Sunset & Vine: Loose Lips (12 page)

Dotty never knew her true relationship to “Aunt Marjorie,” or that she was adopted.

Growing up, she had pondered as to why she didn’t resemble either of her parents but was readily assured that she took after her grandparents. Little did they know what an unknown truth that truly was.

Dotty Henderson had led a life in full pursuit of relentless greed, fed by envy, for naught. The irony was that it would be she—not the inhabitants of Sherman Oaks, Hollywood or other enclaves of the rich—that the world would envy.

Their envy stemmed from Dotty’s posthumous vast fortune and blue-blooded lineage. She was worth billions and never knew it, or for that matter, would never be able to enjoy one penny of it. Fate had interceded and dealt a cruel hand to her. Perhaps it was punishment for all the wicked and merciless deeds she had perpetrated upon so many others. Or, it could have been her just reward for having made a pact with herself “to do whatever it takes to get what I want” over so many years.

A few of her victims, whose lives she had destroyed in her quest for money, had been the ones who enjoyed the last laugh. Many of them rejoiced while giving one last kick of dirt and a hurl of spit aimed at her permanent “holding station” at Forest Lawn Cemetery.

Dotty Huntington Stanford-Henderson, lost heiress to one of the greatest fortunes in American history, daughter to a lineage that was as aristocratic and financially supreme as some of the world’s oldest monarchs. Dotty had been cheated in the worst possible way.

It was not as if she could have avoided it, it was in her DNA. That dark part of her character she unknowingly inherited from her notorious grandfather, Clay Stanford I. It was the ruthlessness that had helped build the vast fortune her biological family had enjoyed over the last two centuries. The overpowering, cold-hearted detachment was beyond her control. It was her breeding that had determined her destiny.

* * *

Montague R. Stanford had grown his family’s fortune two-fold through the years after the loss of his immediate family by establishing a shrewd business regimen.

He had inherited the combined fortunes of his parents as the sole surviving family member, an estimated $4.3 billion, in 1956 dollars. His mother’s brother, an only uncle, led the charge against the
Stockholm
, of the Swedish American Lines, for the death of his only sister. It was found that the inexperienced on-duty bridge officer of the
Stockholm
had read the radar incorrectly, one of many mistakes made by both ships’ crews, which, in turn, lead to the collision.

Montague’s upbringing was taken up by his robber baron grandfather, Clay Stanford I. He was raised with a hands-on approach by his grandfather, probably more out of grief and fear after the loss of his only son than by necessity.

Montague became a proverbial chip off the old block, either because of his grandfather’s merciless DNA or simply as a dedicated student. More than likely, it was the former.

He had married a lovely artist, an ex-hippy named “Cosima.” She had changed her name from Ruby Smith in the early days of her 1960’s San Francisco era. Cosima had been a protester during a sit in at one of Montague’s companies. Having recognized him in a car as it was entering the gates of the company she boldly approached it with her large protest sign that read “WHY?” in dripping red paint used to emulate blood. She was shocked when the car stopped and Montague rolled down his window to speak with her.

“What does your sign mean?” he asked as his heart leapt from his chest after the large sign, which had been blocking Cosima’s face, slowly came down, revealing the most gorgeous coral green eyes he had ever seen, set in what he believed to be the most beautiful female face on the planet.

“The pollution going into the bay, killing all the fish and birds!” Her rage quickly fading as Montague gave her his deadly, feigned look of boyish innocence and warmth. His dashing sun-kissed brown hair, bronze tanned face, and sparkling smile had caught her off guard and unarmed her.

“Are we really doing that?” he asked?

“Yes … don’t you know that? I think it is your company, isn’t it?” As she began to wonder if she had approached the right man.

“What is your name?” he replied.

“Cosima! And who might you be?” Defiantly answering.

“I am Montague Stanford. I guess I’m the bad guy, but I’m not really! What can I do to make amends? Will you meet with me and discuss this? I don’t want to hurt the little fish and birds,” he responded.

“Are you serious?” Not knowing if he was making a joke of her or not.

“I am very serious! How about this evening? And you can tell all of your protesting friends that I will take your advice under consideration when implementing these changes,” he challenged.

“Well. OK, if you are really serious!”

“Where can I reach you?” Replying with a boyish sincerity.

They met, the pheromones exploded, and they were married two months later! Clay Stanford III was born seven months later. He was an only child, though it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying. The heat between Montague and Cosima made them inseparable. They had never traveled apart since their first meeting. At times, people just know from their first meeting, when they first lay eyes on each other, that they’ve found the one. That was the case between them. The pollution that was spilling out from his company was halted immediately.

* * *

Clay III had seen his grandfather’s irrevocable trust containing the codicil that referred to a possible existence of a lost daughter. His father Montague was obliged to follow it. It could very well have been nothing more than a rumor. The Will or Trust also stipulated that an ongoing search was to be directly funded and verified by the legal oversight of his executors. His father had never discussed with him the possibility of a lost sibling.

There was recent news that made the possibility of his father having a sibling rise to the level of serious plausibility. It was becoming more real by the day with the advances of new medical technology such as DNA testing.

Being an only child, Clay III was to be crowned sole heir to a fortune of billions. He had no intention of sharing what he viewed as his multi-billion-dollar fortune with a complete stranger, regardless of their relationship. A person no one knew anything about.

Like his great grandfather, Clay I, he held dear the teachings of his father when it came to business and protecting the family’s assets. The only difference was, in the current generation, Clay III had that extra bite of a “take no prisoners” ethic. Similar to his robber baron great grandfather. He had missed out on knowing his great grandfather so he hung onto every word and lesson his father shared with him as the gospel.

Clay III had been asked by his father, Montague, to embark upon a project in preparation for his responsibility of overseeing the vast fortune he was to inherit.

The task was to select a company owned by the family and improve its revenue over the course of a year.

“I’ll leave it up to you to choose which industry you’d like to work with,” he told his son.

Clay chose a successful construction company headquartered in California. Delving into its business prospects, he discovered that “Castle Industries” was to bid on a $1.1-billion-dollar State building project that oversaw the construction of the new high-speed train stations throughout the state. It would stretch from San Francisco to San Diego. It was massive. And it was the most ambitious high-speed project in the nation. Others were to follow across the nation.

Clay chose this project for several reasons. One, he was intrigued with the necessary lobbying aspect of it. Secondly, if he succeeded, it would position the company as the up and coming leader for similar projects in development across the nation. Thirdly, he wanted to impress his father. No easy task knowing the level of expectation Montague Stanford held for his only son.

Clay felt that he was up for the challenge. He was young, he was ambitious, and, most importantly, he was an exceptional student of his father’s acumen when it came to learning how to listen.

“I will do this, and I will succeed!” he reassured himself. He lacked a few things in his development, but confidence was not one of them.

Clay met the following day to give his father his decision. He hadn’t wanted to wait until the following week as his father had suggested. He wanted to display initiative and decisiveness.

“Pop, I’ve chosen Castle Industries! They are bidding on the high-speed rail stations throughout the state. I believe … no, I know, that I can take this and win. I’m ready for this,” he boldly declared to his proud father.

“OK, son, it’s yours. I’ll set it up this week. Understand that this is a huge endeavor, opportunity, and potential disaster all rolled up into one. I will not hold it against you if it does not work out. Your dedication is what I will be observing.” Montague wanted to give his son a way out should he fail.

Clay understood full well the seriousness of this opportunity.

He thought about his upbringing where failure was unacceptable in this family, and had never been rewarded or forgiven, he remembered.

“We have never been rewarded for second place, and I don’t intend to be the first to be!”

He knew the rules of the game and was prepared to play. The stakes were enormous. He looked at his dad with powerful intensity.

“Thank you, Dad, I won’t let you down.” He had the weight of almost 175 years upon his shoulders. This was not England, Italy, Germany, or France, it was America and they play hard here. Clay’s mind was already well at work developing his strategy.

He set out to find background dirt on the politicians.

“I am going to relish this. I’m going to compete and win, legally, of course. At least under the laws of the U.S.A.,” Clay thought to himself.

Montague smiled as his son walked away. He saw himself in every inch of his son. He had no doubt that he would be as successful as he had been.

“I only hope that he remembers to be honest, and fair to all.” A humble lesson he had learned as a young man. Never forgetting how his entire family was snatched from him in an instant with the unexpected sinking of the
Andrea Doria
, he always thought twice about stirring up bad karma.

That afternoon, Clay notified his personal assistant of a priority project that they would be embarking upon.

“This requires the ultimate in secrecy, dedication, and no questions asked. This is a serious business adventure and I need you to understand that this will take priority over everything in your life right now. I’m in this to win, and your job depends upon it. Are we clear about that? I reiterate to you that I am only interested in and expect solutions.

“You’ll need some help so make sure your assistant is aware of the high level of importance placed on this project. He will be working with confidential information. I’ll brief you further on the strategy after meeting with the heads of the company involved. In the meantime, find out which politicians are on the approval committee for the state high-speed rail stations. Then research full bios, both the official one and the hidden one.” He set out to equip himself with as much dirt as he could in order to out-maneuver his competitors.

“Check,” was his assistance reply.

Clay ended the conversation with, “You’ve performed well while working for me over the last two years, and you’ve been rewarded handsomely. I hope I can continue to depend on your discretion.” He delivered the thank you as a veiled threat.

“Let’s get busy!” He gave his assistant a devilish smile as he was leaving the room.

The connections he had set up with the college-aged sons of the two state politicians fell into place. Clay used every opportunity to spend time with his two new pals, and more importantly, their fathers. They, along with their wives and sons, would be invited to the Stanford’s Emerald Ball, the most sought after social event of the year.

It helped that the three attended the same university.

Neither of the sons gave it a second thought when presented with the privilege of calling Clay Stanford III a friend. Nor were they opposed to the benefits that came with his family’s immense wealth. The five of them jetted to and fro to attend openings and sporting events with front row seats of course, in Hawaii, San Francisco, New York, you name it. All on one of the family’s private jets. Clay made sure they didn’t spend a dime.

At first the fathers protested Clay’s generosity, but their protests became more and more faint as the adventures became bigger and more extravagant, until the objections became nonexistent.

By the time Clay had invited their families to the Emerald Ball they were old friends. He had them exactly where he wanted them. He grew more confident by the day with his plan.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Stranger Identified

“What exactly were you looking for during your visits to Schwab’s, and why all the attention to Dotty?” was the first question Elsa asked of the stranger, who had now been identified as an attorney for a high-powered Hollywood law firm.

“I was hired by a client to verify whether or not Dotty Henderson was a lost relative. Someone my client’s family has been searching for a very long time. Previous attempts had left enough information for me to narrow it down to Mrs. Henderson,” Mr. Celletti replied.

“Why didn’t you just come right out and let her know?”

“I was given very specific instructions on how to proceed. I was not to tip my hat to her in any way. She was not to find out in case she turned out not to be the person we were searching for. He thought it would avoid publicity that way.”

“So, it is a he? And how did you intend to verify this?” Elsa pointed out.

“I was simply trying to discreetly collect a sample of Mrs. Henderson’s DNA. The problem was, she was like a hawk watching my every move. I even tried to snag one of her coffee mugs, but she wasn’t having it. She caught me every time. Apparently, the Schwab’s mugs were a favorite souvenir item with certain visitors who would steal them in lieu of buying one. She caught me twice trying to sneak one of the ones she had handled. And she warned me, ‘Third time and I call the cops.’ I told her it was my mistake, just that the coffee was so good I forgot it was in my hand. That was the last time I visited Schwab’s.”

“So you switched to visiting her home in the middle of the day? When you assumed no one would be home?”

“Seems like you have done your homework.”

“And then some,” Rocco said dryly. “What were you doing at Mrs. Henderson’s home in the middle of the day when you knew she would be at work?”

“I knew she had a daughter, I just figured that I could speak to her and maybe swipe a pen or pencil while chatting her up. Well, she was as sharp as her mother. Never took her eyes off me, not even when yelling up the stairs to her boyfriend,” he told Rocco

“Who is your client sir?” Rocco cutting straight to the point.

“Come on, you know that I can’t tell you that. That would be the end of my career in this business and this town.” Half pleading with the officer.

“OK. Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. The hard way is you refuse to tell us now, and I turn your name and involvement over to the tabloids and newspapers as fresh red meat. That way, I’ll just let their vicious hounds out on whoever your client is and they’ll be under a cloud of suspicion and relentless publicity. That’ll go over nicely with your future clients, if you can find any. How’s that working for ya?” Rocco was proud of himself for strong arming the guy without having to touch him.

“Or … you can give us the information we need and we pretend we never had this conversation. Your client will be none the wiser. We’ll find out anyway, and it’ll save us from charging you with criminal obstruction and then serving you with a subpoena. Do I need to keep going? Cause I have a few other cards up my sleeve for you if need be.” Rocco waited.

“You’re good, and I am wise enough to recognize the better hand dealt. It was a member of the Stanford family that hired me,” he answered, while waiting for the shocked response.

“Which one?”

“Clay III, the son. I was only hired to locate Mrs. Henderson and discreetly verify whether or not she was a missing family member they had been looking for.”

“This is getting interesting. Did you know if his father was aware of this fishing expedition?”

“That I couldn’t tell you. He paid me very, very well, and offered no additional information. When you’ve been in this business for as long as I have, you don’t ask too many questions, you just listen and do what is asked. Then return with answers. These types of people are only interested in solutions and answers. They aren’t interested in excuses.”

“I met the daughter, explained everything to her without telling her the details, like who the family was, and asked for her help. I told her it could be of great benefit to her mother if we could prove her identity through a DNA test.”

“And she agreed to help you? A stranger that she knew nothing about?”

“Well, it wasn’t quite that simple. We communicated a bit, you know, and I gave her some details so that she would know that I was on the level, like sharing with her that I knew that her mother was adopted. She pretended not to be shocked, but I knew that neither Dotty nor her daughter were aware of that big secret.”

“Thank you, you’ve been very helpful. I won’t forget.” Rocco started to leave.

“Thank you Detective Goldman. By the way, I am truly sorry about the tragedy that happened to that poor woman. That horrible thing, right before discovering you are a member of one of the wealthiest families in America.”

“Excuse me? So, you confirmed the DNA test?” Rocco stopped dead in his tracks as he was about to leave.

“Yes. This is strictly confidential, Detective. I intercepted the results that her daughter had submitted a few days before Mrs. Henderson’s murder. She used a DNA kit that I had provided her during our meeting at her home. That kit carried an embedded alert that notified me whenever it was submitted. The sample was to come directly to my office, and if it was positive, I was instructed to send Mrs. Henderson one that had a negative result. I cannot speculate beyond that, Detective.” The lawyer now shifted into self-preservation mode.

“Did you turn the real results over to your client?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“That was the end of our business. He thanked me and that was it, case closed. I have no further information regarding this.”

“You’ve just been awarded a free “get out of jail card” for that last piece of information, Mr. Celletti. Thanks.” Rocco could barely contain himself as he left the building to call Elsa.

* * *

The investigator in the gray suit, Mr. Celletti, phoned Clay III immediately to inform him of the visit from Hollywood PD.

“I am very sorry, Mr. Stanford, they forced me to reveal the identity of my client.”

“Not a problem, I’m sure they would have found out eventually. Thank you for notifying me. Did you give them any other information?”

“If you mean the DNA results, no. Thanks to your generous expense account, I used it to bribe the testing site employee. She didn’t blink an eye after seeing the $2500 dollars I offered her.” Celletti replied.

“Excellent.”

Mr. Celletti was smart enough to know that he had to protect himself on both flanks when dealing with both Clay and the police. “I didn’t physically give him the results, but I didn’t say that I did not tell him the results either.” Celletti thought to himself while relishing his lawyering skills as he tried to shield the truth.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Did the test results answer the question you were asking?” Celletti asked Clay III.

“You were paid for answers, not questions. Thank you for your services. I would hope that no further information might come from you should you be questioned at a later date. At this point, you should direct them to me. Is that clear?”

“Happy to. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Stanford.”

Clay had confirmed six months prior that Dotty Henderson was not related to the people who had raised her. He had also confiscated a strand of his father’s hair from a brush in his dressing room. The match was 99.9%. He had finally found his father’s missing sister. He had needed to hire this investigator to conceal his previous activities regarding Dotty Henderson. The detailed report informed him of Dotty’s secret side job she was operating while working her day job as a waitress at that Hollywood diner, Schwab’s. The information he received contained pictures of her morning sexual romps with Sam O’Brien, her boss at the diner, her bank account amounts, and a list of people whose lives had been most damaged by her secret snitching to the tabloids for profit.

* * *

Rocco asked Elsa if she would do him a favor and handle the follow-up questioning of the Tripartite. His plate was too full to add those three divas to it.

“In the meantime, I’m going to pay ‘Aunt Marjorie’ a visit.”

He headed north on Vermont in the direction of Los Feliz.

“This probably won’t take very long. Then I can grab a bit of lunch, I’m starved.”

He knocked on the old lady’s door and waited for an answer. He heard light footsteps approaching the front door.

“Yes, who is it?” a feeble voice asked.

“Hello, ma’am, I’m with the Hollywood Police Department. My name is Detective Rocco Goldman, I’m sorry to disturb you at this time so soon after your loss.” He flashed his badge at the glass panel the old lady was staring out of. He started to put his badge away.

“Hold it up for a while longer, so that I may see it more clearly.” She peered closer at the badge while opening the curtains a little wider, exposing her small four-foot frame.

“OK, sir. Just a minute.” Cracking the door far enough for Rocco to get a glimpse of that notorious raised-eyebrows look of suspicion. The one she always delivered to unknown visitors after opening the door.

“Ma’am, I’m here to ask some questions about your deceased niece, Dotty Henderson. I am sorry for your loss, my condolences.”

The old lady took a deep sigh and held her handkerchief to her nose while sniffling and shaking her head.

“I still can’t believe that child is gone. She was such a lovely child.”

“I understand you were her only relative outside of her daughter and husband?” he asked.

“There’s George, my son. But Doty and I weren’t really blood related. I have been in her life since her birth. Those are the ones that are important in life,” she added.

“I see. Thank you for telling me that. What I’d like to know, ma’am, is, Do you have any information or documents pertaining to her biological relatives?”

She stiffened up and stared directly at him. “Why would you ask me something like that?”

“It’s normal procedure in a case like this.”

“Maybe you had better come in. And, will this information … if there is any, be made known to the public?”

“I can’t say, ma’am. I can tell you that I will do all that I can to respect your wishes. But I just can’t guarantee anything in a murder investigation.”

“Well, I do have some information that I promised long ago not to reveal to anyone. I was going to give it to Dotty upon my death.”

“May I see it?”

“Am I required to show you by law?” she asked suspiciously.

“No, ma’am, not right now. But if I don’t see them now, I’ll be forced to legally order you to. And I don’t want to have to go that route with you, not with your recent loss and Dotty’s family still grieving. Then you’ll have newspapers all over your home, day and night. It will just turn into a mess with you smack in the middle of it. Do you understand?” Try to inform her as delicately as he could.

“Yes, sonny, I guess I do. This stuff is a bit too much for an old lady like me to handle … I’ll be 93 in a few months. I just hope it doesn’t stir up too much after all these years. I’m so upset over losing Dotty. I don’t know if I could handle much more,” she pleaded.

“I will do what I can to protect you, and Dotty’s family. I knew her personally as a friend from Schwab’s, where she worked,” he shared.

“Oh, I know of that place. It’s where that movie star Lana Darnell hangs out I believe. Dotty took me there once years ago, in 1981, for lunch. I tell you, I was expecting Miss Swanson to come through those doors any minute. It was just full of those movie types. I have such fond memories of my little Dotty. She’s the only one who stayed in touch with me you know.”

“What do you mean the only one? Where their other siblings?”

“Oh excuse me, I’m just mumbling.”

What she had accidentally let slip out was her secret profession of underground black market adoptions and the children she provided. For some reason, she had stayed involved in Dotty’s life versus the others.

The old lady stood up and hobbled over to the fireplace, glanced over her back at Rocco as if to make sure he was a real policeman. Quickly deciding that he was legit.

“I’m only doing this to help my poor Dotty you know.” She half spoke and half mumbled mixed with a sniffle or two of genuine grief.

“I know you are, ma’am. It is very much appreciated and it may help us in finding whoever did this,” he reassured her.

With that, she placed her hand on the third corner brick down from the fireplace’s mantle and gave it a slight shove. There was a small click and out popped the brick. It swung open as if attached to a hidden hinge. Rocco could clearly see there was a good deal of space hidden in there, enough that the old lady could almost reach her whole arm in. She slowly pulled out a large, old envelope. One that was so old it had turned the yellowish color of aged paper.

“Will you need to take them with you? I’d prefer you look at them here and leave them with me.”

“I can do that, ma’am.” He was practically panting with anticipation.

“Be very careful, sonny, they are pretty darn old, like me!” she told him before releasing them into Rocco’s hands.

He almost tore the damn thing right then and there before slowing down. Uncurling what appeared to be a letter and several documents, he began to read.

“Oh my dear sweet Jesus!” Right there in front of him was documented proof that Dotty Henderson was the biological child of Gemma Huntington Stanford and Clay Stanford II! This was incredible! This explained the young Clay Stanford’s involvement, and the mysterious investigator in the gray suit.

“So, now you know,” the old lady said quietly with her small framed little body engulfed in her big overstuffed chair as she stared straight ahead into the crackling fire.

“She tried to give me a false name at first, but I always did my homework, for the benefit of the children, you know. She hadn’t even wanted to look at the child. I found out why later on. You see, back in those days we had our connections through the servants. We knew pretty much everything before these ladies even got to us. Nothing got past the servants.”