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07-07-2005, 01:50 AM
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 Natalie Holloway and a poker connection??? Great van Susteren blog Someone sent her the following email, which GVS posted on her blog (scroll down to email #2): Quote:
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07-07-2005, 02:06 AM
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| RE:Natalie Holloway and a poker connection??? Yea , your more concerned about the Murderring C unt being released from Jail right ? |
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07-07-2005, 02:25 AM
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| RE:Natalie Holloway and a poker connection??? Quote:
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07-07-2005, 02:28 AM
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| RE:Natalie Holloway and a poker connection??? maybe vega's thoughts might change if he were a parent, but no way the ball less wonder ever becomed a dad
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07-12-2005, 06:07 AM
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| RE:Natalie Holloway and a poker connection??? B4L, your post is not that farfetched given the fact that the Radission poker room in Aruba is owned by Mace David Howell III, who is mentioned in this article regarding his dad: AFTER THE FALL First of three parts : DEATH OF A DEAL MAKER ‘Guarantees’ of lavish returns enticed and burned investors BY JAKE BLEED 2003, ARKANSAS DEMOCRAT-GAZETTE, INC. In the end, Mace David Howell Jr. couldn’t face the truth. The Little Rock financier killed himself Oct. 23 after his massive investment scheme — built on gullibility and the promise of easy money — crashed to the ground, taking him with it. Dogged by investors and regulators alike, he spent his last day in an exclusive Beverly Hills hotel room, downing a lethal combination of the prescription painkiller hydrocodone and expensive, single-malt scotch. By then, the 54-year-old Howell was under investigation by the Arkansas Securities Department, his bank account had been closed with $1.9 million in overdrafts, and scores of investors and creditors — including several close friends — were out more than $70 million. It is Arkansas’ biggest securities fraud case in living memory and has drawn the attention of the FBI and federal and state investment regulators. Howell’s death made hundreds of "promissory notes" signed and sold by him for thousands or millions of dollars suddenly worth little more than a claim in probate court. Holders of those notes, which "guaranteed" returns as high as 50 percent, are now fighting for a piece of Howell’s estate, valued at just over $400,000. "Clearly, nobody’s going to be made whole," said Robin Mays, a former probate judge and currently administrator of the Howell estate. Facing an estate swamped in debt, some of Howell’s clients have turned on one another in what promises to be a long, nasty legal fight. Although litigation began 10 months ago, major questions persist: How did Howell charm millions out of investors, including bankers, stock brokers and doctors, who should have known better? Did he really have a secret investment strategy or was it simply a fraud that finally caught up with a desperate man? What happened to the $70 million? Personal trust defined David Howell’s dealings. Whether sipping drinks, playing gin rummy or hitting the back nine at country clubs such as Little Rock’s Pleasant Valley, Howell enjoyed a privileged life, where friendly wagers are common and a man’s reputation is his collateral. Howell bragged to some that he had devised a foolproof investment plan backed by millions of dollars in life insurance policies, his own personal wealth and support from Wall Street giants such as Goldman Sachs & Co. Investors could buy in through Howell’s promissory notes, which offered guaranteed returns that were often wildly above those available elsewhere. Of the 149 notes included in court filings, 52 carried rates of return of 20 percent or higher. Howell had a sterling reputation as a money manager, earned after a highprofile career in banking. That reputation, along with tips passed among the close circles of the upwardly mobile, drew investors. But Howell was short on details, and investors now admit they handed over substantial sums of money with no real understanding of his strategies. Millions rolled in to Howell, regardless. Among his big-dollar investors was Jerry Jones, owner of the National Football League’s Dallas Cowboys. Jones held two notes totaling $16 million. Thanks to a letter of credit from Bank of America, Jones got $11 million back, plus interest. The remaining $5 million is a claim in probate court. Jones’ brother-in-law, Danville banker John Ed Chambers, bought at least one promissory note that left the banker out $1 million, according to court filings. Other major investors include Hot Springs banker Richard Smith and Little Rock developer Robert Vogel, who filed separate claims totaling $17.5 million against the Howell estate. More than $61 million of nearly $71 million in claims pending against Howell’s estate stem from the financier’s promissory notes. Other claims, including bank loans, consulting contracts and postdated checks, total more than $9 million. Platoons of lawyers representing at least 65 clients have been hired to recover as much as possible from the wreckage of Howell’s enterprise. They represent investors from Arkansas, Tennessee, Mississippi, Oklahoma and Texas. Former colleagues have become bitter adversaries, filing suits and firing accusations against Howell and one another in courtrooms in Little Rock, Conway, Hot Springs and West Memphis. Under orders from their attorneys, those investors aren’t talking. Nevertheless, one investor admitted, "I feel like a sucker." The Los Angeles County coroner’s report reads like a movie script: "The scene is a luxurious single room in an upscale hotel in Beverly Hills." Howell’s life ended in Room 140 of the Peninsula Beverly Hills, a five-star hotel just a few miles west of Hollywood Boulevard. One of his two sons, Martin Dane Howell, now 30, of Sarasota, Fla., and a man identified in police reports as New Jersey attorney Kooros Khavarian, were staying in the $500-a-night room with Howell. Jan Toler Woody of Little Rock, Howell’s wife of 20 days, was not mentioned in reports, nor was Howell’s other son, Mace David Howell III, now 35, who lives on the Caribbean island of Aruba. Martin Howell left the room at 10:30 a.m. Pacific time, Oct. 23, and was followed three hours later by Khavarian, according to police reports. The son last spoke to his father by phone at 3:41 p.m., when the elder Howell "did not relate any complaints," according to the coroner’s report. Around 7 p.m., Martin Howell asked hotel security to check on his father. The pair had planned to meet an hour earlier, but David Howell did not answer knocks on his door or calls on his cell phone. The hotel staff had to cut through the door’s latch to enter the room. They found Howell slumped over near the bed. Within minutes, paramedics pronounced him dead. Inside his room, investigators found several prescription drugs, including Viagra and medicines to treat depression, anxiety and genital herpes. Police found a half-empty bottle of Glenlivet scotch and an empty champagne bottle in the trash can. Tests later showed cocaine in Howell’s system, along with a large dose of hydrocodone, a prescription painkiller. An autopsy eventually blamed Howell’s death on "hydrocodone and ethanol intoxication," a coroner’s way of saying too many pills and too much booze. So much, in fact, the medical examiner concluded that such large amounts couldn’t be inadvertent. The large dose of hydrocodone, along with a history of depression and a "recent ongoing life crisis," led the examiner to rule that Howell had committed suicide. Howell’s life and his investments started unraveling weeks before. On Oct. 1, the financier issued his last-known promissory notes and wrote $2.1 million in checks to more than a dozen investors, overdrawing his account by $1.9 million. But nothing slowed Howell down. Two days later, he married his longtime girlfriend, Jan Woody, in Las Vegas at a ceremony presided over by a deputy clerk. He charged $62,000 at a Vegas jewelry store that same day, according to claims filed against his estate by American Express. While he partied, his investors steamed. Howell’s checks stopped arriving or began to bounce. With millions unaccounted for, Howell’s investors called in the Arkansas Securities Department. On Oct. 15, the agency announced an investigation into Howell’s investing, saying only that it had "certain evidence" indicating he "has violated various sections of the Arkansas Securities Law," including one requiring that securities be registered with the state. The next day, Bank of America filed suit against Howell in Little Rock, citing the $1.9 million overdraft. The bank listed 25 checks that caused the overdraft, including a $702,000 check to Chambers, six checks for a total of $622,000 to Smith or his businesses, and $180,000 written to Vogel or his businesses. On Oct. 16, Howell charged $11,000 to his credit card at a Memphis-based charter flying service, Palm Air Inc., according to the American Express claim. That paid for six hours in an eight-passenger Lear Jet. Palm Air will not disclose the flight’s destination or its passenger list. On Oct. 17, the Securities Department issued a cease-and-desist order against Howell and accused him of selling $15 million or more in unregistered securities to 16 or more individuals. Regulators couldn’t find Howell to serve him a subpoena. During those last days, Howell entered the Betty Ford Center in Rancho Mirage, Calif., the famed rehabilitation center for people suffering from substance abuse. The clinic says treatment spans four to 12 weeks. But Howell left on Oct. 19, checking in two days later at the Peninsula Beverly Hills. Back in Arkansas, rumors of Howell’s exploits swept through investment circles and country clubs. Major corporate figures were alleged to be investors, and far more than $15 million was said to be missing. Holed up first in the Betty Ford Center and then the Peninsula Hotel, Howell couldn’t be found. "I thought he was in the Cayman Islands or something," said Sanford Bolin, owner of Razorback Transmission in Little Rock and a friend of Howell’s. Bolin did not invest with Howell. "I remember Sanford coming home and saying, ‘David Howell has cut and run,’" said Tink Bolin, Sanford’s wife. A week after the Securities Department announced its investigation, Howell was dead. News of his death left friends hurt and confused. They still question how the man they knew and trusted could be the alleged con man making headlines across the state. Some simply don’t believe Howell would fleece so many people. "You'll find nothing but friends here," said Rhonda Peters, manager of Treetops Condominiums, a Little Rock apartment building where Howell once lived. "I guess you just can’t believe everything that’s written in the newspaper." Friends describe Howell as wellliked, a charmer with a taste for high living. He died owning a black 2002 Mercedes SL 500 and a 4,100-squarefoot west Little Rock home. He flew first class and had a taste for Rolex watches and weekends of gambling in Tunica or Las Vegas. He once took a cruise along the French Riviera on a ship where staff outnumbered guests. At parties, everyone knew he was in the room. "He was about as much fun as you could be around," said Les Harkins, owner of a Little Rock landscaping company. "I mean, he was just a good all-around guy." A licensed pilot since the 1970s — and at the time of his death co-owner with Hot Springs banker Richard Smith of a 1980 Beechcraft King Air — Howell logged thousands of miles, but not always with success. He wrecked one plane while taxiing on a runway near Tunica. He put another down in a cotton field outside Brinkley in 2001, an accident that totaled a twin-engine plane with only 110 hours of use, according to Federal Aviation Administration reports. Flight investigators attributed the incident to "the pilot’s poor in-flight planning and decision-making." At the time, Howell was on medication for anxiety, depression and insomnia, drugs the FAA bars pilots from taking. Howell did not notify the agency, which later pulled his medical certificate, grounding him. He was arrested in the Mercedes for driving drunk in April 2002. In other ways, however, he was assiduously reliable, if perhaps only for show. He would go to great lengths to repay small debts or keep his end of a bet or bargain. "If he owed you $6.50 for the lunch, it was almost as if he’d made it sort of a religion to go to the cash machine or something like that to pay you before you parted," said a friend and investor. "In hindsight, of course, it’s pretty easy to pay the small bills if you don’t have to pay the big ones at all." Howell took care of those closest to him. His sister, Linda Bailey, received substantial financial support from Howell. Her husband, Roderick Bailey, filed for bankruptcy in 1995, listing $816,000 in debts, including $188,000 he owed Howell. The filing was later dismissed at Roderick Bailey’s request. Roderick Bailey borrowed $47,000 from Bank of America in 2001, a transaction backed with an unlimited guaranty signed by Howell, according to court files. In the weeks before Howell’s death, the Baileys charged more than $18,000 to credit cards billed to Howell, according to American Express’ claim in court files. His sister used a credit card billed to Howell as late as Nov. 19, almost a month after her brother’s death, court records show. Howell also backed a credit card used by his ex-wife Kay. Another of his credit cards carried a billing address in Aruba, home of Mace David Howell III, according to court files. Active in Republican Party politics, Howell often portrayed himself as taking the moral high ground. In a 1996 interview with the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, he described himself as endorsing "limited government, free markets and individual responsibility." In the year before making those comments, Howell sold at least six promissory notes worth $108,000 to investors who now say they were never repaid. "In my discussions with him, he must have used the phrase ‘matter of principle’ at least 50 times," said one friend. Howell went to great lengths to portray himself as a financial wizard who had an ingenious investment plan, claiming he made late-night trades over the Internet, and casually boasting of winning or losing thousands with the click of a mouse. "We’d be sitting there and he’d be talking about the market, and he’d say, ‘Yeah, ... last night I lost $175,000 before I could hit a key,’" said Sanford Bolin. Some of Howell’s promissory notes state that investors "loaned" the money to Howell because of his "unique commodity trading ability and expertise." Howell’s office, which was in his home on 22 Carriage Creek Drive off Chenal Parkway, featured three computer terminals. Bolin said the financier even went on vacation — his cruise along the Riviera — with his laptop and cell phone in tow. All to keep up with the markets. "I assumed he was trading overseas because he was up until 2 or 3 in the morning trading on his computer," said Harkins. "And he was evidently pretty good at it. Nobody complained a year back." Howell’s reputation was strong enough to lead Harkins to ask if he, too, could invest with the financier. That was in 2001, Harkins said, after Wall Street’s bubble had burst and the landscaper watched his once-healthy portfolio disintegrate. Looking for a safer investment, Harkins turned to Howell. "My understanding was everybody was making a little money at it," Harkins said. "That was the only reason I brought up the possibility of investing with him, because it seemed like everybody was doing good." Inexplicably, Howell refused his request. To demonstrate his claims of financial prowess, Howell convinced investors of his own net worth, presenting it as a cash backstop against unforeseen losses. "He told me he had something on the order of 9 to 12 million dollars that was his own property that was untouched, that he didn’t get involved in the markets," one investor said. "And, for me, that was diligence enough. It was pretty stupid in hindsight, of course, but I was at the point where I trusted him." For one investor, Howell signed a death-or-disability agreement, claiming that his liquid net worth was "in excess of $8,000,000." For a group of others, Howell and Smith produced a "fabricated and false" brokerage-account statement showing more than $14 million in assets, according to a lawsuit filed against Howell’s estate in February. A "computer-generated forgery," the statement was one of Howell’s many deceptions, the suit claims. Howell’s scheme collapsed under its own weight. By the early fall of 2002, Howell faced making payments on at least 149 notes. Under the terms of the notes, which ranged from three-paragraph IOUs to four-page contracts, Howell died owing monthly payouts of more than $9 million in principal and interest. More than $6 million of that was to cover notes sold in the last six months of his life. "I think he may have gotten behind the eight ball and it went sour, and he started borrowing from Peter to pay Paul just to keep his image up, thinking that it would turn around again, and it never did," said Don Colaianni, owner of Colaianni Piano & Organ in Little Rock. Colaianni was a friend of Howell’s but did not invest with him. "Whether or not it was his intent from Day One, I hate to think that anyone would do that." Forty-five of the notes included in court filings were due at the time of Howell’s death. Of those, 80 percent had been due for more than a year. In his largest single transaction, Howell sold Jerry Jones an $11 million note in August. But there was a catch. Jones required that Howell back that note with an $11.9 million letter of credit. Bank of America supplied the letter, guaranteeing to meet Howell’s obligations if he did not, but demanded that an amount equal to the letter of credit be deposited with the bank, to be forfeited if Howell defaulted. In the end, Howell paid $11.9 million to gain Jones’ $11 million. Two months later, scores of investors had stopped receiving checks, the investment scheme was making news across Arkansas, and Howell was dead. Howell’s investors ignored practices that, in hindsight, should have been red flags. He had no office outside his home and did not incorporate. Howell did not register either himself or his promissory notes with the Securities Department, a potential violation of Arkansas Securities Law. Investors received checks for $1 million or more from Howell’s private family trust account, which should have been a warning to experienced investors. Many of Howell’s checks were postdated, at times months in advance. For example, he issued a check for $1.4 million to retired Little Rock physician John McCracken dated Feb. 15, 2003, which was four months after Howell died. Another check, written for just over $2 million to Richard Smith, was dated Jan. 15, 2003. Other investors have filed claims on postdated checks, including several for $200,000 or more. Although individuals invested hundreds of thousands — if not millions — with Howell, none of them claims to know how the scheme actually operated. "There’s one boy who told me: ‘You know, if this was legal, Stephens [the Little Rock investment house] would be doing it,’" Bolin said. The rates of return guaranteed by Howell — up to 50 percent, according to documents filed in probate court — were another reason for questions. During the late 1990s, when the Dow Jones industrial average floated well above 10,000, investors grew rich on companies with inflated stock values and scant hope of turning a profit. As long as the money rolled in, investors didn’t worry about a company’s profitability. Howell took that further by guaranteeing rates of return. "With the dot-com run-up and people making a gazillion dollars on paper, in a historical perspective, this set of transactions probably didn’t look as shallow and inexplicable then as they do now," said Greg Hopkins, a Little Rock attorney who represents Smith. Despite those signs, Howell duped some of Arkansas’ and Tennessee’s best and brightest, including many veterans of the corporate and financial world. Several shared Howell’s background in banking. Mickey Cissell, for example, spent years as an executive at banks in Arkansas and Oklahoma, including Worthen Banking Corp. A former Razorbacks football standout, Cissell bought a $225,000 note from Howell in May 2002, according to probate files. Cissell’s father-in-law, Ed Cherry, is also a banker and bought a $50,000 note from Howell. A friend of Howell’s father, Cherry said he asked to buy a promissory note. "David Howell never asked me to put a nickel investment with him," Cherry said. "When you get to be my age, you’re looking for something that pays a little interest." Officers and board members at Smith’s banks — Fulton County’s Bank of Salem and Stephens Security Bank in Ouachita County — received postdated checks from the financier. The Bank of Salem’s Mark Montgomery said he wrote a check to Howell, and, in return, received a postdated draft for $115,000. The president of the $100 million bank said that nothing about the transaction struck him as odd. Little Rock neonatal specialist Terrance Zuerlein and his wife, Nancy, an immunologist at Arkansas Children’s Hospital, bought four of Howell’s promissory notes for $2.2 million, according to court files. Another doctor, Little Rock cardiologist Thomas Hoffmann, bought $3.75 million in notes from Howell, while Mc-Cracken claims he lost $4.2 million to the financier. Bruce Thompson, a county commissioner in Memphis, claimed $300,000 in notes purchased in 2001 and 2002. Three investors filed claims on notes they cannot find. Russell McAlister says he lost a $50,000 note from Howell. Memphis’ Walter Edge says he misplaced a $100,000 note. A business called Smelley Family Investments claims one for $350,000. Another investor, Herbert Thomas, a vice president at FTN Financial, a Memphis-based banking and investment consulting firm, bought two notes from Howell in the spring of 2002, according to court documents. The first, obtained for $180,000 on April 15, was to be paid in a year at 10 percent interest. The second, purchased just two weeks later for $200,000, was to mature in six months at 40 percent interest. "I’ve been working for 42 years," observed Colaianni, a friend who didn’t invest. "And I’ve always said to myself, when it sounds too good to be true, it probably is." Next: Howell’s rapid rise in banking. This story was published Sunday, September 21, 2003 |
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