Read Online Evening's Empire: The Story of My Father's Murder by Zachary Lazar - Free Book Online
Authors: Zachary Lazar
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loan, I thought maybe you thought we didn’t know what we were doing, Ed and I.”
. . .
It was only on paper, but there were things about being a paper millionaire that made your life easier right away. The risk was over, for one thing: the risk of lot buyers defaulting, the risk of Warren losing patience and sending the salesmen out to manufacture bad contracts. They had done a stock swap with American Home Industries, and now AHI was going to pay them a bimonthly salary in addition to giving them $2.5 million worth of its shares. Suddenly money seemed easy to make, a trick you had already pulled off once. Like winning at cards, it made you feel you had some special skill, a feeling that was hard to resist, even when you saw its illogic. That winter, Arizona State had won the Peach Bowl after an undefeated season, and it sometimes seemed like a good omen, a prophecy of what came about that spring.
The author’s father (in the rear in white shirt) and mother (beside him), after the Peach Bowl
Ed didn’t touch the money. The neighbors had all installed fences for privacy, but Ed didn’t bother—his entire property remained exposed. He didn’t understand the need for those fences. What could anyone be doing that required so much privacy? That was how he lived as a millionaire—shooting baskets at the local high school, riding there on his bike—not telling anyone about the success, instead savoring his own tact.
The name of Senator Barry Goldwater, Republican of Arizona, has twice cropped up in the current investigation….
The Arizona Republic published copies of letters written in 1971 by Mr. Goldwater and [U.S. Congressman Sam] Steiger on their official stationery endorsing one of Mr. Warren’s projects called Chino Valley Ranchettes, that was offered to American servicemen abroad under terms that violated Arizona law. The Phoenix Police Department said they had evidence that the actual wording of the letter had been drafted by Mr. Lazar.
The letters were used in sales promotion of the land, which the Phoenix police later found to be without water and with rock conditions that made installation of functioning septic tanks impossible.
—New York Times, June 14, 1976
They had demonstrated an ability to turn over land, to buy it cheaply and sell it quickly, and now there was a whole new market opening up, a company called Capital Management Systems based in Koza, Okinawa, that sold to servicemen all across the Far East—Japan, Taiwan, the Philippines, Guam. They didn’t spend much time marveling at the exotic sound of Koza, Okinawa. What mattered to Ed and Warren was that Capital Management Systems had bought lots in Verde Lakes and now they were going to buy many more lots in Consolidated’s new subdivision, Chino Meadows, in an area called Chino Valley, in central Yavapai County, near Prescott. The names would turn out to be confusing: Chino Meadows, Chino Valley. Many people would mix up the different “Chinos.” It made it still more confusing that Capital Management Systems was in Japan. But what mattered was the size of the market. Soldiers. Every one of those soldiers needs a place to invest his money. Consolidated, their firm, would go from being a retailer to a wholesaler, dealing in large volumes with Capital Management Systems, not the former lot-by-lot drudgery with all its attendant risks. What was even better was that they could make these deals on the side, out of the purview of their buyer, AHI, because Warren had somehow persuaded AHI to remove the noncompete clause from the contract. This meant they had AHI credit lines, but they also had the ability to go in on separate deals, to set up separate corporations.
Capital Management Systems was called CMS. Consolidated Mortgage Corporation was called CMC. The new umbrella they began to work under was called Consolidated Acceptance Corporation, or CAC, a separate corporation from CMC. It was going to be very hard for people to keep
. . .
It was only on paper, but there were things about being a paper millionaire that made your life easier right away. The risk was over, for one thing: the risk of lot buyers defaulting, the risk of Warren losing patience and sending the salesmen out to manufacture bad contracts. They had done a stock swap with American Home Industries, and now AHI was going to pay them a bimonthly salary in addition to giving them $2.5 million worth of its shares. Suddenly money seemed easy to make, a trick you had already pulled off once. Like winning at cards, it made you feel you had some special skill, a feeling that was hard to resist, even when you saw its illogic. That winter, Arizona State had won the Peach Bowl after an undefeated season, and it sometimes seemed like a good omen, a prophecy of what came about that spring.
The author’s father (in the rear in white shirt) and mother (beside him), after the Peach Bowl
Ed didn’t touch the money. The neighbors had all installed fences for privacy, but Ed didn’t bother—his entire property remained exposed. He didn’t understand the need for those fences. What could anyone be doing that required so much privacy? That was how he lived as a millionaire—shooting baskets at the local high school, riding there on his bike—not telling anyone about the success, instead savoring his own tact.
The name of Senator Barry Goldwater, Republican of Arizona, has twice cropped up in the current investigation….
The Arizona Republic published copies of letters written in 1971 by Mr. Goldwater and [U.S. Congressman Sam] Steiger on their official stationery endorsing one of Mr. Warren’s projects called Chino Valley Ranchettes, that was offered to American servicemen abroad under terms that violated Arizona law. The Phoenix Police Department said they had evidence that the actual wording of the letter had been drafted by Mr. Lazar.
The letters were used in sales promotion of the land, which the Phoenix police later found to be without water and with rock conditions that made installation of functioning septic tanks impossible.
—New York Times, June 14, 1976
They had demonstrated an ability to turn over land, to buy it cheaply and sell it quickly, and now there was a whole new market opening up, a company called Capital Management Systems based in Koza, Okinawa, that sold to servicemen all across the Far East—Japan, Taiwan, the Philippines, Guam. They didn’t spend much time marveling at the exotic sound of Koza, Okinawa. What mattered to Ed and Warren was that Capital Management Systems had bought lots in Verde Lakes and now they were going to buy many more lots in Consolidated’s new subdivision, Chino Meadows, in an area called Chino Valley, in central Yavapai County, near Prescott. The names would turn out to be confusing: Chino Meadows, Chino Valley. Many people would mix up the different “Chinos.” It made it still more confusing that Capital Management Systems was in Japan. But what mattered was the size of the market. Soldiers. Every one of those soldiers needs a place to invest his money. Consolidated, their firm, would go from being a retailer to a wholesaler, dealing in large volumes with Capital Management Systems, not the former lot-by-lot drudgery with all its attendant risks. What was even better was that they could make these deals on the side, out of the purview of their buyer, AHI, because Warren had somehow persuaded AHI to remove the noncompete clause from the contract. This meant they had AHI credit lines, but they also had the ability to go in on separate deals, to set up separate corporations.
Capital Management Systems was called CMS. Consolidated Mortgage Corporation was called CMC. The new umbrella they began to work under was called Consolidated Acceptance Corporation, or CAC, a separate corporation from CMC. It was going to be very hard for people to keep
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