tranquility of Nova Healthcare's executive offices in Phoenix was shattered. First, the company's in-house counsel nervously reported to Jeffrey that he had just been served with a Securities and Exchange Commission summons to appear at an investigation of their offshore tax havens. Within an hour, the same distraught executive called again. This time, a Justice Department subpoena had arrived alleging wire fraud in certain fund transfer transactions. Later the same day, Jeffrey was told that federal agents from the Department of Health and Human Services were in the building with an audit order for the firm's Medicare transactions for the last nine months.

Jeffrey reacted typically. Seething in rage, he raced to confront the HHS agents and ordered building security to physically remove them from the premises. Flailing his arms and spitting obscenities, the red-faced little man literally leaped on the back of one of the agents before being restrained by his worried managers. The more intelligent company executives retreated from the unsightly scene and found it prudent to become intensely preoccupied with other business matters in their own offices. Many started to fear Nova's house of cards was beginning to fall apart. More than one started to bring their résumé up-to-date as insurance against what the future might hold.

The intention to commit fraud is notoriously difficult to prove and Jeffrey deployed his full army of attorneys into battle with his federal antagonists. Little-by-little, details of corporate malfeasance in overcharging Medicare claims were uncovered and litigated. The vast majority were judged to be quite true and the nine-month federal audit was extended to cover the last three years. It became increasingly obvious that Nova had engineered the largest fraud of the federal Medicare program in the nation's history. Moreover, the fraud had apparently been designed in the company's early history and had expanded in scope ever since. State insurance regulators in virtually every state launched their own investigations of Nova's activities and the fines they assessed were monumental.

The SEC investigation was even more brutal. Several times Jeffrey and his top lieutenants were subpoenaed to appear at hearings in Washington and now he felt the heat of public disclosure. The Wall Street Journal regularly covered the hearings and the mainstream newspapers devoted considerable space in their business pages to Jeffrey's travails. Cable television's CNBC morning market coverage frequently reported on Nova's problems and CNN's Lou Dobbs lamented the sorry state of the government's oversight observance of the entire Medicare system. Even madcap Jim Cramer slammed Nova with a resounding negative "hoo-ah" in his nightly Mad Money TV program. Brick by brick, Jeffrey's professional reputation was destructed and his name became linked with the likes of Dennis Kozlowski, John Rigas, Bernard Ebbers, Gary Winnick, Ken Lay and other real or alleged corporate criminals.

Nova's stock price plummeted. From a position of frothing arrogance, Jeffrey retreated into naked fear as his attorneys encountered one defeat after another. With the free-fall of Nova's stock, irate shareholders brought a class action civil suit against CEO Goldberg and eight of his top executives. One of the shareholder victims was Carol. The vast majority of her net worth was in Nova shares. Their value had declined by almost eighty percent and further losses looked probable. Carol made no attempt to divest herself of her Nova holdings as penance for the pain she had brought to herself, her husband and her children.

Deciding to remain in Washington to help weather the storm with his mother and her husband, Aaron became a prime target for Jeffrey's hatred. "I should have known he would betray me once that bastard Ward got his claws into him. I loved that boy. I taught him everything I knew. Now he shits on me. I have nobody with me. No one. I did everything for him that a father could do ... now he's gone. He and that faggot brother of his ... and that left-wing bitch I used to call a daughter. Everyone's gone."

In a pathetic appeal for sympathy, Jeffrey called London to beg for the emotional support of his current wife. "The third trip this year for Christ's sake," he moaned. "What the hell is so goddamn appealing about England?" The butler in her father's luxurious Belgravia home answered the call and respectfully told him that his wife had left two days earlier for a week's holiday in Cap d'Antibes with several of her friends. Jeffrey had no inkling she had planned a side trip to France during this visit and he asked which friends had accompanied her. Several male and female names were provided, among which was Desmond Toomey, a critically acclaimed Irish playwright and notorious womanizer. Knowing well his young wife's strong sensual appetite, the stomach-churning dread of her possible infidelity swept over Jeffrey as a final betrayal. Three days later his concern intensified. The ever-present Paparazzi had captured a series of photos of her cavorting topless with the dark haired Toomey on a sunny Riviera beach. London's yellow press gleefully featured the photos accompanied by the caption, "American Husband in Business Hell ... British Wifey in Holiday Heaven!" Looking carefully at the published photos, Jeffrey studied Toomey's muscular body, which was clearly on view as he sat smirking in the male equivalent of a bikini, a virtual thong that appeared to be well filled. Jeffrey's frantic calls to the contact phone in France that his wife had left with her father's household staff were answered by a man's recorded voice in English with a strong Irish accent. None of his calls were returned. Alone in Phoenix, Jeffrey writhed in agony. His life was disintegrating.

Thanks to Aaron's quiet investigation, several of Jeffrey's personal accounts in the Caymans and Luxembourg were identified but the secrecy of Swiss banking laws thwarted inquiries in that country. Nevertheless, several recent fund transfers to the accounts in the Caymans and Luxembourg were detected and everyone assumed the same would be true for his accounts in Switzerland. A red flag was raised about his possible flight to escape justice, probably to Israel. In Phoenix, Jeffrey's usual high visibility was suddenly replaced with total silence as he retreated into an invisible man role. The concern in Washington was well placed.

Through the CIA station in Tel Aviv, the Israeli passport control authorities were alerted to the possible arrival of a Mr. Jeffrey Greenberg, most likely under an alias. In case the arrival might be missed at the Ben Gurion International Airport, the passport officials instructed all of the country's major hotels to report guests that matched the distributed photograph. Among the managers of the luxurious Tel Aviv Renaissance Hotel was a retired IDF officer who undertook to provide information on his guests as a patriotic duty when requested by the government. It didn't take long for Harrison and his friends to learn that a small middle-aged man named Ira Kubrick traveling under an Israeli passport but speaking with an unmistakable American accent had checked into the $3,800 per night presidential suite of the Renaissance. And yes, the man's face matched the photograph although he now had a shaved head that was already beginning to sunburn under the hot Mediterranean sun.

A few more messages from Washington to the CIA station chief in Tel Aviv caused a clandestine surveillance of Mr. Kubrick to be established. Discreetly filmed videotapes were flown to Washington and Harrison's group became painfully aware that Jeffrey Greenberg had indeed eluded their grasp with his escape to Israel. Following twenty-two days in Tel Aviv marked by nightly visits to the city's most expensive restaurants with a variety of overdressed young women, his move to a leased villa in the Zohar Hot Springs complex at Neve Zohar on the Dead Sea was monitored. His companions at the villa and its meticulously landscaped gardens were two rather spectacular blonde women estimated to be in their early twenties with deeply tanned bodies that were alternatively displayed in the skimpiest of bikinis and flowing white togas. Harrison sighed. It was quite clear that Jeffrey was living large indeed in his private Garden of Eden. "All he needs is a latter-day Bathsheba to complete the picture," a jealous CIA agent opined.