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Thread: "My Scandalous Life with a Billionaire Cougar" - Adam Baker's Banned Book

  1. #26
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    Jun 2010
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    Re: "My Scandalous Life with a Billionaire Cougar" - Adam Baker's Banned Book


    Chapter 24

    All I could think about was Jen, which was crazy, since we’d only talked on the phone and met for lunch once. Sandie had been tapping my phones and running spyware on my computer for years, so she knew my every move right away –– which meant, she already knew about Jen. Sandie avoided confrontation, so she dealt with the new competition the best way she knew how. Good old- fashioned bribery.

    She left me a message on my phone early that Friday morning.

    “Hi Bobby, it’s me. I have a surprise for you. I am taking you to Malibu for the weekend to buy you a Bugatti. I Love you!”

    She knew this was the one car I’d been pining for and that I wouldn’t be able to say no. She was right.

    I invited my buddy Tom Green, and my other friend Matt Hewlett and his wife to come with us. I couldn’t stand the thought of being with Sandie alone, and hopefully having guests with us would provide enough distraction to keep her sexual advances at bay for most of the weekend. For the last year I’d had a serious ailment come upon me almost every time she was in “the mood” and so far, it was working. I hadn’t had to put out in months.

    We flew into the Burbank airport in the Pilatus, and Sandie’s longtime friend, Mark Roney, was there to greet us. Mark was a tall, handsome guy with graying hair and a stubbly beard. He was always impeccably dressed and fashionable. Mark was the “black sheep” of the Roney Nu Skin empire –– the gay brother of Blake and Nedra, shunned from the staunch Mormon family because of his lifestyle choice. His sexuality wasn’t the only scandal that surrounded him. According to Sandie, Mark was also a disbarred attorney that had lost his license over some business transactions in the Philippines.

    Mark greeted everyone and we made the introductions to Matt and his wife. I noticed him whisper something in Sandie’s ear, and they stepped away from the group to speak privately while we lugged our stuff to the limo. As usual, Sandie had over packed for the 3 days we were going to be there. She had brought 6 suitcases and a huge case full of makeup. I had one duffel bag.

    “Damn, Adam, did you guys really need to bring that much stuff?” Matt joked as he saw me lugging it all down from the storage compartment on the Pilatus.

    “This is less than usual, dude” Tom piped up. “You should have seen what they brought on the cruise. I counted at least 15 suitcases.”

    Saturday morning we arrived at the Beverly Hills Bugatti dealership and were greeted by a slick middle-eastern guy wearing way too much musky cologne. He smelled like rotting wood. This guy was quite the ladies man. Sandie had purchased cars through him before, and from the way he eyed me it was obvious he knew that Sandie was the one holding the pocket book.

    I was used to being treated like a gold digger. I didn’t give a ****, owning a Bugatti had been an obsession of mine since I first saw the prototype on the Discovery channel. It was the ultimate car and no one else I knew had one.

    Nonetheless, the stinky ****** wanted to get the deal done and get his commission, so he let us loose in the dealership with the keys to anything we wanted. The guys and I were like kids in a candy store – we decided to take out a black Spyker C8 Aileron. The Spyker looked like a futuristic space vehicle- the whole roof of the car was glass, and the interior was quilted orange leather and chrome, like the inside of a 1950’s diner. The car was cool as ****. We pulled out of the dealership slowly, and as soon as we were out of sight, I hit the gas and we accelerated down Olympic Boulevard at 120 miles per hour. The car had a top speed of over 200, but screeching it around the traffic of Beverly Hills was exciting enough.

    Next we drove the Bugatti. I had researched the car online, seen it at a dealership once, but nothing could prepare me for the experience of driving one. It made my Ferrari feel like a Toyota. This time, I took Tom with me and we peeled out of the dealership parking lot like we’d stolen the thing. The 16 cylinder engine purred and the immense power of the car was a rush. The ride was as smooth as velvet. I blocked out Tom’s idiotic rantings about how many blowjobs he’d get if I let him borrow the thing…blah blah blah.

    When we got back from the test drive, Sandie was already filling out the 7 page contract for the Bugatti. It would take a year to custom build and cost $1.2 million. All of a sudden I had the sensation of claustrophobia. I realized that if Sandie bought me this car, she would own me for at least another year.

    I pulled her aside.

    “I don’t want it. Let’s get you something instead.” She looked surprised. “What? Why not? That’s the car you’ve been dying to have!” she said.

    I knew exactly why, but I lied to her anyway. “I have too many cars. I think we should buy you the white Bentley GT Convertible. You deserve it.”

    I could tell the salesman was disappointed that I was going to “think” about the Bugatti, but he was still getting the commission from the Bentley so he recovered from his disappointment pretty quickly.

    My friends were more disappointed than the sales guy.

    “What the **** is wrong with you man!” Tom said under his breath as we walked around the dealership. His blowjob dreams had been shattered, but I cheered him up with the news that we were going to dinner over at Anthony Hopkins’ house. Hopkins was friends with Mark Roney.

    Matt and Tom were a lot like me –– a couple of Utah boys who hadn’t been exposed to celebrities and million dollar cars. It didn’t take much to impress them.

    We pulled up to Anthony’s cliffside Malibu home. His wife, Stella, greeted us at the door. She was a tiny, energetic Colombian woman who quickly ushered us in and promptly sat us at the dinner table. The food was served in several courses by the chef, and each course was healthier than the first. Introductions were made, and Anthony and I chatted about his new independent film, Slipstream, which he and Stella had produced and were planning to unveil at the Sundance Film Festival. Anthony had a ton of energy and a vibrant personality. He wanted to know all about our ranch in Oregon, what I was building, how I was doing it, what type of wildlife was up there.

    After dinner, Anthony showed us part of Slipstream, and we ended the night. We were all a little star struck, but at the same time, surprised at what a normal, genuinely nice person Anthony was.

    That next morning, Mark dropped us off at the Burbank airport. There were a few less suitcases than before, which was unusual.

    “Sandie, where are the rest of the suitcases?” I asked her, dreading the drive back to Mark’s house.

    “Oh, I brought some Nu Skin products for Mark and his friends. I just left them at his house.”

    I was surprised that Sandie never brought up Jen throughout the whole trip. I kept waiting for her to say something, but nothing ever happened. Not buying the Bugatti was another step to escaping Sandie’s control over my life, and I couldn’t wait to get home so I could call and see what Jen had been up to over the weekend.

  2. #27
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    Jun 2010
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    Re: "My Scandalous Life with a Billionaire Cougar" - Adam Baker's Banned Book


    Chapter 25

    My courtship with Jen was hot, fast, and passionate. We were a lot alike, both tough, independent, and stubborn. Underneath it all, she hid an adventurous, curious and sensitive side. She cried at sad movies, got in fights at the supermarket defending old ladies, and was incredibly tuned in to me like no one else had ever been. She always seemed to know just when to call me and what to say when I was having a bad day.

    We liked the same things –– horses, flying, traveling –– and she fit neatly into my life. It would have been perfect, other than one not-so-minor problem –– I was still married to Sandie. Falling for Jen scared the hell out of me.

    One April weekend, I flew down and purchased a house in Las Vegas on an impulse, right after I’d told Sandie I wanted a divorce for the zillionth time. She asked if I’d found someone else. To spare her feelings, I lied and told her no. I didn’t really give her an explanation, other than the obvious –– that we were already living two separate lives and rarely saw each other anyway. She was furious, and demanded I go back to counseling with her. She said she’d do anything to keep me. I told her I’d talk to her in a few days after she’d cooled down.

    The following weekend I brought Jen and my three kids down to Vegas to help me buy furniture for the new house. Jen loved the kids, and they seemed to be as taken with her as I was.

    The weekend was clicking along perfectly. We raced from store to store busily buying everything for the entire house –– furniture, bedding, house wares. In a passionate moment, I even confessed to her that I loved her. She said she loved me too.

    What had I been thinking, I mean, really, telling Jen that I loved her. Would Sandie ever really let me out of the marriage unscathed? I knew what I had to do. During the five hour drive back, I could think of nothing else besides breaking up with Jen. Sandie had previous boyfriends tailed and beaten for less than what I had done: I’d fallen in love with someone else. And just not anyone else –– a woman 22 years younger than her, that was much more beautiful, inside and out.

    I knew I couldn’t tell Jen the truth about my divorce, or lack thereof, and I definitely couldn’t expose her to the hell that I knew would come down on me once I confessed to Sandie that I no longer loved her. I did what any self-respecting, self-preserving male would do –– I picked a fight with Jen.

    By the time I dropped Jen off at her house, we weren’t even speaking, and I knew how much I’d hurt her. While the kids were asleep in the back, I told her that I was looking for someone different, and that I didn’t really mean it when I told her I loved her. I told her that I needed to be alone, and that we could just be friends. I could see out of the corner of my eye that tears were streaming down her face and I felt bad, but I had to make a decision. I had to stay with Sandie, it was best for my kids.

    We got home and unloaded the car. I sat up in my room, somewhat numb from what had happened. Deep down, I knew I enjoyed creating this kind of torturous drama in relationships, that it was just a replay of the on-again off-again affection I’d felt from my mother during my childhood. I kept myself from calling Jen. As long as I didn’t see her or hear her voice, I could get over her.

    The doorbell rang.

    I walked down to the front door, expecting to see one of my son’s friends. I swung the door open and was taken aback.

    Wearing a very fitted, fluffy white angora sweater with a black satin bow tied around the waist, body-hugging designer jeans, and pointy-toed heels, was Jen. She looked more beautiful than I’d ever seen her before. And her boobs looked bigger than they ever had before, like a couple of melons.

    She smiled.

    “Hi, um, I forgot to leave Korbin his birthday present.” She held out an envelope.

    I stood there looking at her for a second. “Come in” I said. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She stepped in the front door, looking down at the ground sheepishly.

    “Do I get a hug?” I asked.

    “Sure.” She put both her arms around me, and I pulled her in close. I smelled her hair, she always smelled like warm vanilla and sugar. I immediately started to get aroused, and by then, I just couldn’t help myself anymore. I pulled back and looked at her, staring into her big green eyes. What the **** was wrong with me? Was I really this weak?

    I leaned forward, and kissed her soft lips, and she feverishly kissed me back. We kissed like two lovers that had been apart for months, even though it had only been hours. I grabbed her hand, and led her up the staircase to my room.

    The next morning, my phone started ringing off the hook. It was Sandie. Her messages were increasingly desperate, but I didn’t want to deal with her drama. Delete, delete, delete. What, she finally decided to treat me like a husband now that I’d threatened to leave? It was too late. The love had been gone for too long. I knew I could no longer be bought with some expensive toy.

    I putted around the house, getting ready for the gym, watching the news, sipping my energy drink. As I pulled out of the garage in my BMW X5, Sandie’s car swung into my driveway, blocking me from getting out. I hit the brakes hard, but it was too late. She rammed into me.

    I jumped out, screaming.

    “What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy? You hit me!” She’d hit the BMW so hard that the bumper was falling off.

    “I’ll buy you a new ******* car!” She was screaming at the top of her lungs, and looked like a crazy lady off her meds. “I need to talk to you! Why won’t you answer my calls?” She started bawling, covering her face with her hands, wiping her eyes. Her eye makeup was everywhere, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks.

    “What do you want to talk about? I told you I want a divorce! Let’s just get it over with. It’s too late now to change this fucked up marriage, Sandie.”

    “Adam” she said, sobbing. “I am willing to change. I need you to be with me. I want you to be my partner.”

    I looked at her, blankly. I’d heard it all before. She’d treat me like ****, right up until the point when I threatened to leave her, then she’d break down and try to fix the whole problem by throwing money at it. That’s how she fixed everything.

    “I am transferring $20 million into an account for you at US Bank. It’s already set up, I need you to go down there and fill out a signature card. The money is yours… if you stay married to me. You can do whatever you want with it.”

    I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Part of me was curious to see if she’d actually part with the money, the other part of me was repulsed by the offer. If I stayed with her, I had officially sold out. If I stayed with her, I represented everything I hated about the man I’d become. If I stayed with her, my life would be the same forever –– a stream of unending vacations, spending my time in the most beautiful places in the world, spending money on the most lavish things one could buy, and spending every day feeling alone, repulsed and disgusted by the person I was with, wondering what Jen was doing, what life would have been like if I’d chosen her.

    “What branch do I go to?” I said.

    “The one over on 106th South. I told my banker you’d be in today.” Her demeanor had instantly changed, there she was, back to the shrewd, domineering businesswoman she always was.

    “You need to be there before four. I love you, my sugar plum.”

    She hopped out of the car, and gave me a hug, burying her face in my shoulder. I smelled her hair. She smelled like hairspray and putrid halitosis, the way she always smelled. My stomach turned. I felt alone, panicked. She looked up at me, gave me a quick peck on the cheek, and got back in her car.

    “I love you Bobby!” she yelled from her open car window as she cheerily backed out of my driveway. I wiped off her kiss with the back of my hand. I was so fucked.

  3. #28
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    Re: "My Scandalous Life with a Billionaire Cougar" - Adam Baker's Banned Book


    Chapter 26

    I headed down to the bank and signed the signature card. Sandie’s banker, Scott Runyan, was a pencil-necked paper-pusher type –– a real paste-eater. His hair was deeply parted to the left side, and combed over like a 1950’s Norman Rockwell painting. What a cheese ball, I thought. I hated bankers.

    “Scott, what’s the balance in the account right now?” I asked, curious to see if Sandie had kept her word.

    “Hmmm… let me see.” He started clicking away on his keyboard. It seemed to take hundreds of keystrokes to pull up a bank balance. This was worse than checking in at the airport.

    “Hmmm….” He squinted, studying the black screen in front of him.

    “Oh, here it is. The balance is $406,000.32.” He wrote it down on the back of his business card, and gingerly set it on the desk in front of me.

    I got up, shoved my hand towards him. “Thanks for all your help, Scott. Go ahead and rip up that signature card. I don’t need it” I said, squeezing his pale little hand until his face looked a little pained.

    “Uh, yeah, thanks Mr. Baker. Have a good one!” he said, cheerily.

    I filed for divorce later that day. Sandie was served with papers the next morning. Curiously, I didn’t hear from her. I half expected a phone call, a sobbing message, something.

    Within 72 hours, all hell broke loose on my life, in a way that I could have never prepared for. I guess denying her offer of $20,000,000 was not the best idea.

    The first call I got was from the girl at the riding arena where I kept my horses. She was frantic. “Adam, some men came by and took your horses, and all your saddles and tack. They said they were Sandie’s attorneys, and all the stuff belonged to her. I couldn’t stop them.” I went nuts; I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

    I yelled at the poor girl for the next five minutes in a verbal tirade, berating her for letting it happen. Sandie knew that riding my horses was the one thing that I really enjoyed, so that was the first thing she wanted to take from me. I would have never thought Sandie would act like this. There was no reason this divorce shouldn’t be amicable. We both had gone our separate ways, and we knew it.

    By the end of the day, my attorney received a five page letter from her attorneys stating that Sandie was “firing me” from my position at our ranch (my ranch!) and that I was no longer welcome at the property, or any of our properties, for that matter. In addition, Sandie would immediately cease paying for health insurance on Erik, Melanie, Brittney, Cody, and Korbin, and on me, and on any of the shared expenses she and I had created. The list of our intermingled properties, expenses, and assets was so long I couldn’t discern what every bit of the “letter” from the attorney meant, nor what the implications were long term. I basically understood it like this: Sandie wanted a war.

    For the next two weeks, I received daily deliveries of various partial personal items from all of our homes –– my ski clothes from the Deer Valley house, my surfboard from Hawaii, my work boots, gloves, and cold weather gear from the ranch in Oregon. Each delivery would be accompanied with an email from Sandie, with statements like “Couldn’t bear to see your stuff at the ranch anymore” and “Didn’t think you’d need your surfboard since you won’t be going to the Hawaii house again.”

    Her attorneys had gone into full combat mode by the end of the month, demanding to know our position and what assets we planned on fighting for, whether we were sticking to the prenup, etc. They immediately started collecting affidavits from everyone I knew. The most shocking of which was an affidavit supplied by my best friend, Aaron Rust.

    My attorney Stephen called me as soon as it hit his inbox. “Adam, you have a real problem. We just got an affidavit signed by Aaron Rust. Some of the stuff in there is pretty damning to the case. Check your email and call me.”

    I pulled up my email and opened the attachment. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. In his own words, Aaron had fabricated and twisted several of our “misadventures” into fantastical stories of me womanizing at Maxim parties and carrying on secret adulterous affairs all over the country.

    Nothing could have been further from the truth. In fact, Aaron was the one who kept a piece of “pussy on the side” at every city we frequented. He’d often use his job working for Sandie and me as an excuse to get away from his wife and go out of town, even when he had the weekends off. I personally knew of at least 17 women Aaron had slept with since he’d worked for me, one of whom was my very own sister, Monet.

    Aaron was a compulsive cheater. He’d confided to me about how his father came out of the closet when he was 17 years old, after being married for over 25 years. Aaron said he was tortured by the other kids in their small, religious community in Utah. The news had affected Aaron on many levels, and it was obvious that he was in a perpetual struggle to confront his own fears of homosexuality. He always talked about how glad he was he hadn’t “inherited “the gay gene” from his father.

    To make up for this, he was constantly reaffirming to himself (and every other guy out there) that he was, in fact, heterosexual, by banging anything with a pulse. His wife, Jessie, was a great girl with a fun personality. They had two little boys, and from what I could tell, Jessie was a decent wife. I could never bring myself to say anything to her about Aaron’s womanizing, and I felt guilty about that over the years. It just wasn’t the way guys did things. Aaron’s affidavit was the first from many “friends” who started to choose sides in our rapidly dissolving marriage. Not surprisingly, I found that most of my so-called friends chose Sandie’s side (they all assumed there would be money in it for them) over a friendship with me.

    Over the next few months, several of my “good time” buddies stopped coming around altogether. I guess they sensed the free ride was over, along with the “free vacations” and “free cruises” and “free dinners” they were all frequently treated to. It was a harsh reality to come to terms with. I always thought that these people genuinely liked being around me, and were true friends. Man, was I an idiot.

    Things started to change, and my rapidly decreasing bank account couldn’t keep up with the lifestyle I’d become accustomed to. At first, I didn’t feel like I should have to adjust my lifestyle, so I racked up my line of credit and my cards to the max, pulled all my cash out of my stocks and investments, and continued living the “life” I’d been living for the past 6 years.

    Jen and I travelled nonstop. We had flown the planes and helicopter all over the US, sometimes just for the sake of going. Every day was about having fun, escaping from the life back in Utah where Sandie’s “people” were constantly harassing us.

  4. #29
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    Re: "My Scandalous Life with a Billionaire Cougar" - Adam Baker's Banned Book


    Chapter 27

    I brought all ten of the friends I had left to court with me on the big day. Commissioner Arnett was assigned to the case and had five other cases on the docket. Ours was last. As I sat there hearing details of other people’s lives and divorces and custody battles, I noticed something that didn’t quite seem to add up. No matter what seemed logical or who appeared to be at fault, the commissioner would always rule in favor of the woman in every case.

    Finally, it was our turn and the commissioner called us all to the stand. Sandie’s attorney David Dolowitz jumped up and requested that the file be classified as “private” due to Sandie’s “high- profile” position in Nu Skin.

    The commissioner immediately granted the request and made the case private, almost as if he’d been expecting the request, and the entire courtroom was cleared except for Sandie, me, and our counsel. Subsequently, the commissioner then denied requests for attorney’s fees (despite the obvious economic disparity between me and Sandie) and also denied my request for any temporary spousal support. What should have been a lengthy hearing to discuss the numerous issues at hand was over in five minutes. Arnett’s mind had obviously already been made up, even prior to hearing any of the arguments from my attorney.

    It was a disaster. We lost everything we asked for. The advice from my attorney Stephen Clark was to give up —there was no point fighting. It seemed to met that Judge Denise Lindberg and Commissioner Arnett had been gotten to. I refused to believe this was possible —even with the amount of money Sandie was worth, the court system was there to provide fairness, and that’s all I’d ever asked Sandie for. I wanted what was fair. I really believed that once we put the facts in front of a judge, they would decide what was equitable for both sides.

    What I didn’t know was that Sandie had stacked the deck heavily in her favor. She was calling in all her political favors, and even had Jason Chaffetz, who was running for congress, write an affidavit touting Sandie’s great moral character and submit it to Judge Lindberg . Jason and Judge Lindberg were friends.

    Stephen’s firm had already racked up over $100,000 in attorney’s fees in less than 6 months. He admitted that since they were “certain” they’d win the attorney’s fees from the other side, my case was racking up the lion’s share of the billing hours in the firm.

    Within a week of our loss in court, Stephen informed me that if I did not bring my bill current, he’d be resigning as my attorney. I now know it was not entirely about the money with Stephen. He knew something I didn’t. He knew we were fighting a battle that couldn’t be won, and he didn’t want his, or his firm’s reputation on the line.

    I was pissed that he was quitting on me. I told Stephen he could collect his money when the case settled, and I set out to find a new attorney –– one that was interested in winning.

    Upon the advice from Matt Hewlett, my helicopter instructor and close friend, I set up a meeting with Pam Thompson at Young, Kester and Petro in Park City.

    “Dude, Pam is aggressive, she will win your case, man” Matt assured me. My first impression was quite a bit short of spectacular. I arrived at their office and was greeted by an extremely tall and frail-looking woman who appeared to be in her mid to late forties. She had small beady eyes, and she looked like she was squinting. Her hair was bleached blonde, with dark roots, and fluffed up on top, with bangs in the front. Her voice was coarse, like she was a smoker.

    “Hi, I’m Pam” she said, her hand extended. “Adam Baker – nice to meet you.”

    “Have a seat – Sarah, my associate, will be joining us in a second.” She gestured toward some wooden, worn out mission-style chairs. A couple of moments later, what appeared to be an 18-year old girl walked in with a clipboard and some pens. She was very plain, brunette, and extremely soft- spoken.

    “Hi, I’m Sarah.” she said, shaking my hand. I figured she was Pam’s secretary.

    Over the next hour I did most of the talking, explaining what had happened with the case, and what I thought was a fair outcome. They seemed surprised at the recent rulings and assured me that if I decided to engage them, I would be their ‘number one’ case. Pam explained that she was relatively “new” in the legal profession, and that Sarah was the more experienced attorney whose advice she would draw on frequently. Hindsight translation: every hour that I should be billed for the work of one attorney, would now require the work of two attorneys because one was inexperienced.

    Pam demanded $20,000 as a retainer, right up front. I wasn’t even sure I was going to hire them, but I was feeling pressured, and I knew I was up against a tight timeline. I needed them up to speed before the next court date. I signed the check.

    Secretly I believed that a female attorney would “understand” me better since I seemed to get along better with women. I also thought it might look more favorable to the judge, who also happened to be a woman. Clearly, I didn’t know anything about the legal system.

    Christmas 2007 came and went, and so did the March 2008 court date. This time, the commissioner’s ruling was worse than before. This time, he ruled that I could not sell or dispose of any of my assets to pay attorney’s fees. This meant that I could no longer make money in the way I was used to. For several years, I had bought and sold real estate, planes, and cars and turned a profit. The attorneys knew this would leave me legally dead in the water with no ability to leverage my assets to make money. I had to get creative.

    Pam and Sarah now knew that my money was tight. They claimed they were going to help me leverage some of my assets. Almost daily Pam would call with some idea on how to help me “lighten” my material load. I trusted her judgment and said yes to almost every idea she put in front of me. Her husband needed a new truck to drive around –– I had three. She would “lease” one of the trucks for what was equivalent to an hour of her work each month, and let him drive it.

    I had several horses, and Pam loved horses but had none of her own.

    She proposed that she would pay for board on two of my best horses in exchange for letting her keep them in Park City and ride them whenever she wanted. I agreed to it. Though I’d never let anyone ride my horses in the past, I thought it was the right thing to do.

    Next Sarah called, and said she’d just gotten married and needed some furniture for their new apartment. She said Pam had indicated that “everything was for sale” and wanted to know if she could come “shopping” in my home for some furniture, pennies on the dollar. Luckily, I was out of town and escaped that one.

    The divorce was granted (under bifurcation) that next month, in April. That meant that Sandie would continue to draw out the legal battle as long as she could, but we both now had the freedom to remarry.

    I was excited. I called Jen and told her she could start planning a wedding. I knew how important it was to her to get married and even though I’d told my buddies to hit me in the head with a shovel if I ever decided to marry again, this time it was different. This was really going to be the LAST time.

    Jen and I were married that June in a huge estate overlooking Lake Tahoe. Everything about the wedding was perfect, and Jen was the most beautiful bride I’d ever seen. As she walked toward me standing under the altar I started to tear up. I finally knew what love really was. It actually surprised me how different I felt this time, compared to all the other weddings. I was a hardened son of a bitch before I met Jen. But this woman had changed me.

    Pam called shortly after we’d returned from the honeymoon and asked if she could stop by the house. Thinking it was a social visit (my relationship with Pam was starting to get more friendly, less professional) I had Jen make dinner and set the table.

    Pam showed up, sat at the kitchen table, and was all business. “Adam, I need to know how much cash you have saved up that you can put toward this case.”

    I was caught a little off guard, and looked nervously over at Jen, not knowing what to say.

    “I don’t know an exact number Pam. Why?” Her eyes got narrow and she pursed her thin, bright pink lips.

    “Adam, in order for me to continue with this case, I need you to pay me in advance. I can’t afford to do all this work and take the chance of not getting paid. What do you have that you could sell?”

    I was surprised. Every month I’d paid her bill within days of receiving it. I didn’t know why all of a sudden she was so worried about my finances.

    “How much is it going to take to finish the case?” I asked. I wanted her to cut to the chase. “At least another hundred thousand. And that’s if we don’t go to trial.”

    Jen stood up from the table and started to walk away. I could tell she was pissed that Pam was shaking us down.

    “I guess I could sell my Ferrari. It should bring about $120-130,000 all said and done.”

    Pam looked relieved. “That would be good. You need to do that as soon as possible. I will hold the funds in an interest bearing account. Every month Sarah and I will take a minimal draw, $1,000 apiece, and leave the rest in there as a cushion. If you sell your Ferrari, and give all the money to me, I will finish your case to the end, Adam Baker. I will even take it to appeal, if it comes to that.”

    It sounded fine to me. I had a guarantee that Pam would finish the case out, and not quit on me. That gave me some hope for the future, and a huge feeling of security. I sold the Ferrari within a week, and wrote Pam a check for the proceeds.

    Our son came into the world in August, and our lives had been pretty quiet up until that point. It was almost as if Sandie’s attorney’s decided to wait until we had a brand new baby to turn up the heat on making our lives hell. All of a sudden, we were getting knocks on the front door at all hours of the night. Cars were parked out in front of our home constantly watching our home and our every move. We were being followed daily to the gym, the dry cleaner, and even the grocery store.

    The very night we brought the baby home, I drove to the airport to pick up Jen’s mother who had flown in to help us. While Jen was at home with the baby (now three days old) there was a loud knock at the door. She looked out the peep hole, and saw two men with guns holstered at their hips, jackets pulled back just enough so that their firearms were unconcealed, standing at the door. Jen was so scared she called me in a panic. She was still crying when I finally made it home from the airport.

    I was fed up. Even though my two young boys, Cody and Korbin still lived with us in our Utah home, I knew it was not safe for Jen and I and the new baby to continue living in Salt Lake. We decided to move most of our personal belongings to our condo in Vegas, and I let the boys go live with their mother. It was a heart-wrenching decision, but in the end, I knew it was best for my sons to not be displaced and living under the constant stress and harassment from Sandie and her people.

    Right after we got settled into the Vegas house (my wardrobe alone took up the entire loft and we were stuffed into the place) Pam called with another “business proposal.” Pam’s husband, Dave, owned Park City Helicopters, a touring company. Dave was already leasing one helicopter for the business, but the maintenance and operating expenses made it so that the lease didn’t pencil out well. My Robinson R44 was brand new – with less than 200 hours on it. I’d had several offers to lease the helicopter from other parties, and the going rate on the R44’s was $5,000 a month with guaranteed hours. I’d done my homework long before Pam’s call, thinking up ways to create income with my assets.

    “Adam, Dave wants to lease your helicopter from you. We would keep it up at the Heber airport, and pay you $250 an hour. We will take care of the maintenance and fuel.”

    I was shocked at Pam’s unfair proposal. “Pam, the going rate on leases is $500 an hour. I would also need a minimum of hours guaranteed.”

    Pam was quiet – I knew she was pissed that I wasn’t going to just hand over my favorite toy to her and Dave so they could profit from my situation.

    “Let me do some more research on that. I can tell you right now we can’t guarantee hours. We don’t know how much work Dave will have.” She cut the conversation short before I could do any explaining.

    I was getting tired of things. Every single one of my acquaintances were acting like sharks circling in the water at the smell of blood –– the blood from my impending financial ruin. Pam called several more times to try and convince me to lease the helicopter to Dave. Ultimately, I just gave her some bullshit excuse that I didn’t want Sandie’s attorneys to find out we were doing any business together, since it couldn’t be considered an arms-length transaction. After that, her calls were less and less frequent, and my case obviously took a back burner. But mostly, she was just livid about the situation.

    On Christmas Eve, we got a call from our neighbor that a sheriff had posted something on the door at our Salt Lake house. I asked her to scan it in and email it to me right away.

    The timing was impeccable. It was a Writ of Execution, stating that Sandie’s attorneys would be selling our home at a sheriff’s auction in 90 days, unless we paid the outstanding $106,000 in attorney’s fees that were awarded to their firm early in the case. I felt sick.

    I couldn’t believe that they could do this to us, especially since the case hadn’t yet gone to trial.

    I called Pam right away. She said she had been out of town and knew that Dolowitz was scheduled to see the judge to get something signed, but that she was in Houston visiting her son for Christmas and couldn’t make it to the hearing.

    I knew I was fucked, but Pam assured me they would get another hearing to speak to the judge and contest the sale, since it was an asset that was currently being fought over. I rested a little easier that Christmas, hoping that Pam was right, but in the back of my mind, I knew that we would never live in that house again.

    The hearing in front of the Judge Lindberg was scheduled for February 2009. Once again, Pam lost another argument. The judge ruled that the home would be sold to “satisfy the court” and pay the judgment. Pam stammered away, but wasn’t prepared to lose, obviously, and had no clear line of reasoning to counter the judge’s decision. After a couple of minutes, she just thanked the Judge and sheepishly walked back to her seat, shoulders hunched.

    I was so furious, I stormed out of the courtroom without even speaking to Pam. How could she lose my house for me? She didn’t even question the Lindberg’s decision, or offer any counterpoints to Dolowitz’s lies.

    I knew it seemed like I was starting to become paranoid, but too many things weren’t adding up. First, why, all of a sudden (seemingly parallel to my rejection of her first extortion attempt to lease my helicopter to her husband) did Pam seem like she was willingly losing every argument? It didn’t even seem like she cared, much less had prepared adequately for any of the recent hearings in front of the judge and commissioner. It had also started to make me a little nervous when she’d confided in me her new “strategy” –– to befriend the counsel (Dolowitz and Sarandos) on the other side so that they would “go easy” on us, therefore making it easier to obtain information.

    The only advantage I saw in this flawed strategy was for the opposition. Pam was foolishly forthcoming with information, yet not smart enough to glean anything of value from the other side. I was at a loss –– my world was crashing down around me, and everything Pam, my attorney I’d paid over $150,000 to had attempted, and had promised me, had failed. I would have been better off walking away from Sandie at the beginning, rather than try to fight her.

    The house was set to be auctioned off at a sheriff’s sale in February, 2009. In a desperate attempt to save the house, I filed for bankruptcy, which gave me an automatic stay. It gave me 30 days of breathing room and a much-needed chance to reposition.

    To the contrary, further disaster ensued. Pam and Sarah wrote me a nasty letter, detailing their plan to quit the case. They said that we had a “fundamental” difference of opinion on the outcome, and that without another $50,000 in extortion money they would be unable to continue. I immediately thought back to that day at my kitchen table, where Pam promised she’d take the case to the end.

    I’d been betrayed, and didn’t know what to do. I had ways of coming up with the money, but would I get a fair outcome even if I did? My sources were telling me that Pam and Sarah had switched sides. Instead of working on what was fair for me, they were cavorting and sharing information with Sandie’s attorneys. They were pressuring me to settle and withdraw from the case so that Sandie could put the AOL Time Warner penthouse up on the market.

    Others hinted that Pam was promised the helicopter if she could get me to relinquish it in mediation. My gut told me that Pam could no longer be trusted, and I decided to **** it. **** all of it. **** the divorce case, the attorneys, and most of all, **** Sandie.

    We packed up the house in Sandy, Utah in two days, and took everything we could fit in two U- Hauls. I dedicated the next 30 days to liquidating or leasing out anything and everything that wasn’t liened. That included every vehicle, plane, boat…and every piece of real estate they hadn’t bothered to put a lis pendens on.

    By the time they’d realized what had happened, I’d be long gone. I knew there was no fair outcome to be had. Sandie’s political connections had already bought the outcome of the case, and I was going to lose everything anyway. Like she’d been quoted telling several mutual friends, she wasn’t going to be happy until I was “working at McDonald’s.”

    Sandie had been scorned, left for a younger woman, and, unlike the rest of her exes, I refused to stick around hoping for a ride on the gravy train. I didn’t want kiss her old, saggy, prolapsed asshole, the bitch’s filthy money – money that had been made by stealing from people who didn’t have it, by lying to them, promising them a life that Nu Skin knew would never become a reality for 99.9% of the people who joined their pyramid scheme.

  5. #30
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    Re: "My Scandalous Life with a Billionaire Cougar" - Adam Baker's Banned Book


    Chapter 28

    Once I was back on the outside looking in, the decadent and corrupt world I’d been living in was suddenly beginning to make sense. Rumors were passing through all the social circles quickly, and a friend from the DEA in Utah called me up out of the blue.

    “Was your ex-wife named Sandie Tillotson?” he asked. “Yeah, why?” I said.

    “Just wondering. I was talking to one of my commanding officers today about some tips we had gotten about some private jets flying out of Salt Lake. Her name came up.”

    “Really? What did you hear?” I asked.

    “We have an informant that has told us large quantities of heroin are coming from Asia directly into Utah on private jets. There are not too many private jets that fly into Salt Lake City, if you know what I mean. Have you ever seen anything?”

    I immediately thought back to the brick of heroin I found a couple of years ago at Sandie’s house. “All the times we’ve ever flown overseas in a private jet, we have never been stopped at customs.

    And we have always brought back a ton of luggage. I also know Sandie has some accounts in the Cayman’s that she deposits suitcases full of cash into. So how did her name come up?”

    “At the beginning, our investigation was pointing us in a certain direction, towards the jets that fly back and forth to Asia all the time. A certain lead we were pursuing was quickly quashed from someone higher up. So, without saying too much, I was just wondering what you knew.”

    “That’s pretty much it. I can tell you that she has a lot of political connections, and she is close friends with a lot of powerful people. She makes some pretty high-dollar contributions on and off the books.”

    “I guess that makes sense.” “Yeah, I guess it does.” I said.

    “All right man. Well, you take care. Talk to you soon.” He hung up.

    Money, power, sex. It made the world go round. I wondered if in fact Sandie was involved with drug dealing for the money, or for the thrill? It didn’t make sense that she would put herself at such risk when she already had so much money. But, for Sandie, it was never enough. I was done with her anyway, but I halfway hoped at some point she would be investigated for all the **** that shewas involved with –– tax evasion, smuggling money overseas, drugs. The one thing I learned about money was that it could buy you almost anything you wanted, and almost any one you wanted. Almost.

  6. #31
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    Re: "My Scandalous Life with a Billionaire Cougar" - Adam Baker's Banned Book


    Chapter 29

    I hadn’t seen my son Erik in years. As soon as the “Turnabout” drug rehab program was done, Erik refused to come back to live with Sandie and I, and went to live with his mother.

    Instead of getting better, he got worse. It wasn’t long before he was addicted to heroin, had dropped out of school completely, and was living on the streets with a group of junkies. I blamed it on his mom, Lisa. Her “be the kids’ best friend” parenting style and lack of discipline and rules for the kids had always set them up for failure.

    As soon as Erik moved in with her, he had no direction, no expectation, no curfew. He could do as he pleased, with no interference or supervision whatsoever from his mother. I attributed it to the fact that he was upset with us for putting him in rehab to begin with. I soon learned that wasn’t the case.

    One day, shortly after our new baby was born, I got a phone call out of the blue from Erik; he wanted to come see me. He’d heard through the grapevine I was divorced from Sandie, and wanted to stop by and see the new baby. It was weird hearing from him, because in spite of my efforts, Erik had remained distant. But I was excited. I had often wondered about him and wished I could find a way to rebuild my relationship with him. I wondered why he’d turned to drugs and threw away his life so young, and worried that I was somehow responsible.

    About an hour later I saw an old cream colored Infiniti G20 pull up. Erik emerged. He was tall, thin, and pale with shoulder length black hair pulled over one side of his face. For being 21, I thought he’d be bigger, like I was. He wore head to toe black: an open trench coat, black t-shirt, and tight black jeans with chains attached hanging from the waist. I opened the front door and smiled, hoping for a hug or a handshake. He lowered his head and said in a boyish voice “Hi Dad” and walked in. Jen stood behind me holding the baby. I introduced them, and Erik grabbed his little hand and shook it, looking at him like he’d never seen a baby before.

    “So, I can’t believe you finally got away from Sandie” he said.

    “Yeah, things finally got too crazy. We were never right for each other, anyway.” I admitted. “Well…the reason I came over is because I wanted to tell you something.” He glanced over at Jen, and she quickly got the hint, excusing herself to go upstairs and feed the baby.

    “What’s up?” I asked, wondering what he wanted. I was used to my kids coming and asking for money, I assumed it was something like that. Erik was quiet, scratching at the back of his hand at a scab with his long, dirty fingernails. His face was so thin and pallid, it looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. I just sat there, looking at him, waiting for him to talk. It was a long, uncomfortable silence.

    “I wanted to tell you why I didn’t come back to live with you after Turnabout.” Now he was itching his other hand, nervously. He never looked up. I waited for him to finish.

    “It was because of Sandie. Something happened before she sent me away.” I wasn’t sure whether to interrupt, or let him keep on. He was silent.

    “What happened?” I asked.

    “She called me up to her room when you were gone one day” he said. “She said she found something in my bedroom and wanted to talk to me about it.”

    “What did you do?”

    “I went up to her room and she told me to close the door. When I turned around she had taken off her robe and was naked.”

    “What?” I said. Erik stared at the floor, afraid to go on. I began to feel sick at what I might hear next, but I had to know.

    “So what happened?” I said.

    “She told me to walk over to the bed, so I did. I was scared. She walked up behind me and undid my pants, and then pulled down my boxers. She started touching me. . .”

    “What the hell. . .”

    “. . .Dad, she made me do stuff. And then she said that if I ever told anyone, she would kick my brothers and sisters out of her house, and we would live on the street. She said she would take everything away from us.”

    I didn’t know what to say. I looked at my son, and remembered the story others had told me about two underage boys Sandie had molested in New York. Now I knew that wasn’t the case. The proof was right in front of me: the pain on my son’s face.

    “Erik, I should have known. I am so sorry.” There was nothing I could say.

    Erik sat there, empty. I felt like it was my fault, and that I should have known that something was going on. Erik changed in many ways during those years with Sandie, but I never suspected that she had abused him. I always thought he had gotten into drugs because he was a typical teenager and was hanging with the wrong crowd. Now I knew that he had gotten into drugs as an escape.

    I had failed him as a father. I should have paid more attention to him and been around more. I had moved my sheep into the den of a wolf, and left them there unprotected.

    Sandie Tillotson was a woman who was in charge of charities for children –– the Force for Good –– who some people thought was the “Mother Theresa” of all things to do with kids. She was respected in the community because of her financial success and business acumen, but she craved power –– the power and control to destroy the lives of others, at her will. And she used that power in all the worst ways, buying and selling people like they were the cheap products her company sold, discarding them when she was done with them.

    I was just going to pick up the pieces of my ruined life, and try to rebuild something with my new wife and family. I was just going to move on. But I couldn’t now, not after what Erik told me. My son wasn’t the first child Sandie molested, but he should be the last.

    The truth needed to be told about Sandie Tillotson: the billionaire who had it all, and it still wasn’t enough.


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