Having placated Castel somewhat, Marella moves on to character issues. Under Section 3553 (“Imposition of a Sentence”), judges take into consideration the entire character of the defendant. Again, Marella uses the word “extraordinary,” this time to accentuate the amount of money Lefebvre has given away to worthy causes over the years. “He really does and always has, Your Honor, epitomized giving to people in need,” says Marella. “He has worked with established charities and institutions, well known and well recognized. And he has also done what I kind of refer to, Your Honor, as random acts of kindness and goodwill toward people.”
Then Marella says Lefebvre didn’t just cut checks, he was “personally involved” in the various efforts to which he donated his money. Marella also points out Lefebvre was not a Johnny-come-lately to this kind benefactor work. “In almost every case,” he says, “his work preceded his arrest. It goes back years. And it really does personify, Your Honor, who Mr. Lefebvre is.”
Marella singles out the environment as Lefebvre’s special focus—traveling globally in connection with the David Suzuki Foundation, and to establish medical facilities and clinics in Tibet. “I mean,” Marella says, “the whole spectrum down to helping unwed mothers raise their kids.… And much of this has been done anonymously, Your Honor. So he’s not a person who seeks credit. You won’t find and don’t find buildings named for him, although he could have easily had things like that.”
With this, Marella’s speech on behalf of Lefebvre is over. Castel thanks him and signals to the defendant that he has the floor. “If there’s anything you wish to say, sir, this is the time to say it.”
Unlike Marella, Lefebvre really is brief. He says, in full: “Your Honor, I’ve—my view is that I’ve taken all the time of this court that I—and way more than I ever hoped to. You have my remarks in a letter I wrote to you and I affirm them today. I just want to say one more time, that having been an officer of the court in my country, it’s a matter of personal shame to me to wind up on this side of your courtroom. And with that I’ll leave myself in your hands. Thank you very much.”
That’s that, Castel says thanks, and now it’s Velamoor’s turn, who agrees with Castel that, yeah, okay, Lefebvre didn’t wear a wire in his cooperation but still, the work was valuable and warranted the plea bargain. “I can always attest to the fact this was not a traditional investigation,” he tells Castel. “This was, in many ways, the government … breaking new ground. Certainly information that was provided by the defendant was very helpful in what’s an ongoing investigation and a very important investigation to the office.”
Castel thanks the prosecution and gets on with the sentencing. He talks about the offense again: “The defendant entered a plea of guilty to conspiracy to commit offenses against the United States, including illegal transmission of wagers and gambling information, illegal internet gambling, and money laundering in violation of various statutes.”
He recounts the business success story one more time, tossing in the factoid that at its height Neteller had “over 1,100 employees.” He calls Neteller’s enterprise “large and successful.” Yes, it was. It held more than 685,000 member accounts, eighty-eight percent of them belonging to North Americans. The company processed $3.4 billion in transactions in 2004. The next year, that number grew 215 percent, to $7.3 billion. That’s around when the gusher turned to a rope ladder to the moon made out of U.S. greenbacks. And that’s around when Lefebvre decided he was going to give it all away because it was coming in faster than he could spend it. Castel also points out Neteller’s 2005 profit margin: $91.5 million.
Castel mentions that about seventy-five percent of Neteller’s revenue came from U.S. customers and then says, “Citizens of the United States were free to make the choice to make most gambling transactions unlawful. That’s a choice that citizens in a democracy can make. Neteller was quite aware of U.S. law in this arena, as was Mr. Lefebvre. They elected to conduct their business.”
Castel also acknowledges and accepts Lefebvre’s “sincere remorse” and “efforts to make things right by consenting to the forfeiture, and also by engaging in substantial cooperation.”
Castel trots out a personal history sketch—tragic loss of father, mother a good provider, good family relationships generally, a law degree in 1983—and, usefully, “no known criminal convictions.” Good thing the prior was excluded, because Castel then spent a bit of time talking about illicit drugs. “He has had some history of substance abuse, began smoking marijuana at age fourteen, experimented with LSD, mushrooms, and mescaline. But during his time on pretrial supervision, he has not produced any positive drug tests.” Well, none that he will ever know of.
Castel then mentions Lefebvre’s financial empire—or what’s left of it, which isn’t much compared to January 14, 2007. “The defendant today is a person of substantial means. He has real estate holdings of a combined value of in excess of $8 million. He has—$8 million, that’s Canadian—$3.2 million in artwork. He’s a one hundred percent shareholder of Eagle Medallion Fortress Investment. And the defendant was—and I don’t hold him at fault for this—unable to provide an estimated fair market value of Eagle, although it does have secured mortgages in excess of $5 million.” Those are probably Lefebvre’s personal loans to artists and Marella’s “unwed mothers.” Castel tacks on Lefebvre’s toys—his eleven automobiles, three motorcycles, Cessna Citation II business jet, “as well as a boat.”
Finally, we’re on to the guidelines: “The defendant in this case is in total offense level thirteen, criminal history category one, and, ordinarily, the guideline range would be twelve to eighteen months imprisonment, two to three years supervised release, fine range $3,000 to $200 million.”
Those are steep terms, but more or less in keeping with the numbers Marella had advised Lefebvre to expect back at the Village Recorder in late June 2007. The fine range is worrisome, though. It could wipe Lefebvre’s cupboard clean. But Castel backs away from the guidelines. He points out that he doesn’t have to follow them, especially in light of the government’s acknowledging the defendant’s welcome assistance. Castel won’t dump twelve to eighteen months on Lefebvre, but he isn’t going to let him go free, either. While he realizes the defendant is now on the right path, “It’s also appropriate that there be the message that a crime of this nature also results in some period of incarceration.”
And, as with Lawrence’s sentencing, Castel drops in a comment about the ruinous nature of gambling before sentencing: “The court has seen firsthand how gambling addictions, gambling endeavors, have led to unfortunate consequences in the lives of many other people. Based upon all of the foregoing, I believe a sentence of forty-five days imprisonment, one year supervised release, and a fine in this case of $750,000, is sufficient but not greater than necessary to achieve the purposes of Section 3553(a).”
There it is, the same sentence as Lawrence, except Lefebvre gets to keep 250 grand, a nice wheel of cheese, in his man purse. The court dates were separated but the sentence itself remains parallel. Castel asks Marella if he has any objections. He doesn’t, but wonders if his client might be able to get credit for time served. There was that cock-up at FTC Oklahoma to account for.
Castel says the United States Bureau of Prisons is the organization that normally calculates any credit a defendant may receive, so what’s it got to do with him? Marella says fine, but could the judge recommend that the BOP do so? “Tell me more about it,” says Castel. “This was in U.S. custody?” And “On this charge?” And “How long?”
“I believe it was for eight days, Your Honor.”
“If that’s the case, he is entitled to that credit,” Castel says. “You will have a transcript of this proceeding, and I certainly hope he gets credit for every moment that he’s entitled to.” Marella thanks Castel, who then asks Velamoor if he has any objections. Velamoor doesn’t.
Castel says,
All right, the de
fendant will please stand and the court will impose sentence. John Lefebvre, it is the judgment of this court that you are hereby remanded to the custody of the United States Bureau of Prisons to be imprisoned for forty-five days.… The mandatory drug testing condition is suspended based on the court’s determination that the defendant poses a low risk of future substance abuse.… If you are released within this country, then you shall report to the nearest probation office within seventy-two hours of release from custody, and in that case you may be supervised in the district of your residence. It is further ordered that the defendant shall pay to the United States a total special assessment of $100, which will be immediately. I am imposing a fine in this case of $750,000, and that sum is due within sixty days of the date of the judgment in this case in full. With regard to forfeiture, is there any objection to the proposed forfeiture order which has been presented by the government?
Marella says no, and Castel says, okay, he can sign the order. Then he realizes it’s been signed and docketed already. Castel mentions to Lefebvre that he has the right to appeal the sentence. Lefebvre says he understands that. Castel says Lefebvre, like Lawrence, is a flight risk and remands him to the immediate custody of the marshals. Velamoor says the government has nothing more to add. Marella says he has nothing more to add.
Just before calling it a wrap, the judge says something genuinely surprising:
All right, Mr. Lefebvre, have a seat for a moment. It’s apparent to me that there’s a lot of good that you’ve done in your life, and I suspect that at bottom you are a good person. And I sincerely believe that you have made real efforts to get past this chapter in your life. You will succeed in that endeavor. You have a job to do for the moment, which is to repay a debt through the brief prison term that I have imposed on you, and then you’ll get on with your life. And I wish you and your family the very best in that endeavor. We are adjourned.
• • •
Three days later, on Friday, October 28, around 11:30 in the morning, Jim Hoggan is still in New York but leaving in two hours. He’s been trying to see Lefebvre, but they’re telling him he can’t just walk in. He has to get the correct form. He has to fill out the form. He has to send in the form. When they receive the form, they have to run a background check on him. If that goes well, they’ll contact him. Then he’ll be able to apply to see the prisoner. Okay, well, so much for that.
Hoggan’s secretary, back in the Vancouver office, has ordered a bunch of books from Amazon. They should arrive today, which is good because Lefebvre is the kind of guy who can tuck into a book no problem. He’s been remanded to Manhattan jail, not Brooklyn. My wife ordered him two of her favorite books, Middlemarch and Anthony Bourdain’s memoir, Kitchen Confidential. Lefebvre didn’t seem to know much about Bourdain or his reputation, which is good. He’ll appreciate that the chef turned author turned television star has a Lou Reed–of-the-chef-world persona, and the memoir has a certain Hunter S. Thompson gonzo flair.
Marella and Gluck have done their job. They made sure Castel wouldn’t see the previous drug bust, which left Lefebvre with no priors. That was key. The narrow miss on the L.A. urine test back in July 2009 now looms large. The good news for Lefebvre is there will be no drug testing during probation. The other news he can take solace from is that he’ll serve less time than the sentence imposed. Marella’s bit of squawking about Lefebvre’s little Con Air adventure to FTC Oklahoma shaved four days off the sentence. His third go in the slammer is down to forty-one days, close enough to break out the old Humble Pie hit from the early seventies. Add ten days to the original title and start belting it like Steve Marriott: the seeds and dust that he got bust on, “forty days in the hole.”
XIX (2011–13)
The Silent Fridge
Now it’s February 2012, a couple of months after Lefebvre’s release from the Manhattan prison. We’re sitting on two folding chairs in his new, still-unfinished abode on Sunset Drive, Salt Spring Island. He had his contractor gut the original Sunset Drive house, recycle all reusable materials, and then build a new home to his specifications. The west side of the house is entirely windowed, so our view is IMAX wide. We look out onto the Strait of Georgia. The sun’s embers start to fade back over the mountains, and darkness shrouds the landscape. It is peaceful. Extreme peace, you might call it. No electronic equipment plugged in, no computers save for the iPhone that records the conversation, no hum, nothing.
The concern for silence, especially after the racket he endured in prison at the MCC in Manhattan, led Lefebvre to hide his Sub-Zero behind a wall and a door. He wants serenity so badly I’ve heard him talk about how much he enjoys classical music now, his antidote for the indignities of New York. He’s also mindful of something he hasn’t talked about—his tinnitus. He is not enthralled with loud music these days. When we sat down to goof a bit on guitar and drums in his small Stonehouse studio, he implored that I use the soft sticks on the snare, hang back, and keep basic time—no drum rolls or fills—while he strummed, plucked, and sang. I was only too happy to do so, as I could barely remember how to play after twenty years.
The tinnitus issue is a big deal for a guy who has wanted his entire adult life nothing more than to focus on his music. The law career could not derail this passion. The FBI could not derail this passion. But now, irony of ironies, when he is free of the DOJ, albeit with a much diminished fortune, when he could be sitting on the beach, building rock sculptures, waiting for a new melody or lyric to hit him, it is tinnitus that could derail forever his ambition to play his music in front of audiences. Lefebvre started to notice aural discomfort during rehearsals for the Don Felder tour. It wasn’t like a ringing in his ears, he says, more like white noise with odd burps and pops erupting here and there, a bit like the way the old dial-up modem connection to the internet used to sound back in the nineties. But it was more than irritating, it was scary. At the time, he’d decided to go through with the three concert dates and then reassess the situation after Vancouver. That was a year ago. The tinnitus was indeed real and it was not going away.
Since then, he’s been shopping around. He found stage monitors that exclude outside noise, for instance, so he wouldn’t he inundated with the onstage blare of the other instruments. But really, the situation was worse than no good at all because he knows that while the din of crowded rooms is where most people prefer to experience their rock music, the truth is, “noisy rooms aren’t fun anymore.” So he has cheered himself by finding a guy in Seattle to engineer better remixes of three-quarters of his existing recorded material. This must be a gratifying consolation, as he was never truly satisfied with previous incarnations.
The contractors completed installation of the flooring just today, so we’re under strict orders: stocking feet only inside the house. Lefebvre pulls a bottle of Caymus Vineyards’ cab sauv and two glasses from the man purse. He sings a few lines from his tune “Out of Here” a cappella: “You take the best / I’ll take the rest / I’m out of here / So gone out of here.”
Out of the USA and back home. Night falls early and fast in front of us on this late February afternoon. Across the strait is a paper mill in Crofton (population 2,500), forty-five miles north of Victoria, BC. It opened in 1957 and is still operating, its current owner being Catalyst Paper of Richmond, BC. Lefebvre recalls being told by the Salt Spring real estate agent that the mill would be closing soon. That was nearly a decade ago, yet the pulp smokestacks continue to discharge their plumes of smoke above Vancouver Island.
Lefebvre says he was under a misapprehension. He’d asked his realtor how many people worked at the mill and the woman told him, “Oh, about eight.” The correct answer was closer to six hundred. Then, sometime after he purchased the property, the mill laid off a huge number of workers. He was left with the cynical impression that the only reason it was not being shut down for good was that company executives had rationalized it was cheaper to continue to run it with a skeletal crew than it would
be to clean up the site after it went dark.
As the mill’s lights take over the sky, the spaceship-like image isn’t at all bad—industry and nature side by side in their usual phantasmagoric disharmony—although there is the noise to contend with when enjoying the outdoors. A ferry runs from Vesuvius Bay, just a couple of miles from here. That’s also where the pub is located, the one Lefebvre bought and was going to fix up. He spent a bunch of cash testing the foundations and the rock the pub sat on, and then consulted a couple of business buddies. They told him, sure, you can put in a couple of million and fix it so your neighbors have a watering hole and you have a place to strum and sing, but you’ll never, ever sell enough beer to get your investment back. In the gusher days, this would not have been an issue.
The Vesuvius Bay ferry chugs across to Crofton. Southwest of there is Duncan (population 5,000), which is located on the Trans-Canada Highway, thirty miles north of Victoria and thirty miles south of Nanaimo. North of Crofton is Chemainus (population 3,000), then it’s Ladysmith (population 7,000).
Lefebvre recalls, “When I was in living in Malibu, one of my most beautiful neighbors down the beach was Pamela Anderson. We had a couple of things in common: we both lived in Malibu and I could see her hometown, Ladysmith, from here. They smith ’em real good.”
The new house, designed by Lefebvre himself, is made of heavy salvaged timber. It may not be to everyone’s taste, since with its complex roof structure of two principal rafters, collar ties, perpendicular ridge beam, and purlins, it could double as a church. There are quirks. For instance, the huge living space is laid out so it can convert into a recording studio in no time and at the north end, up a few steps, is Lefebvre’s doorless bedroom. Inside the room is a bathroom, again sans door. Maybe not everyone’s idea of cozy, but for the shy among us, there is a private conventional space for constitutionals, passing water, and performing ablutions available in the basement.
Life Real Loud Page 40
