March 1994 - 2/2
Joey's in the office. I shrug my head fatalistically. I'm beginning
to take it for granted that the delivery is unpredictable but I
catch myself. No, I won't resign myself to not knowing whether
today is a day with or without. The most predictable thing becomes
fraught with uncertainty and creates some mental suffering for me
and I know this is one of the purposes of the action, besides
depriving me of legal information, because knowledge is power. It's
just like in my family, I think. The slightest opportunity to
harass me was always taken advantage of. Anything new and favorable
that happened to me turned into a headache just like with the Law
Journal now.
Mon. 03.28
I picked up the fax that had arrived for me last saturday.
It's from my brother Norbert. It says:
"Hello Sis,
Here are documents which will allow you to have a clearer view
of the accounts, and the letter we have written at the end of the
meeting.
Excuse me for being late in sending it but the week was very
busy and there have been transmission problems twice.
Je t'embrasse. Norby - See you when?..."
3.20.94
Dear Brigitte:
We are writing to you following our meeting at La Grande C“te
with Me. Laurent [attorney] and Mr. Sautreuil [accountant], in the
absence of AgnŠs who was unavailable.
We all lacked information and are now more up to date on our
respective situations.
The enclosed tables which were the starting point of our
discussion show clearly the disparities between us.
1) You can see that as far as rents are concerned, your share has
been integrally paid to you (which is not the case for everybody,
see the BALANCE).
2) The disparity is also obvious regarding the houses:
- AgnŠs keeps paying hers (bought in her name)
- Elisabeth, nothing
- Sophie will finish paying back her loan in April (house bought in
her name).
- Brigitte, nothing,
- V‚ronique has her house thanks to funds that were available at
the time (house bought in her name).
- Fran‡ois is a tenant in the "indivision" [jointly owned
property],
- Norbert is also a tenant in the indivision.
The disparities can be resolved only by the liquidation of the
indivision which includes [the buildings] of Pantin, Choisy, [two
12 to 16 units apartment buildings] les Hurlevents [family vacation
home in Brittany] and Laborel [Provence mountains farm purchased in
1985 for Fran‡ois].
The other funds have been used as follows:
- Reimbursement of the loan to pay estate taxes (2.5 million
francs),
- Repairs ordered by the City in the Pantin building (776,816
francs).
After these operations the coffers are almost empty.
We have studied at length all the avenues to make funds
available to you:
- selling apartments at Choisy,
- Selling Pantin.
These solutions require your signature.
Those who like you are still waiting are getting impatient to
get their share and are considering another option:
It consists of splitting everything into 6 shares, but you
would stay undivided by owning one 7th of every one of the six
shares, which is not what you want.
However we consider this approach to define officially the
contents of each share. Because a death would add to the complexity
of the distribution -this is a rational constatation and a legal
precaution.
Also we would like to draw your attention to the following:
The payment of an advance or your complete share of the
inheritance can be accomplished only by the signing of a legal
document. A bank receipt isn't sufficient because it doesn't prove
the nature of the payment.
That's why it is not possible to transfer to you all the rent
revenues from Pantin. But these funds would be available to finance
a major purchase with legal papers.
Among the solutions considered, only one could satisfy your
request. It would also allow us to determine once and for all the
distribution of the estate.
We have decided to proceed to a six-way split (see above) if
you don't unblock the situation.
We sincerely regret that you couldn't come to the meeting,
during which you could have seen our good will and this synthesis
wouldn't seem so abrupt.
We look forward to your decision.
Hoping to read from you soon, nous t'embrassons."
There follow the signatures of my five siblings, Agnes being
absent. I didn't expect good news but this takes the cake. They
have decided to share the estate in six and the "in case of death"
seems clearly intended for me. So they have made six shares because
they expect me to die.
No Law Journal.
Around 11am I went to the Midtown South Precinct with a copy of the
police report of my accident. I said I had new information and
wanted to file a report. A guy who was there in the typing pool. He
said the time limit to make a report was expired and refused to
make a new report. He was like an angry dog who can barely contain
himself. I went to the desk and said that I wanted to report the
accident as an attempted murder. Two or three desk officers
listened to my brief account and the words "attempted murder"
ricocheted from lips to lips. Finally officer Richter sent me
upstairs to the Investigators' room. I repeated that I came to
report the accident I had suffered as an attempted murder. I talked
with three of them. The first disappeared soon after I had started
my story, then I repeated it to a second, a plain clothes tall
blond guy with a purple sweater. He asked me to wait a moment and
meanwhile I read the posters on the wall. In front of me was a
pledge by the police officers to serve the public and crime victims
with the utmost dedication and humanity. I was very upset to take
this step but my life depended on it and when nobody came after a
while I asked why nobody wanted to listen to me. The guy with the
purple sweater said that "he didn't understand my dialect" and that
was why he hadn't returned. Finally another investigator came to me
and I started all over again. He had a very skeptical attitude and
I was trying desperately to convince him. "Why did you wait four
years to speak about it, there a ninety days time limit for
complaints" "But there is no status of limitation for murder!" I
answer. If he showed so much doubt and impatience, how could I tell
him that the memory of the murder had been forced out of my mind in
the two weeks following the accident, and that it had re-surfaced
four years later while I was speaking to my mom on the phone. He
would laugh me out of the room. How could I explain to him that it
was the wrenching pain that was inflicted upon me in the matter of
my father's estate, that traced the way to the motive and the
perpetrators? I told him that at the messenger agency they had told
me about a lethal bike accident happening the day after mine, and
that bus drivers were doing this sometimes as a prank and I
expressed outraged disbelief that it could be true. I told him how
the bus sneaked up behind me so I couldn't see it from the corner
of my eye and how I avoided being run over. I said the bus's
previous stop had been 50th street. I said that my father died of
lung cancer four months after my accident, that he was wealthy and
that four years after his death all my siblings had inherited part
of their share and that I had nothing and that they were ripping me
off. He asked where my father lived. I said in France, in Normandy.
Then he asked how could a hit man get into a bus. I said but the
driver who hit me is a professional driver. And this
interpretation, the only possible one, is heavy with meaning.
That means that the driver had been reached maybe through the
driver's union grapevine, and a proper spot for the hit was chosen
on his route and this two block stretch in front of the Research
Library was selected because it was uphill, hence my balance would
be weaker than on level ground. Once the spot had been chosen, it
was a matter of timing to make me ride downtown on 5th avenue at
the same time as the bus, and this timing was accomplished easily
by Quick Track staff who gave me a "run" that took me from 57th
street to 27th street. But I didn't say all that. The investigator
could fill in the blanks himself, and that implicated a lot of
people.
Instead of taking me to the interview room after I told him
the beginning of my story, he walked out of the waiting area
towards the stairs. I followed him downstairs, still talking. He
asked who had sent me to him. I said officer Richter at the desk.
He walked towards the typing pool where complaints were taken and
asked twice if they had heard of an attempted murder although I
told him a desk officer had sent me to him. He asked again once or
twice who had heard about an attempted murder and I cringed every
time the words were pronounced. After reading the poster in the
waiting room you'd think he would be more discreet about such a
matter, with the victim next to him. He had not made any written
note of my complaint. We were close to the precinct's door and he
stopped there.
I asked if I could tell him something more, and I said that my
lawyers had told me that if I told the truth the jury would believe
that I had tried to commit suicide. "But there is no jury in those
cases" he retorted inaccurately and beside the point. "Listen, he
said, tell your lawyer to call me." "But I don't have a lawyer" I
said. Then I asked his name. Officer Carlstadt. The door was just
there. He opened it and I left.
Why did he want to talk to my lawyer and not to me directly?
To make a deal behind my back? To cover-up more of this stinking
business? A lot of people who have a lot to lose are involved,
because they thought they would get away with it. They didn't think
that the French woman, with nobody in her life to notice her or
mourn her absence, would not go gently into the good night.
Tues. 03.29 I called L. Jacobson's, Arturo's personal injury
attorney. He had called at my place trying to reach Arturo, and
having declined contact with Arturo I called the attorney to say I
couldn't reach him to transmit information. He had sounded warm on
the phone and I would like an attorney who would pursue my case as
what it was: an attempted murder and not an accident. So first I
have to convince the attorney that my EBT was fraudulently obtained
but he cannot believe that I wasn't sworn-in. Right away I sense
that he takes the side of my attorneys and from now on I have to
fight against him instead of dealing with an impartial listener and
making him see things my way. I say they made me cut short the
duration of the accident from thirty seconds to two seconds.
He says that it was to make the case easier to imagine for the
jury. But no, that's not the reason. I say that the only problem
with the attorney's version of the accident is that I should have
fallen on my right leg and not my left and that there is no way you
can change that. He remains silent then says that he wants to see
the EBT. I understand why, he wants to read the description of the
accident and imagine how I could have fallen on my left leg but all
the details of the testimony make the situation impossible.
I don't speak about attempted murder, but I say that my EBT is a
forgery because it was obtained through trickery without my being
fully aware and sworn-in. He says that it can't be and insists that
I was sworn-in but if I had committed perjury I would know it. It
would have gnawed at me, I know I couldn't live with the guilt
feeling and I never felt guilty. This I know. What I felt was that
I didn't understand a lot of stuff and I explained it by thinking
that I had misunderstood, or that my memory failed me because the
alternative, that my lawyers were against me, was unfathomable. But
still a lot of stuff didn't seem kosher. Why should there be so
much shifty grounds in a case of simple accident? Why was there so
much hard feelings for the victim? Why did they look at me with
those eyes?
Now I understood fully why they had wanted me to say I had
fallen right away. Because the actual circumstances of the accident
were absolutely incrimitating for the bus driver. On the length of
one block, it was unbelievable that he didn't look in his rear-view
mirror while moving from the second to the first lane. And he
didn't stop before his scheduled stop at 40th street because he
hadn't seen me.
So they made me participate in the cover-up by testifying
falsely. That was the only way for them to get away with murder. If
the truth was on the records, it would be obvious to Justice that
the driver had acted deliberately.
So I'm adamant about telling the truth and I won't consider
any other alternative. I think I'll have to act pro-se with the
help of some paralegal. No personal injury lawyer is willing to
make a motion to suppress my EBT and request a real one, and admit
that one of his colleagues did such a heinous thing as what my
attorneys did. This defies the common decency so much that it is
unthinkable. Yet there is no other explanation for what has
happened.
I made an appointment with L. Jacobson for the next day at 5PM
to show him my EBT's but in the evening I knew that it was not the
right way to go. He would try to make me say something that would
be consistent with the EBT and I would have to mentally contort my
body to fit the papers, which was a psychological torture that I
didn't want to endure any more.
I realized that I was unwilling to tell him more about the
accident given his tendency to take the lawyer's side. If it was
going to be all uphill for me again, I wasn't up to it. If I told
him specifics he might contact the Slavits and enter into a
collusion to do me in instead of helping me. And there was the fact
that I had submitted bills to the MTA for reimbursement of
household help expenses, which concerned Arturo. Since I had
obtained from Arturo that he sign these receipts only by promising
him a kick-back when the MTA check came, I met him at a coffee shop
with several ball points and made him sign all the receipts I had
prepared. When I had talked about submitting receipts for
reimbursement, Slavit had told me that if I used commercially
available forms, it would look suspicious so he said I should make
handwritten receipts. But I made them all the same day and wanted
Arturo to sign them all the same day. Altogether, with all the
money Arturo was costing me, I had to cheat to obtain the refund of
my expenses. I had obtained from Arturo that he sign backdated
receipts for cash, when in fact I counted in the cash outlay half
of my weekly rent, which was not a fraud since Arturo lived with me
only because of my accident. In case Arturo became a witness and a
defendant in my case, Jacobson would have a conflict of
interests.
So I was concerned that this fact might handicap my case
somewhere down the line if I had Jacobson for attorney, and I
decided at least that it would be my excuse to back out of my
appointment. I became paranoid about the possibility of linking
Arturo to my case as an agent with the mission of making an
alcoholic out of me, and a cigaret smoker again, and a humiliated
woman, but I knew that at the paroxysm of paranoia I would find my
family. Arturo had been purposefully placed at the street corner
when I had got off the cab from the hospital. He hadn't been there
by chance. He was the first person I saw when I got off the cab.
And the no-show of the woman's daughter was to force me to take
Arturo as the only help available around. He had been my helper and
alcool pusher in order to weaken my perception of reality and make
me more susceptible to accepting the lawyer's conditions. And they
had obtained my false testimony through deception, by making me
feel I was crazy or suicidal, and reinforcing this by multiple
harassments and crimes in all other aspects of my life with the
contribution of my landlors who is in close contact with my mother.
The cost of all the hired trouble-makers who have contributed
to my failure in my attempts to make money, be it with my berets or
with music, or with anything else for that matter, this cost must
be staggering. But the liquid funds are stacked in suitcases in my
parent's home, hidden in Germany and Switzerland and who knows, in
the United States without my knowledge and untraceable by the tax
authorities. All this cash accumulated over the years from rent and
who knows what else, maybe illegal traffic, how much is there? I
suspect several millions francs. And part of this plentiful
unlawful cash is used to unlawful ends, paying small parts and big
parts actors and psychopaths to interfere with my life in a
negative way like the 666 Broadway and the accident of May 23rd,
linking those two accidents indicates a chiseled malevolence
carried out with the skill of a master stage director. I can
recognize here my sister Agnes sense of organization. With this
systematic interference of my family in every aspect of my life I
cannot have a normal life. All the hostility of every member of my
family can express itself in a covert way through the systematic
sabotage of my entreprises, and as long as I live and nothing major
happens, they're going to make it their life work of ruining my
own. I don't know how they rationalize their attitude towards me
regarding our relationship and regarding legal matters of the
estate. They have to contort their brains to make what they say
consistent with what they have said previously and it turns into a
horror episode, a brain and heart torture.
I talked to a well spoken young man and told him that I
cancelled my appointment because of the possibility of conflict of
interest. He took the message and asked for a phone number where I
could be reached. I said there was none. He suggested I call later.
I said that I would call later in the evening. Which I did out of
politeness because I had rather stayed home and not spoken another
word about the matter.
I told Jacobson about the possibility of conflict of interest
because both Arturo and I are suing the MTA and the MTA reimbursed
the receipts Arturo had signed. He agreed there was indeed a
possibility. I added that there was more to this case than met the
eye, that it was a complicated case, and that I was looking for an
attorney who would really take my side. He agreed about the
difficulty of finding an honest attorney and declined to recommend
anybody. He asked me Arturo's last name and I gave it to him. I
said it was too bad because he sounded like a good attorney.
So first thing is to file pro se a motion to suppress my EBT
and request a bona-fides EBT. And this I have to do alone, pro-se.
That's what I wanted to do right after I fired the Slavits but a
clerk discouraged me from doing so. But I wasn't admitting having
committed perjury, I said my testimony had been obtained without
being sworn in and by deceit. This is a tough one because it
implies that the court reporter and the TA lawyer were in on the
trick.
Wed. 03.30
Call Internal Affairs to complain that investigator at Midtown
South didn't make a report on my claim of attempted murder. I say
my family did it for my inheritance, and since they didn't succeed,
they're trying to do it again. I said that I was treated like a
piece of shit and I'm scared to death. The officer suggests that I
come to the office or write. He said there several ways to deal
with the problem. While I was talking to him, asking what the
police was waiting for to help me, did I have to die for them to
take me seriously? But I don't want to die. I know the motive and
I know who did it, what more do they need? (In fact they need a lot
more but I have that too) I turned around and there was a black
woman less than four feet behind me. I asked the officer to hold on
a moment then I asked the woman to please step back. She didn't
react right away. She didn't expect that I would confront her. She
was speechless and motionless for a while and I kept looking
intensely at her. Then she stepped back and muttered that if I
didn't feel good I should stay in my bed. Then I returned to the
phone. "Hello? Are you there?" "Yes" the officer said. "There was
this woman standing right behind me and I don't need anybody to
listen to what I'm saying". This was particularly true since I was
speaking of being the target of a murder and had just said I didn't
want to die. Finally I said I would write and asked his name.
Vincentori. And the address was on Hudson street. He didn't know
the zip code and had to look for it. It was 10013, as I expected.
But then why does the phone number have a 718 area code?
I talk with Linda at the NY Law Journal and request that she
send me the four missing issues. She says she's going to mail them
today in an envelope, with a form to trace the paper's route for
the Post Office.
Bonarti calls me as I pass his office and suggests that I call
the headquarters of the Law Journal to try to clear up the
situation "because it makes us look bad". I say it sure does. He
adds that people are subject to error "they are only human beings
after all". He apologizes twice. He almost convinces me, but once
home I catch myself. There was no way that human error alone could
explain a 25% loss of a month's subscription. It's a federal
offense to steal someone's mail and postal employees have a special
duty to respect mail so the argument of human error is a bit too
much. Bonarti is a master persuader. Several times in the past he
always pointed the responsibility away from himself and forced me
to give him the benefit of the doubt. He made you feel guilty for
not wanting to give it to him. That's how he gets away with his
mischief. He had just said that he never opened the newspaper,
which meant that indeed he had. I had already observed that the
information he volunteered was to be taken as disinformation. He
said the opposite of the truth, I had to remind myself of that.
Thur. 03.31
To close the month on a nice touch, I was in the kitchen with
the window open when I heard a loud voice from the street speak
about "my wife" and "my wife" and "my wife". The voice reminded me
of Bonarti's but it was somewhat different, on a higher pitch and
unnaturally loud. I leaned to see who was in the street speaking of
his wife. It was Bonarti. His car was parked almost in front of my
window and from the sidewalk next to his car, he was talking to
Richie facing my window. After I leaned close to the window to see
who was talking, Bonarti stopped. So he wanted me to believe that
he had a wife, that he was married, that a woman luckier than I had
caught the big fish. But knowing him like I do now, I am rather
sorry for the woman.
[April 1994]
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