Having just returned from a whistleblowers summit and conference in Washington D.C., I had the privilege of meeting numerous victims of government abuse. Of all that were featured, few exceeded my ordeal. Indeed, because I heard about the summit at the last minute, the sponsors could not get me on the speakers agenda which had already been formalized. However I was allowed to present my case followed by an interview with Summit sponsors for future publication.
My focus was different than most presenters who decried retributions by federal and state agencies (executive branch of government). I was determined to obtain protection for that unique category of citizens known as judicial whistleblowers. These are the ones who expose corruption in the judicial branch, the forums created by the people to bring justice for all the other whistleblowers. At present, there is no real protection for us as my ordeal has abundantly demonstrated.
From my pedophile custody judge removed from family court (Bryan Hedges) to divorce judges soliciting bribes to fix custody cases (Gerald Garson and Thomas Spargo), we have a growing crisis on our hands. These are judges taken down only because of courageous whistleblowers. One was a father-attorney in divorce. Another was a mom who lost custody of her child. How many more have never been caught? Without judicial whistleblowers, the other types may never see justice even with the federal Whistleblower Protection Act now in effect.
For this reason, Judicial whistleblowers need legal protection and monetary compensation for the risks and injuries they endure. After exposing widespread corruption among wealthy Americans dodging tax liabilities in Swiss banks, whistleblower Bradley Birkenfeld was wrongly prosecuted by the IRS and sent to prison for a thirty month term. Ultimately he recovered $102 million as part of a new IRS whistleblower protection program.
His ordeal has striking similarities to mine, wrongfully prosecuted by unethical ethics lawyers who were ultimately allowed to resign for falsifying their time sheets (Albany chief counsel Peter Torncello, Steven Zayas and Elizabeth Devane). My children, licenses and livelihood were all seized in retaliation for the widespread corruption I have been exposing to no avail before a self-regulating profession and court system. Less than 10% of all commission complaints in New York and California are even looked into.
This autumn, my book, Satan’s Docket, will be published. It exposes my shocking ordeal while serving as an instruction manual for all parents affected by our nation’s divorce and family courts. Unsure whether the title was a good one, all doubt was removed this past week in Washington with the presentation and release of Birkenfeld’s book titled, Lucifer’s Bank.
In an effort to pave the way for judicial whistleblower protection in New York, I presented a 25-page, $25 million claim before the New York Legislature. After personal visits to legislative offices, I finally got a call from legislative counsel for the Assembly Judiciary Committee (Weinstein). The uphill battle I faced was mutually detailed.
I have yet to receive replies of any kind from my former Assembly representative, Claudia Tenney, campaigning for Congress at the time, my Senate representative, Joseph Griffo, who declared me his friend time and again, or Anthony Brindisi, Assembly representative in the district where my law practice was shut down. All this occurred within the span of a few years after 23 unblemished years as a successful civil rights attorney and ten years as a model parent without even a complaint before any child protection agency.
Please share this post for the general benefit of all Americans. As U.S. Senate Judiciary Chairman Chuck Grassley stated at a recent Whistleblower Day celebration, “You can’t fix something if you don’t know it’s broken. That’s just common sense.” But it’s much more than that for judicial whistleblowers: “You can’t get justice if corruption is being concealed by those who are supposed to deliver it.”
Okay, anyone can write a novel, right? It’s all made-up, fairyland stuff. I authored and published one myself in 2014. It’s called Voyage to Armageddon, and you can get a copy at Barnes and Noble Bookstores or order it on line at Amazon.
But what if a real story emerged, one that could actually happen to you. Welcome to my new literary work, years in the making and soon to be published. In fact, after releasing my first chapter on this site yesterday, I got a call and e-mail this morning from a publisher I did not solicit offering me a contract. An uncensored version is now available by ordering it on this site.
Yesterday I dedicated the first chapter to: “All Loving Dads on Fathers’ Day.” Today I am dedicating this chapter to all moms who love their children the same way. It is a segment of my fugitive ordeal in Paris when I sought international protection for parenting rights. You can also get the background and an excerpt which verifies the wide appeal of my book in two earlier posts of my Fathers’ Day Trilogy.
Today you get the PG-rated segment of Chapter Five entitled, Weaving A Tangled Web. It’s about a mom I met at an Irish Pub in Paris. The rest is the wild ride she gave me at the Bastille District, a night in Gay Paree I will never forget.
We pick up my story here at page 76:
During one such visit, I was treated to real entertainment after a wholesome meal. The singers, fiddles and jigs were straight out of Ireland, a short flight across the English Channel. It was also on this day that I met a single mom who was in the heat of a custody battle in the states. A group of estranged parents were exchanging multi-nation divorce scandals with me at the bar when this mom whittled it down to an exclusive conversation.
She wore a brown plaid skirt with white blouse, smiling in a manner wholly at odds with the war story she was conveying. Slender with long jet-black hair curled around one side of her shoulder, she could not have been much taller than five feet. All the trappings of an Irish lassie with an Asian origin, she was as cute and sexy as a woman could be. Seated on a stool to my right, she was quite nervous while relating her ordeal, crossing her legs and switching them regularly.
“So, Mr. big-shot New York lawyer, what do you know about French custody law? Can I pick your brain or is there going to be a fee for this?”
“You must’ve misunderstood my ordeal. I’m not a big-shot, I got shot big-time, more like an assassination by my own profession for exposing its corruption on parents like you.”
“Well I overheard you talking with the guys a little while ago about a billion dollar casino you shut down in New York.”
“You must’ve caught only part of that conversation too. I won the judgment that should have shut it down. I did what my surrounding landowner clients hired me to do, but like custody and divorce, money talks. The casino’s still there.”
“Well, then, you must still be good at what you do.”
“Depends how you look at it. I mean they flew in lawyers from Washington to argue against me on that casino case. One of the law firms was Cravath, Swaine and Moore. You should see their office building near Times Square. But even with my winning decision, they did an end-around with federal authority over Indian matters. Money usually wins out no matter the harm to gambling addicts or in our custody cases, the children. It’s all fueled by lawyer profits and federal funds.”
“So why not set up a law practice here in Paris?”
“I’m a bit intrigued by your questions. We barely know each other. I thought your custody case was in the United States. What do you care about French law and a practice for me in Paris?”
“Let’s just say my issues cross the borders. I may need to apply custody laws here but they’re not in my favor. I paid good money for the best lawyers to make sure my child was safe under my care. But I’m finding that my abusive ex is going to have him seized and returned to him.”
“Huh, that’s strange. From what I’ve read, France has a maternal preference in such matters. That seems to prevail even though it’s part of the European Union which stresses that both parents and their children have a right to a relationship. So I would think you’d be happy here. In the states, dads are 85% of parents paying child support. You should be good there too.”
“Well my case is unique. It goes far beyond basic custody laws.”
“It involves international law. That’s why when I heard you talking about national sovereignty with Sean and his friends, I figured you might be just the right guy for my case.”
“Again I think you misunderstood what we were talking about. I got off on the Native-American sovereignty issues associated with that Indian casino compact. They have their own custody norms. It gets very complicated. Nothing that could apply to you.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Do you have a business card? I’d like to give you my whole story on the phone, maybe over some early morning expresso if you don’t mind. Right now, it’s too noisy at this pub. That’s why I didn’t pick up on all of what you were saying.”
“Sure, no problem,” I replied while handing her my parent advocacy card, “but it’s all just bar talk. Don’t get too pumped about any of it.”
Over the years, I had been dealing with victims electronically for the most part. In this case, I found a custody warrior who had taken on much more than her parenting rival. Like me in New York, she had taken aim at corruption in the California divorce system, having written reports to various commissions, monitored court proceedings and organized rallies against domestic violence. In the end, she came up with essentially the same conclusions I did.
Her name was Linda, and she related an ordeal which could be considered my maternal counterpart. But there were puzzle pieces missing in all the competing bar talk. Occasionally melancholy, she betrayed great wit and broke out laughing at her own jokes. But when it came to court corruption, her mood got cold and sullen. A deep seated hatred for this custody system had found its way to our meeting, a potential release that might allow her to move on with life.
Despite being consumed by all her litigation, Linda managed to exude a feminine quality flavored by an eclectic mix of emotions. She was a tough gladiator, sensitive caretaker, an intellect, airhead, dictator and hopeless romantic all rolled up into one, lighting up at least ten human “disorders” on the DSM-5 manual from what I could tell. She impressed me as a rival to Debra Messing in her role as Kat in the acclaimed movie Wedding Date.
As our lively discourse progressed into the night, the music faded more and more from our attention span. I could sense that something special was developing between us. In a matter of only hours, our dialogue had converted total strangers into kindred spirits, fate-driven partners on a mission to save our offspring from common enemies thousands of miles apart.
The bar was getting louder as we were getting more intimate, so I invited Linda out for a stroll. I’d seen enough romantic couples arm-in-arm on these streets during my nightly returns to the hotel. Anxious to get a taste, it was a chance I took. To my delight, Linda happily accepted. Upon satisfying the lease payment for our extended stay, we exited Corcoran’s into the night time glitz of a lover’s side to Paris.
We headed back toward Place de la Bastille which was teeming with activity, from late diners seated outside various cafes to diverse tourists engaged in dialogue of many languages. You couldn’t help wondering how all those words meshed in one place without conflict or collision. We took photos of one another, then together at the urging of an elderly couple on an anniversary honeymoon. With their well wishes, we were suddenly on an impromptu honeymoon of our own.
One street off the northeast side of the plaza was quite inviting. We sauntered aimlessly along Rue de la Roquette, pausing from time to time to investigate the boutiques which caught Linda’s attention. Then we turned right onto Rue de Lappe as the passages narrowed. Here we found clubs galore and a hoard of night-goers which might intimidate most mature types, but to us it was an unexpected adventure, a trip back in time, a foray into our long-lost youth.
For no particular reason except its peculiar name, we boldly entered a night club known as Yellow Mad Monkey. Lots of energy inside, and there were actually large plants suspended from the ceiling to give this place a sort of jungle décor. Tarzan himself might swing down for a beer. There was a pair of chairs at a table that seemed available, maybe the only ones in this crowded venue, but the two couples already seated there appeared to have claimed title to them.
We must have looked out of place because, sensing our predicament, one of the guys invited us to join them. His name was Pierre from Quebec City, Canada, and he politely introduced us to his wife, Charlene, and acquaintances, Hank and Sheila. The latter couple across from us was from West Virginia and the foursome had met at the Louvre earlier in the week. None of us being locals, it was easy to join their conversation over tourist sites visited or yet to be explored.
“So what brings you two to Gay Paree?” asked our spontaneous host. He was a tall, stocky fellow in grey slacks and black silk shirt, middle aged with trim facial hair of Toby Keith variety.
“Oh we’re on our honeymoon, second marriage,” Linda replied with convincing character. She directed a celebratory smile toward each of our table mates and earned the intended reactions. I was last in line and first in shock but caught on quickly. We were going to have some fun with this, a role which that elderly couple assigned to us a short while ago and see where it all went.
“That’s so nice. Such a lovely couple, you guys, don’t you think Pierre?” Charlene was a shapely woman dressed in black pants and sky-blue top. A pearl necklace and jewelry on both hands signified their joint success. “I remember when we were on our honeymoon in Niagara Falls. So long ago, but it seems like yesterday. Where did all that time go?”
“I say we all get a shot to celebrate your new life together.” The offer came from Sheila, a long time girlfriend of Hank, the third man at our table. He was a burly guy dressed casually in jeans and a Mountaineers jersey evidently suffering from a sight defect because he could not seem to keep his eyes off Linda’s chest.
Sheila, on the other hand, came across as a fun-loving type, curvy figure and bleach blonde hair caught up in a bun. A red dress matched her rosy cheeks, and her arms were sufficiently intimidating to get Rambo accepting whatever offer she might make.
“Uh, sure, I guess, but I don’t do shots,” I interjected. “I’ll just substitute with a bottle of Bud. How about you, honey?” Linda was immediately ecstatic with my play-along, looking for max excitement the way a child explores a carnival, except this one had not been serving soda pop.
“Darling, I’ll have another vodka cranberry. We’ve had a long day, folks, and I can’t wait to get back to our room. You know how it is with wild sex, just can’t get enough fast enough. So the last thing I need is to pass out on my new hubby.”
Linda’s remark caused me to burst out with a laugh. So unexpected, it’s the way she delivered it, convincing yet perplexing. I guess you had to be there. I contained myself as quickly as I lost it, but our friends were already reacting with squint eyes and strange looks toward me and then each other. Linda was holding for now, but I was sure I could make her dam burst if I wanted to.
“Yeah like she passed out last night. And to think she was buck-naked when I took her off the elevator. Sweetie, you think you can make it to our suite tonight?”
“Not if you don’t get your hand off my thigh and back on the table where everyone can see it. Sex under the table is prohibited here, love, didn’t you see the sign at the entrance?”
It now appeared that our audience was unsure whether to be amused or disgusted by our x-rated, rapid-fire exchange. Charlene was cracking a Mona Lisa smile, Pierre looked stunned, Hank’s eyes were still glued to his prize but Sheila distinguished herself with an arousal at each remark.
“Yeah I saw that sign,” I replied. “And you’re going to see divorce papers if you pass out again.”
“Aw, such a jokester! See, Lee’s got this loaded gun when he doesn’t get his way. I love it when he shoots me dead at night, if you get my drift.” Linda added a few winks as if anyone needed it and pressed on. “Besides, we got company, honey, so behave.” Still sporting that trademark smile, she never missed a beat. This was getting more interesting as were the reactions.
“Alright, I’ll behave, but you owe me big time baby.”
“I love it when I owe you big time. When you’re big, I’m submissive. That’s the way it should be when a real man takes control.” Looking over her listeners with their disheveled appearances, Linda turned plaintive but only so long as necessary to keep her ruse in play.
“Sorry guys, we’ve been doing this foreplay thing all evening. It’s how we stay up all night taking care of business. How about you guys? Any action yet Charlene? Niagara Falls can’t be that far away?”
There was no reaction from Charlene. She just looked back at Linda as if she had just seen the monster in a horror flick. Linda was obviously getting quite loopy and carried away with her charade. In the process, she was taking us both over the falls here.
Concededly this was a foursome that was hard to read, square peg in a round hole, a classy reserved couple touring with Bonnie and Clyde. But give Linda credit, she was resilient. On the chance she offended anyone, she tried to make amends. Unfortunately, she overcompensated.
“I mean, we’re all here to have a romantic time together, aren’t we? I was just trying give you guys some inspiration the way we’ve been going at it. So’s it gonna be wild sex tonight or not?”
There was still no reaction from Pierre’s wife or anyone else for that matter until Sheila jumped in. It was anything but what we expected. In fact, it was much more than a game changer. Linda could never have imagined what her offer would elicit. It’s something we’ll never forget.
“Hey, whatever you two got going on, I wanna be a part of it. Did you hear that guys? Linda says she wants to share, like we all did last night. And what a night! Honey, you won’t crash on my watch, and as for your man, he ain’t seen nothing yet. You’re gonna love our toys. Let’s go now.”
Sheila’s counter-offer was shocking enough, but we were blown away when the other three at our table nodded approvingly. Linda and I were now their prey. It had to be an ambush. Neither of us could utter a word. Talk about censored speech. How were we going to get out of this jam?
They were all seriously serious, and for a moment I think Linda was feeling like she had just checked into the Hotel California. We stared in wonder, glanced at each another, our thoughts racing for a quick exit strategy. Then I took control.
“Sheila, you’re on.” I handed her a hotel business card with a room number scribbled on the back. “Bring your hottest nighty. And Hank, I got a cure for your eye problem, it’s called gasoline. We gotta go.”
I grabbed Linda by the hand and rushed her out of the club like mad monkees. That’s when her dam finally burst. Laughing hysterically, she stumbled alongside me down the sidewalk. It wasn’t long before we disappeared inconspicuously among the crowded streets.
When we got comfortable with our escape, Linda stopped, turned toward me and seized my elbows with each hand. She had that wild-eyed shock still plastered all over her face. It was as if she was suddenly back in high school after completing some kind of dare or sorority prank.
“I can’t believe what just happened,” she screamed, laughing to the point of tears. “Please tell me that didn’t just happen. Did they really think we were soliciting for a double manage-et-trois?”
“Not we, you! I never offered anything and you started it all. But I think they call it swingers.”
“Yeah like you weren’t enjoying it.”
“Actually I was, right up to the point where Bubba from the back woods was gonna have his way. I gotta say, Linda, you are crazy! I never met anyone quite like you.”
“Same here, I never met someone like me either.” She answered with a giggle as we locked our arms again and resumed our aimless stroll on the streets of Paris. “I really like you, Leon the lawyer. You got me out of a real jam there. I could use help like that in other areas. Can we get together tomorrow night? Drinks are on me.”
“I gotta hope you’re not too messed up right now. You downed a lot tonight and might forget this whole thing even happened in the morning. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Absolutely, I’m getting good at this. A great stress reliever with all of what I’ve been going through. I got this lawyer right now who’s acting like a scared boy in front of my custody judge.”
“Well, then, it’s obvious you hired the wrong lawyer. Protecting a child is a man’s job, love.”
Linda quickly wrapped her arms around my head, inflicting a French kiss like I had never experienced before. “Wild sex could be the icing on our wedding cake tonight. Whatta ya say?”
“Tempting as that is, let me take a raincheck for now. It’s been a long day. Can I get you a cab, walk you home? I can’t just leave you unescorted in this condition.”
“Aw that’s so sweet. A real gentleman. Are you falling for me too, Lee? I sensed a bit of jealousy you know, back at that Monkee club. Gasoline? Seriously?” Linda was now slurring her words.
“The guy was a pervert, Lynn, he never said a word all night, just kept staring at your breasts. Talk about mad monkees in a jungle, I swear this one couldn’t formulate words. Besides, what’s a newlywed husband supposed to do? Good show by the way. You definitely know how to take a guy off-guard on a first date.”
“Well I gotta say, you rose to the occasion and delivered nicely too. I’m so glad we got married on our first date. Never heard of anyone having a wild ride like this.”
“Maybe I delivered, but not to get a star role in some Deliverance movie. What were you thinking? I had all I could do to keep up with your shenanigans. And how in the world did those two couples match up?”
“Yeah, I wondered the same thing. By the way, you didn’t really give your room card, did you?”
“I can’t believe you’d even ask. It was one of many cards I’ve been collecting for an extended stay here in Paris. My reservation at the current place is up next week, and the card I gave is from the last hotel I stayed at. The number on the back is the basement weight room.”
Linda laughed aloud, then stopped and faced me again, this time with a serious look. “Hey Lee, with what you just said, a great idea popped into my head.”
“Please, not another one. I can only handle one per century.”
“No, I’m serious, hear me out. I got this villa on the Riviera. I only come to Paris on business. I stay with relatives when I’m here. Why not visit me this weekend? Put off that reservation. I know you’ll love it down there.” She made her pitch enthusiastically, and frankly I fell for it, if not her. The proverbial tumbleweed, what did it matter where I went?
“Wow, that’s quite an offer. I’ve never been to the Riviera. Always wanted to go there though. This is all so spontaneous, but staying on the move may be just what the doctor ordered, especially after that call I got from Judge Paris.”
“Never mind, long story. Tell you what, the more I think about it, the more I like your idea. Let’s get together tomorrow night. We’ll meet at Corcoran’s and talk about this some more. If I can survive that forest fire you started at jungle bar, I can handle anything.”
“And I could use a guy like you to keep me out of fires like that. Sorry I got you into it, but you gotta admit, we had a riot getting out.”
“O, what a tangled web we weave when we first practice deceit.”
“What are you talking about, Lee?”
“Never mind again, another long story. It’s a quote from an old friend, a real old friend. Hey there’s a cab, let’s grab it.” We hopped into the back seat and away we went.
“Two stops, Rue de Clery at Poissonniere and Montmontre,” I announced.
“You sure you don’t want to make it one stop, Lee?”
“I’m a gentleman, remember? I may end up in Paris forever. So we got lots of time to get to know one another. If it’s going to happen, I want it to be special. And I think you’re real special, unfortunately very drunk too.”
“Alrighty then, bad for me, good for you.”
Linda eased us down into the seat and assumed a commanding position over me. Then she began to kiss, caress and stimulate me as if she had not had sex in a very long time. Come to think about it, neither had I.
To my amazement, an unexpected metamorphosis was occurring, a sweet transition from nightmare to fairy tale. We were two oppressed victims making our way to paradise without a care in the world. The cab driver lost sight of us in his rear view mirror and could only fantasize about our moans and maneuverings as he navigated to our destinations.
Eventually he came to a stop. Linda got herself together and exited while I monitored her walk toward some family home in this vicinity, the drop-off location she gave me for the cab driver. Barely onto the sidewalk, she turned, bent over and blew me a kiss. I smiled back. Then she sauntered off to points unknown, her now wrinkled blouse draping off one side of a displaced skirt and whatever was left of her hairstyle in utter disarray.
As the cab driver resumed his route toward my hotel, I reminisced about this extraordinary day. I did not know what to make of it, much less a woman who won my heart in so many ways. I may not have known much about my destiny, but I did know that I wanted more of Linda. Maybe it was that perfume, her special touch, the ambiance of Paris or a wild ride at the Bastille. Then again, maybe she was spinning a web I had never seen before.
There has never been a literary work like this. The complete opening chapter will be released on this site as a gift to dads on Fathers’ Day. It is sure to inspire all parents.
This was a herculean task. Reform is suppressed because victims do not want to protest or revisit war stories. Alec Baldwin is one example of a crusader who abandoned our cause long ago.
As an accomplished trial attorney and model parent, I have been at this reform effort for over ten years. Nothing on the horizon promises hope even for future generations.
I have now responded with a book that will attract wide readership and hopefully a mainstream documentary like the 60 Minutes one that featured my work years ago.
It is what the current epidemic requires. I have done this through real life adventures, an extraordinary mix of romance, humor and education that will entertain even those who never divorced or had children.
So even if you are turned off by court stories, you may find my two-part work, Corruption and Carnage, the equivalent of a modern Iliad and Odyssey of the divorce industry.
You be the judge. The following excerpt comes from a chapter entitled “Shark Attack.” A complete, uncensored manuscript can be purchased here prior to publication.
Please share this message for the sake of our rights.
Our story picks up on the French Riviera at pages 82 thru 86:
Fortunately, Karen saved us from whatever catastrophe might be awaiting. “He’s here,” she announced quietly from Terri’s left side with a sense of urgency. “Let’s ditch these losers so he doesn’t think we’re with them.” Seated on her other side, I could overhear the peculiar exchange.
“You sure? Mare’s a bit toasted, and I don’t trust that guy who keeps staring at her.”
“He’s staring at you, idiot. We can all see that. Besides, they’re big girls. They can join us later at the hotel. There’s gotta be something going on at the lounge. Come on, they’re playing these guys like we were at the other bar. I already told Kate our exit strategy, and she’s good with it.”
The private exchange apparently led Terri to conclude that a better opportunity would not last long because she whispered something in Karen’s ear while reaching again for my hand under the table. Then she rose and rushed for the door with me in tow as if a blow-out sale had just been advertised. Once outside, she let go and raced down the street.
“Where you going?” I yelled in my confused state on the walkway. “And what’s going on?”
“That’s for you to find out, Lee, if you’re man enough anyway. I’m getting my car. Follow me!”
For all I knew Terri was using me. Maybe there was some jealous guy she was setting me up to confront for ego purposes. I had seen that adolescent routine many times back home. Or maybe the girls were genuinely being stalked by their earlier suitors.
Whatever the explanation, this was no idle challenge. I couldn’t just ignore it especially with the way she concluded with that sexy giggle. I didn’t bother to think this out. Time was of the essence, so I quickly revved up Linda Lovelace and gave chase.
At first, she was nowhere in sight. Then, from a side street, a shiny red Porsche pulled out in front of me and sped down the city streets. Terri’s scream out the window was as recognizable as the rest of her when she spotted me on the bike.
It turned into a chase scene as the streets gave way to open highway, a winding route familiar to me only because of my earlier drive here. And that was during the daytime. Now my cycle skills on every sharp curve or blind descent would be tested to their limits. Suddenly I felt like I was back in Mexico as the midnight rider.
This was obviously not just any man-challenge. I was keeping pace with a woman suddenly turned wild who was testing how far I would risk my life to make her mine. I thought about my fugitive predicament but by now there was no turning back. I was far too committed.
There was still a lurking thought that she was making a permanent getaway. But with every mile I conquered, it was looking more like an adventure of a lifetime whatever the outcome. This Terri woman was acting like Danica Patrick of the Grand Prix in Monaco which was now just up the highway. She shot through a tunnel headed toward Monte Carlo. I enjoyed watching the Grand Prix on television but never expected to become a part of it this way.
We never made it that far. Instead, Terri led me down a winding road toward the seashore. I rounded a bend with a drop-off on my right. The Porsche had come to a standstill in a lookout spot. Before I could pull in behind, its tail lights kicked off and she vanished.
I quickly took note of an access trail to the beach which she obviously intended to have me follow. On the chance our stay might be long, I hid the rental under a distinctive olive tree to mark its location. Cicadas and crickets kept guard.
I looked around and could find her nowhere. So I hiked down the access trail and struck out for the open beach. A strange moon was lighting up every little depression and mound in the coarse sand. The sea was mildly turbulent with silver reflections skipping off its surface. A foreigner in an exotic land, I asked myself what I was doing here.
Presently I stumbled upon a large rock near the shoreline where Terri’s clothes had been thrown into a pile on top like road signage for a porn shop. It was erotically stimulating to say the least. I looked up and down the beach, back toward the dunes and finally out across the sea. She was nowhere to be found.
I called out her name, getting more bewildered as this adventure progressed, now with a concern that Terri might have become the victim of a shark attack. I had seen the documentaries, but this situation was very real and new to me. The only sound I could discern was that of rippling waves at my feet and a vehicle on the precipitous road behind me slowly navigating its way eastward. Then all was curiously silent.
Suddenly I was drawn to a head piercing the surface of the dark water about fifty yards in front of me followed by a blood curdling scream. The first thing that came to mind was something I only imagined from the movies, being swallowed whole by a great white while trying to save a swimmer from one of its mates. I limited those nightmarish rescues to women and children.
Hey, I’m all for male bonding at a sports bar, but shark fights are not a recognized sporting event. Sorry guys, you’re on your own in these situations especially if you’re like those dudes back at Wayne’s Pub. Where were they when you truly needed them? I could have had each one distracting the shark while I rescued this damsel in distress.
Fortunately it was all a prank. Gasping for air, Terri managed to laugh loudly while treading water. “I got you Lee,” she cried out. “And don’t say I didn’t. You really thought I was that college girl in Jaws. I always wanted to do this to someone. I just wish I could’ve gotten a better look at your face when it finally happened.”
She continued to humor herself over the event, ever proud of her achievement on this warm Riviera night. Now I realized what that moon was all about, to put a spotlight on my dumbfounded appearance. I wasn’t sure if I was angered or pleasantly relieved.
“You are the quintessential bastard!” I yelled back. “All this time you were putting me at risk to carry out a sick prank? It wasn’t funny Terri.” There was no immediate response as I thought about it further. “You mean Karen even helped you set me up? I was ready to pry you loose from the fangs of a hungry shark. And how was I supposed to do that anyway?”
“With all your manliness and chivalry,” she hollered in return before slipping beneath the surface. I kept my eyes peeled, spotting her farther out a few moments later.
“With that scare, you won’t find me anywhere near you now.”
“Oh come now, little boy, don’t be a baby,” she teased. “And stop with that ‘quintessential’ bullshit. What are you, some kind of lawyer?”
“Actually, yes, but I like to keep it private so that I can have more friends.”
“Well then what are you standing there for? Get out of those clothes and come on in. If you want friends, I got one for you right here …”
It’s reached epidemic proportions: a federal funding program rewarding state judges by the number and size of support orders manufactured in our nation’s divorce and family courts. It has escalated to a point where moms and dads have been forced to name a superior “custodial parent” even when they are self-sufficient, cooperative and opposed to “custody wars” in these courts.
Known as Title IV-D of the Social Security Act (Child Support Standards Act), billions of dollars in performance based funding is awarded to the states each year, effectively federalizing domestic relations, incentivizing lucrative conflict, injecting financial bias among judges in favor of the state against its own citizens and creating a gold mine for lawyers, politicians and bureaucrats.
It is a well concealed epidemic protected by bar associations and special interests which has led to costly social problems, from an over medicated society to a nation with the most imprisoned population in the free world. This report explains how it has all occurred through extensive research and how our new administration can “drain the judicial swamp” in these courts.
After 23 years as a successful civil rights attorney, and another ten years advocating for reform, I completed this report not as an indictment of my profession, although my adversaries like to defame it that way, but only as it fails a moral obligation to reign in vast injuries inflicted upon innocent children and parents duped into believing this is a legitimate system of justice.
In this area of practice, Title IV-D has ushered in what I call “fictional justice.” It has turned these family tribunals, once labeled “kangaroo courts” by a Supreme Court Justice, into profit centers with an ever-diminishing concern for the true “best interests” of our children. Entire college funds have been drained by unscrupulous lawyers concocting needless issues for fee purposes.
Over the past two weeks I have been in Manhattan promoting this report for funding and government action. Copies have been submitted through various reliable contacts to top officials of the Trump Administration. It is also being submitted to a congressional oversight panel to supplement one reviewed in 2016 during the prior administration. It is highly valuable as an expert resource for court proceedings, public hearings and amicus briefs to support any Supreme Court writ on the subject of family rights against the states.
This is a trillion dollar industry which parents must join to fight for the sake of our children and future generations. Unfortunately, the victims continue to be fractured, surfing the net for incompetent free things, crying about ordeals for therapy to no one who cares, and engaging in delusional reforms from the comfort of their home keyboards. It’s no wonder the carnage is escalating.
If you would like a copy of this report, kindly make a financial contribution to our cause on this site. I am also looking for serious minded parent advocates to deliver copies to their local representatives in Congress so that a federal investigation can finally be launched.
I have been inundated with individual war stories over the years without compensation on the assumption that I am directing some kind of free legal aid society. We are about long overdue reform and welcome those who have something meaningful to offer, i.e. an investor, valuable service or D.C. rally.
Judicial misconduct is the most censored, least publicized and gravest aspect of our federal, state and local governments. You can simply ignore it and move to your next on-line entertainment, but chances are it will find you especially in our nation’s domestic relations courts. So read on and share this post. It may be the most important one you will read in a long time.
We offer a Court Strategy Program to keep you from being abused and a team of experts prepared to expose corruption in your case if it exists. It is well worth your while, for the sake of your children if nothing else, to look us up at www.parentingrightsinstitute.com or call our office at (315) 380-3420. Then take a look at this shocking excerpt of misconduct from a book I am completing:
Examples of court corruption are provided throughout my work for victims nationwide. Many are quietly suppressed and “read like a docket sheet in any criminal court.” That is what I declared publicly time and again. Yet the public continues to hold judges beyond reproach. The fallacy of that belief was well demonstrated by my custody judge who was also declared by lawyers as “beyond reproach,” at least until he was removed from the bench after admitting to sexual misconduct on his handicapped five year old niece: In re Bryan Hedges, 20 NY3d 677 (2013).
One of the shocking cases cited to make my point, and the need for meaningful accountability, involves a New York Supreme Court Judge in Brooklyn caught on camera taking a bribe from a divorce lawyer. It was part of a scam to shift custody from a mother to an influential father. Had the feisty mother not convinced the FBI to act upon her evidence, this judge, Gerald Garson, would still be dispensing “justice.” It begs the question: how many other such judges and cases are there? What can explain Tamara’s bizarre case? We let you decide as our story continues.
The conviction of Judge Garson for federal crimes was actually not the most shocking part of his case. Due punishment was compromised by judges and lawyer colleagues supporting his early release in 2009. Now you have to ponder that for a moment. If Garson’s colleagues are still backing him after a crime which goes to the heart of our justice system, what does that say for their tolerance of corruption generally? Isn’t this where precedent is set and examples are made?
While the “Honorable” “Justice” Gerald Garson was busy generating unreported income through an abuse of judicial office, another New York Supreme Court Judge, Thomas Spargo, was busy securing a bribe against a father arguing a client case before him. At a dinner conversation, he requested $10,000 to help defray the cost of legal fees needed to defend against judicial misconduct charges pending against him at the time.
Like Judge Garson, you have to ponder that as well. Judge Spargo was already being prosecuted for judicial misconduct and resorted to more serious behavior to get out of it. He referenced this lawyer’s own divorce which might be transferred to him. The pressure was not uncomplicated. Play ball or else. I suppose the lawyer could have won his divorce for a nominal “fee” to this judge when compared to a contested case. He was placed in a real quandary, deciding ultimately to report the crime only after taking steps to avoid false claims that could cost his law license.
Chief Justice Sol Wachtler of New York’s high court was imprisoned for numerous crimes during the nineties. In his book, After the Madness, he explained that judges are made to believe that they are gods. Such deep rooted convictions do not disappear. Judge Wachtler went so far as to direct paid court staff to dig up grounds for preventing licensure of a New Jersey lawyer assisting the judge’s mistress to discover a man making extortionist and kidnapping threats involving her daughter. That elusive man turned out to be the judge himself.
Then there’s that family court judge in the state of Michigan, the “Honorable” Wade McCree, whose case defied all manner of ethics. He admitted to adulterous sex in chambers with a litigant mother while presiding over her child support case. Judge McCree was removed from the bench for all sorts of misconduct involving numerous cases only after the affair (and pregnancy) was confirmed. The father, placed on a tether for support arrears during this affair was denied recovery for the horrific misconduct by a federal appeals court on grounds of judge immunity.
These and other cases are easily found on the internet to verify a judicial corruption epidemic of undefined proportion. Most people view judges as honorable office holders committed to justice, equality and all that other good stuff we read about in high school civics classes. But behind the black robes, in the recesses of chambers and among discreet exchanges in restaurants, bars and golf courses, there is often quite another set of characteristics at play.
Bias, coercion, schemes, scams, deal-making and outright crimes are taking place which violate all manner of ethics formally placed in our judicial codes. In our nation’s domestic relations courts, such corruption is taken to the next level under a pretext of family confidentiality, thereby concealing the misconduct and protecting a trillion dollar industry built on needless conflict.
Never before in American history have there been so many corrupt judges and unscrupulous lawyers without accountability. The reason is simple. Our universities are turning out a million lawyer candidates a year, at one time more than all the practicing attorneys nationwide. There are more than 300,000 in California and New York alone.
That’s a lot of lawyers and they have to work somewhere. The easiest place to land a job is family court. This is where apprentices learn their trade, where law firms send their worst attorneys, and incompetents make a living off your hard earnings. They still use such propaganda as our “children’s best interests” while they masquerade as parental experts.
The ones who can’t make it in this glut-fest often end up on the bench. Once there, another gang of predators is unleashed from their cages: evaluators, psychiatrists, counselors, therapists, investigators, case workers, and even the latest concoction known as “divorce coaches,” all with differing opinions on how to raise your own children.
It’s more than a jungle, it’s now an epidemic. A Supreme Court Justice once described these constitution-free tribunals as “Kangaroo Courts”, see In re Gault, 387 US 1 at pp 27-28. No one wants to protest or invest in a reform movement, so the corruption goes on and you are its victims, a gold mine well guarded by bar associations and special interests.
Well, finally there is a real solution, a remedy to these useless ethics or oversight commissions which favor their players while targeting the whistle blowers, i.e., yours truly. It’s pay-back time for your children, your pain and your livelihood, a chance for you to hold a judge or lawyer publicly accountable here at Leon Koziol.com.
Over the past ten years, we have exposed vast corruption, traveled from Hawaii to Paris in a conscientious effort to end human rights violations which routinely occur here. Our site is filled with examples despite a gross lack of funding. I have had over 35 trial judges disqualified and helped remove a few altogether from the bench, always working on more. No one can boast such an achievement.
Now it’s your turn. We have perfected a process of reviewing case files submitted from around the country. We distill the legalese into publications on our website. To date, we have generated over 200,000 views and countless followers worldwide. This allows us to gain immediate results on any Google search of our tagged villains. Their names propagate to the top pages to bring public accountability and even improved treatment in court..
For a limited time only, we are offering to do this for individuals at a low, low (total) cost of $250. That’s a phenomenal bargain when considering a single lawyer consultation may cost you more. Your case will receive my personal attention, and I have spent over 30 years litigating in these courts. I can keep this cost so low because I am providing no legal advice or lawyer service. I am providing true justice outside the court rooms.