Cultured, page 5
“Such as?” Nicole asked.
“I have a son and a daughter, both in their early twenties now. But they’re still as difficult as they were when they were teenagers.” She shook her head. “Maxwell, my late husband, completely spoiled them. The more he let them get away with, the more stuff he bought them, the more difficult they became. He and I had more than a few disagreements over that.” She gave us a tight smile. “But I guess that’s a common dynamic. One parent spoils, the other disciplines.”
My mother didn’t spoil or pamper me, but compared to Ray she was a piece of cake. Ray had rules. Hell, even his rules had rules.
“I think that’s universal,” Nicole said.
“Maxwell never said no so I was left keeping them in check, which made me the bad guy. Or as my daughter often said, ‘the wicked witch of the Gulf.’”
“Jonathon Lindemann helped you with that?” I asked.
“Not directly, of course, but he showed me how to be more independent. How to be a free thinker and not feel guilt over my kids’ antagonism toward me. He encouraged me to step back and see the bigger picture. To let them be adults and run their own lives and for me to do the same.”
“Not easy to do,” Nicole said.
“Very true. But it’s not like they were tossed on the street. When Maxwell died, I of course retained the bulk of the estate and the property, but the kids each received a sizable trust so they aren’t suffering. Far from it. It isn’t a money problem.”
“A control issue?” I asked.
“Exactly. It was hard for me to let go, stop being a parent, and stop worrying day and night if they were okay.” She glanced toward the wall of windows. “Your imagination can be a tough taskmaster. Particularly in the dead of night when you don’t know where your children are and what they’re doing.”
I liked Margarita. She was evidently still damaged by losing her husband and by all that had happened with her children. How could she not be? But she also seemed strong. Did the damage make her vulnerable and an easy target for the likes of Jonathon Lindemann? Or did he add to her strength? Help with her perspective?
“How did you find out about TLM?” I asked
“A couple of years ago, while I was struggling with all this—” she waved a hand at nothing in particular— “the kids, Maxwell’s death, trying to figure out how to run the property business, I attended a seminar he put on over in Pensacola. I was impressed. I met a few people who belonged and when he set up his retreat in Magnolia Springs, I visited and ended up joining. That was nearly a year ago.”
“What’s that place like?” Nicole asked.
“Magnificent. I don’t know how many acres he has but the property is beautiful and restful with rolling hills and lots of trees. He has a fabulous lodge and maybe two dozen cabins where members and potential members can stay. There’s a dining hall–like restaurant and the food they turn out rivals five-star resorts. My favorite part is the huge patio, shaded by magnificent trees. I could spend all day there. In fact, I have.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Nicole said.
“It’s very relaxing. Your blood pressure drops ten points as soon as you drive up. I’ve been there several times. Once I stayed for two weeks and in the end didn’t want to leave.”
“We understand TLM requires a fairly large financial commitment,” I said.
“It is. But well worth it.”
“In what ways?” Nicole asked.
“Aside from all the personal stuff he helped me with, Jonathon’s a master at investing. He knows where to put money to make money.”
“We were told the buy-in is over a hundred K,” I said. “Is that part of the investment, or is it simply a membership fee?”
“Both actually. Jonathon says he only deals with people who are committed to the program. No small-time investors or those unwilling to buy into TLM. He says that a steep initiation fee keeps the membership exclusive.”
No doubt about that. The average Joe driving his pickup to work wouldn’t qualify. Probably wouldn’t fall for it either. I suspect most guys who drove a pickup to work were as cynical as me.
Margarita continued. “Only half of the one hundred and twenty thousand is a true initiation fee. The other half he invests. It’s yours and you can remove it at any time.”
“So sixty K isn’t refundable, so to speak?”
“No. But again, it keeps the noncommitted away.”
“You don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable with it,” Nicole asked. “But how has your investing experience been with the other sixty thousand?”
“Oh, that’s the minimum. Most members invest much more.” She shrugged. “I’ve invested a total of five hundred thousand so far.”
“And?” I asked.
“It’s worked out very well. I get a regular quarterly dividend check. It pencils out to around two percent per quarter so that would be eight percent each year. I think that’s good.”
“So, you’d do it again?” I asked.
“Absolutely.” She laughed. “In fact, I’m thinking of adding more cash to my portfolio.”
“That’s a lot of money,” I said.
“Not really. There’re some big players who are way up the money tree.”
“What are we talking here?” I asked.
“I’ve heard several members are up to six or seven million and a few much more than that. A little rich for my blood.”
What this meant to me was that Walter had balked at more than a mere hundred and twenty thousand. Knowing Tammy, there’s no way she’d enter at the minimum. That wasn’t in her nature. The best clothes, hotels, champagne, cars, you name it. Tammy saw herself at the top of the food chain. I suspect Walter knew that all too well and knew that once she got in the door she would hammer him to climb the ladder. Better to cut the legs out from under it early on. Smart move.
“We understand that besides members, TLM has a permanent staff,” Nicole said.
“They do. A group of very bright young people. They don’t have the financial clout to join—not yet anyway—but Jonathon employs them to help run the day-to-day stuff, while educating them in his personal development programs and investment strategies. He says he’s building the next generation of TLM members. One of the many admirable things about him.”
“What do they do exactly?”
“Help run the seminars, make the members and guests comfortable, help Jonathon and Rhea with recruiting. Lots of stuff from what I can tell.”
“We talked with the mother of one of the staff. A girl named April Wilkerson. Did you ever meet her?”
“I did. She’s a beautiful and bright young lady. Her mother should be proud.”
“She is. But she said she hadn’t heard from her for a few weeks.”
“She’s probably busy as most of the staff is. Maybe she’s off on a recruiting trip.” She sighed. “My kids don’t call me often either.”
“When did you see her last?” Nicole asked.
A wave of concern swept over Margarita’s face. “When I was last there. Maybe six weeks ago.”
“We’ll try to look her up when we’re there,” I said, hoping to offset any curiosity she might have about our line of questioning. It seemed to work as her face lit up.
“So, you’re going to visit?” Margarita asked.
“We are,” Nicole said. “Tammy Horton’s trying to set up a meeting with Rhea Wilson for us,” Nicole said.
“Rhea’s delightful. Tammy, too, for that matter.”
My mind was screaming, “No, she isn’t. She’s a psycho.” I managed to rein it in. But her thinking Tammy was delightful knocked some of the shine off my image of her.
“You’ll like Rhea. Smart, together, pleasant,” Margarita continued. “I’ll also give her a call and tell her I heartily approve of you both.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Nicole said.
“We have to keep TLM growing.”
I guessed the “we” meant all the current TLM cult members and the “growing” reflected the fact that Ponzi schemes always need a fresh and continuous influx of money. Otherwise they collapse under their own weight.
We thanked Margarita and left.
CHAPTER 8
NICOLE BLASTED BACK down Highway 182 toward Gulf Shores. The SL’s top was down and the warm air swirled around us. When traffic finally slowed her to somewhere around the posted limit, I could speak and be heard.
“A half a million is adult money,” I said.
“Seven mil even more so.”
“If Jonathon Lindemann’s a scam artist, he’s a good one.”
“I’d bet Pancake knows the answer to that,” she said.
“We’ll know soon enough.”
“Sooner if these people will get off the road.”
These people were the ones obeying the law, which made her crazy and me nervous. She wasn’t above a daredevil shoulder pass.
“We have time. Pancake won’t be there for another fifteen minutes.”
“Really?” She glanced at me. “Have you ever known him not to be early for lunch?”
She had a point. The plan was to meet him at Captain Rocky’s at noon. Nicole did indeed pass a smoking and rickety pickup on the right and we pulled into the lot five minutes early. Pancake’s truck sat near the entrance.
“Told you,” she said.
We found the big guy at my private corner table on the deck. Being the owner did have certain privileges. In truth, Pancake used it more than I did. It was his office when he wasn’t at Ray’s.
“About time,” Pancake said as we sat. “I’m hungry.”
“We aren’t late,” I said. “Besides, when did that ever stop you from eating?”
“I’m turning over a new leaf and trying to be more polite.”
A mission doomed to failure.
“When did this program begin?” I asked.
“On the way over. This morning Ray said something about gathering more info with sugar rather than intimidation.”
“Ray said that?” I asked.
“He did.”
“Ray doesn’t use sugar. Ever.”
Pancake’s brow furrowed. “You’re right. Hell, I could’ve already ordered.”
So much for the new and improved Pancake.
Our waitress appeared. Not my manager, Carla, who usually took care of us, but the new girl I had hired just two days ago. The truth? I met her after Carla had interviewed and hired her. She was young, eager, blonde, cute, and perfect for Captain Rocky’s. She placed a menu on the table, not yet knowing we knew it by heart.
“Well, look at you,” Pancake said to her. “Where’d you come from?”
“This is Libby Sagstrom,” I said. “It’s her second day.”
“I can tell you right now you’re better than anything on the menu,” Pancake said.
“Ignore him,” I said.
Libby laughed. “Carla’s already warned me.”
Pancake twisted toward her. “Why don’t you take a seat on my knee and tell me what the specials are.”
She laughed again. “I don’t think the boss man would like that.” She winked at me. “Besides, everything here’s special.”
“Good answer,” Nicole said. “I think you’ll do just fine here.”
“I worked at the Flora-Bama for a year,” Libby said. “This place is an oasis by comparison.”
A Gulf Coast institution, the Flora-Bama is a massive, piecemeal, slapped-together plank structure on the sand just steps over the Alabama-Florida state line. Famous for alcohol, multiple live bands, unruly crowds, and insanity.
“In that case,” Pancake said, “bring me two from page one and two from page two. Surprise me.”
Libby raised an eyebrow. “Love an adventurous man.”
Yes, she will do well here.
Nicole and I ordered and Libby drifted toward the kitchen.
“What’d you find out today?” Pancake asked.
I went over our conversations with Tammy, Walter, and Margarita Kellerman. Nicole added her own thoughts. Tammy would love to join and Margarita seemed satisfied not only with Jonathon’s help on the domestic front but also with her investments. Walter revealed less enthusiasm.
“I think Walter had serious concerns about TLM,” I added. “He felt it was a scam.”
“That was my take, too,” Nicole said. “Margarita did say that she’d received regular dividend checks so that’s something.”
“She dropped a half a million in Jonathon’s lap,” I said. “She said others had given him much more. In the multiple millions.”
Pancake listened, considered everything, nodded. “That’s what I’m seeing.”
He went through what he and Ray had uncovered so far. Jonathon’s personal net worth was just over forty million. A combination of selling his previous real estate business to his partners and the rental properties he still held. Plus the land in Magnolia Springs, which he owned personally and rented to TLM.
“He rents the farm to himself?”
“More or less,” Pancake said. “TLM is a separate entity. Obviously, he owns it. He also gets paid as the director and CEO. Rhea Wilson is the CFO and she’s also salaried.”
“What are we talking about here?” Nicole asked.
“He’s paid a million a year and Rhea a half. That’s the base, but they each seem to have unlimited funds for travel, teaching, recruiting, whatever.”
“TLM is very good to Jonathon and Rhea,” Nicole said.
“Not unusual,” Pancake said. “Most of these cultlike organizations rake in cash for the principals. Remember that Rajneesh dude? Up in Oregon?”
“The one that tried to poison the town?” Nicole asked.
“Yep. Folks came to his cult to find enlightenment and self-worth. Of course, that required signing all their worldly goods over to the Baghwan. That was his name—Baghwan Rajneesh. Which they happily did.”
I remembered him now. “Didn’t he buy a bunch of Rolls-Royces?”
Pancake nodded. “Nearly a hundred.”
“Do you think Jonathon Lindemann is like that?” Nicole asked.
“Not really.” Pancake glanced toward the water. “His followers aren’t all bound up in a compound. They’re free to come and go, and I don’t see a religious component to TLM.”
Our food arrived. Libby placed Nicole’s taco salad and my BLT on the table. Behind her, two of the kitchen guys carried four plates for Pancake. A rack of ribs, half a smoked chicken, a pile of onion rings, and, for good measure, a cheeseburger.
“Perfect,” Pancake said. “It’s like you read my mind.”
“Carla helped,” Libby said.
“She’s truly a good person.”
Pancake felt that way about anyone who gave him food.
“I have a basket of French fries coming,” Libby said.
“Dump some chili on them,” Pancake said. “And a couple of handfuls of cheese.”
“Will do. Back in a sec.”
Like a starving lion on the Serengeti, Pancake tore apart the rack of ribs and went at it. Pancake’s scorched-earth approach to food was always a sight to behold.
He pointed a gnawed rib bone at me. “What I’m finding though is that his investing strategies are a bit suspect.”
“Oh?”
He shoved an onion ring in his mouth. “Around eighty percent of the money is offshore. Singapore, the Czech Republic, and St. Lucia.”
“Really?” Nicole asked. “That sounds sketchy.”
Pancake’s chili fries, mounded with cheese, arrived. Libby found an open spot on the table to set them down, saying, “Those look good.”
“They are,” Pancake said. “Take a seat. Have some.”
She laughed. “Tempting, but I might get fired.”
“Don’t worry,” Pancake said. “I know the owner, and I have decades of dirt on him.”
“Not to mention he’s a wimp,” Nicole said.
Welcome to my life.
Nicole ruffled my hair. “But he’s an okay boyfriend.”
“Okay?” I said, looking at Nicole. “Just okay?”
She laughed. “Outstanding. Stupendous. Nonpareil.”
Nonpareil? I made a mental note to look that up.
“I’ll check back in a few and make sure everything’s okay,” Libby said. One corner of her mouth lifted. “Or nonpareil.”
Did everyone know the definition of that word except me?
Pancake attacked the chicken. “So most of the investment money Lindemann’s taken in is stashed in countries known for hiding cash. Places where it’s hard to trace and quantify. The other twenty percent is invested in very conservative stuff. CDs, cash, and a few mutuals. Nothing earthshaking.”
“You think he’s using those funds to pay the so-called dividends?” I asked.
“Bingo. Can you say Bernie Madoff? As long as he keeps his investors on the reservation, the money continues to pile up.”
“And the endgame?” Nicole asked. “When the house of cards comes down?”
“He’s off to wherever. Some place with no extradition.” He shrugged. “It’s an old and repetitive story.”
“That’s what’s happening?” I asked.
Pancake swiped his face with a napkin. “I don’t know for sure yet but it sure smells that way.”
Nicole’s phone buzzed an incoming text message. She picked it up and glanced at the screen. “Tammy. She set up a meeting for us with Rhea Wilson and Jonathon Lindemann tomorrow morning.”
Pancake laughed. “She going to be there?”
“That’s all we’d need,” I said. “Trying to impress the power brokers while juggling Tammy’s insanity.”
“Based on her text, I don’t think she’ll show up.” Nicole handed me her phone so I could read Tammy’s lengthy message. “She asked us to lean on Jonathon to let her join without the down payment.”
“She apparently thinks we owe her that,” I said. I handed the phone back to Nicole.
“I thought she owed you,” Pancake said.
“You mean for her house?”
Pancake gnawed another rib. “That and your shaky mental health.”
CHAPTER 9
THE NEXT MORNING just after nine a.m., we rolled into Magnolia Springs, Nicole actually keeping below the speed limit. This after a harrowing trip north on Highway 59 and west on Highway 98. Our appointment with Rhea Wilson and Jonathon Lindemann was at ten, which gave us enough time to stop by and see Bobby Taylor.
