Chapters (55)
- Cover
- Other Titles
- Dedication
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
- CHAPTER THIRTY
- CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
- CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FORTY
- CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
- CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
- CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
- CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
- CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FIFTY
- CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Berry Gordy is a hell of a businessman. His net worth is said to be $400 million.
Barrett Strong also wrote “I Heard It Through the Grapevine,” “Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone,” “War,” “Smiling Faces Sometimes,” “Cloud Nine.” He’s a hell of a songwriter. He’s living in a retirement home.
Money—cheat, steal, or kill—“What it don’t get, I can’t use.”
—
I walked back. Like an amiable bear shambling out of the shadows.
The unknown woman reached into her pocketbook and took out an envelope.
I made my way to her. I suspect that if tourists were watching from an observation deck it would look like some sort of wild animal cautiously making its way to a trainer holding out a tasty tidbit. I took the envelope. It had the feel of a stack of U.S. greenbacks. Possibly a little light. Maybe. Maybe not. I was going to count it anyway.
“Who are you?”
“Elizabeth Bloom Carter,” she said. “Most people call me Liz.” She held out her hand to shake. I didn’t take it.
“I meant what are you?”
“I’m Madelaine’s backer.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m providing her financing.”
“Is that what you finance? People who want other people killed?”
“No. No. Not at all.”
“What do you normally do?”
“Madelaine’s situation…I’d say it’s almost uniquely bad.” She spoke like she was presenting a report at a management meeting in a corporate conference room furnished in a spare Scandinavian style. “Her husband has done very despicable things. And it’s not just the things he’s done. He is a very dangerous person.”
Which hadn’t answered my question at all. “I mean what do you normally do?”
“What are you asking?”
“I’m asking you what you do,” I said, opening the envelope with my finger. “Where does the money come from?” I started counting the money, looking down at it, not at her. “Do you have a real profession? What is it? Did you inherent millions? Are you a widow, killed your husband, got rich that way, and now you think it’s such a great way to go, you’re convincing your friends to do it too?” I looked at her. “What do you do?”
“I’m in litigation finance.”
“You invest in lawsuits.”
“Yes. Of all sorts. It’s a vibrantly growing business. We back plaintiffs with good causes, with a high likelihood of success, but without the means to achieve equity.” I bet that was in their PowerPoint presentation on their website. “It is also of great benefit to corporate clients. The larger and better capitalized they are, the more likely they are to use legal financing. Those involved with large litigations are able to offload cost and risk. It’s a fast-growing multibillion-dollar industry.”
“How does that take you to your friend over there?”
“I understand that you were in the investigative area for quite some time.”
“I was.”