You Are Not Alone_Michael, Through a Brother’s Eyes (45 page)

Meanwhile, Neverland was in trouble because Michael had struggled to meet the staff payroll and veterinary bills. As a result, he was forced to pay employees $300,000 in back pay. Not only that: composers and musicians had been unpaid for months. But those who loved Michael didn’t complain or pressure him because they trusted that he’d look after them once he’d turned his life around. That is the response of true friends.

Michael was furious, of course, over his financial situation. In his mind, he had paid accountants to settle his bills and distribute his money. Like any artist, he entrusted a team to keep his house in order. By March 2006, his circumstances forced him to shut down the ranch and all the animals were sent to sanctuaries or specialist centres. It saddened me to see Neverland’s demise – I knew how much of his heart and soul was invested there – but it was a time for salvage, not for sentiment. He had to trim the fat and keep the rump of his assets: the ranch and the catalogue.

THAT SAME SUMMER, MICHAEL RECEIVED A
set of documents that made sense of everything, he said. I never saw them so I don’t know their content, but he shared his discovery with Randy, who was bringing in a host of advisers to get to the bottom of everything. Those documents were sufficient to convince Michael that there had been a deliberate plan by named individuals to ‘solicit other attorneys, vendors and creditors’ to file lawsuits that would have forced him into involuntary bankruptcy. He immediately instructed his new legal team to investigate and explore his rights. He also wanted the documents forwarded to the US Attorney
General. In a statement, his team said, ‘Based on the timing of events that have impacted his personal and professional life in recent years, Michael has long been suspicious of some of those that he entrusted to act on his behalf.’ I don’t know what happened to those documents – after his death, a lot of things simply disappeared.

MICHAEL TRUSTED FEWER AND FEWER PEOPLE,
but there was one individual he trusted as he would a friend; this person had advised him discreetly behind the scenes in a non-professional capacity ever since 2000/2001. Over time, though, and because of two incidents, Michael grew ever more concerned about this person’s loyalties. The first came when, at a private social gathering, his friend suddenly asked Michael to dance. He chuckled, thinking it was a joke. ‘No, Michael, I would like you
to dance for my friends
,’ said this man. Michael remembered the advice Fred Astaire had once given him: ‘Remember, you’re not a performing monkey. You’re an artist. You dance for no one but yourself.’

‘I’m not in the mood to dance,’ said Michael, ‘but thank you for asking.’ Point made. Character flaw noted.

Ever trusting, he stayed in touch with his friend to the extent that he was often a guest at his house. But, of course, Michael was never a good sleeper … and he still liked to snoop. One night when he couldn’t sleep, he went for a wander and overheard his host talking about him on the phone. As he listened, it became clear the person at the other end of the line was a high-powered Sony executive. This was around 2002/2003 – during Michael’s self-declared war on people like Tommy Mottola. Michael had shared all his feelings with his host about different people, what he was thinking and what he should do. He felt that person was loyal. But when he heard that furtive late-night conversation, he realised that his ‘ally’ was friendly with the higher echelons at Sony. Michael was freaked out because he heard things that were not favourable towards him, but he said nothing. The next morning, he packed his bags and was out of there, leaving his guest to wonder why he was departing early.

Once again, the brothers felt the need to protect Michael. He struggled to trust his own shadow now, but all we could do was bring in new people to come up with a different strategy and turn his life around. By 2007, he was seriously in danger of falling into a financial black hole that would have cost him everything. The clock on his assets was ticking loudly.

He probably couldn’t hear it because his head was full of too much noise concerning his safety. Around this time, whenever Michael visited New York, and sometimes in other cities, he discreetly wore a bullet-proof vest but made no big deal about it. It probably gave him peace of mind.
That
is how worried he was.

THE WIZARD OF OZ
AND
WILLY
Wonka & the Chocolate Factory
were two of Michael’s favourite movies. Through his network of producer friends, he had heard that Warner Bros. was in development to re-adapt Roald Dahl’s book and he was desperate to play Willy Wonka in what would become the modern version of the movie,
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
. However, events in 2003 soon made everything impossible, and what he called ‘my dream role’ fell to Johnny Depp. But, in 2007, he got excited by a chance to re-create a
Wizard of Oz
-style Emerald City in the shape of a leisure and entertainment vision.

‘Crystal City’ was devised so that Michael and I could create our own leisure kingdom, which, on paper, would have incorporated a Neverland theme park and a Jackson Academy of Performing Arts. We had four meetings in which we let our imaginations run riot. The plan was to build an entire city in the Middle East, on reclaimed land rising out of the ocean. It would have included a replica Rodeo Drive built on a Venetian-style canal with gondolas, Bel Air-type estates and neighbourhoods, a shopping mall shaped like an octopus, a technology corridor, an 18-hole golf course, an amphitheatre for concerts, a marina, and a monorail system connecting every facility. ‘And we could do what Disney does,’ said Michael. ‘We could do a Crystal City parade and have the most spectacular light show at night … every night!’ He wanted
to place giant crystals on the top of each of the 14 hotels and then, in the light show, each crystal would refract a beam to the next, connecting the hotels with a web of light that would radiate across the city. But we didn’t have the money to fund the dream.

So, when I found myself sitting in Gabon, in Africa, among a delegation of businessmen in December 2007, I put out feelers and came across a potential introduction: an architect friend mentioned that he knew of a ‘doctor’, who ‘knew a lot of people’ and lived in the Brentwood area of LA. I’d gone to Gabon and been recommended someone in my old neighbourhood, but I guess that’s how life works. ‘His name is Dr Tohme-Tohme,’ said the architect. ‘I’ll hook you up.’

DIRECT, TOUGH, PULLING NO PUNCHES, THE
Lebanese Dr Tohme-Tohme was no smooth-talking businessman and he certainly hadn’t earned his doctorate at Charm School. But when my wife Halima and I visited him at his home in March 2008, he was gracious and everything about him supported the glowing testimonial I’d received. At first he seemed out to impress, showing us old military photographs and albums he had sung on in his younger days, but we were soon talking business and Crystal City. I deliberately didn’t mention Michael because I wanted someone to see the value of the project first.

Over the next four meetings and two weeks, Tohme-Tohme seemed genuinely interested to explore the project with his contacts in the Middle East, looking for a consortium of oil-rich investors to raise $6 billion. He said he would report back.

OUT OF NOWHERE, NEWS BROKE THAT
the lender was to foreclose the $23 million debt on Neverland because my brother was way behind on his payments. The idea that the ranch was under threat made me feel sick. I watched reports on television, and read newspapers over the following days, then said to Halima, ‘Over my dead body are any of those bankers going to sell Neverland!’

It seemed that the only way out for Michael was to sell his $500 million share in the music catalogue. My mind went into over-drive, worrying about something I couldn’t control, until a thought flashed into my head:
Dr Tohme-Tohme
. Halima was hesitant. ‘But you hardly know the man,’ she said.

‘And our other options are where right now?’ I said. If he could lead me to people of wealth to create something as vast as Crystal City, then saving Neverland would cost the equivalent of small change. I called our new friend and we met at his house on 13 April 2008. I hadn’t told Michael what was going on because I needed to get my ducks in a row first. Once there, I outlined my brother’s difficulty and explained his suspicions surrounding his debt. ‘Is there
anyone
you know who’d be willing to help?’ I asked.

Tohme-Tohme picked up a business magazine. The cover photo was of a suave, bald-headed gentleman in his sixties with a deeply furrowed brow. ‘This guy.’

‘He will?’

‘I’ll make sure of it,’ he added, with a certainty I didn’t need to understand. All I needed to know was that Tom Barrack, the Lebanese chairman of a real-estate investment firm called Colony Capital – controlling an estimated $40 billion in private equity – was on his speed dial (as well as the board of Miramax, Hilton, Fairmont and Raffles hotel chains). As a serious player, he seemed tailor-made for this SOS.

When word came back some days later that, yes, he was interested in having a meeting, I was straight in the car and heading to Vegas, where Michael now rented a temporary home. Sadly, when I arrived – as was tediously routine with whoever was around my brother – the security detail from Nation of Islam wouldn’t let me in. ‘Wait,’ I said, through the gate intercom. ‘I’m the one who put your asses in this job and now you’re telling
me
when I can and cannot see him?’

‘He’s not here, Jermaine,’ said a voice. Click.

Undeterred, I checked into the MGM hotel. I went to the house three more times that day and was turned away each time. I felt
like a stalker. Eventually I ran out of patience and rang Mother, who rang Nanny Grace … and the electric gates opened. Some suit with an ear-piece told me I had ‘20 minutes, and 20 minutes only’ because Michael was going to the mall. As I waited downstairs in the lobby, I looked in the living room. It was filled with stacked storage crates and boxes. Everything about the new place felt unlived in.

Michael came down the stairs with a smile and we hugged. As usual when I – or any of the family – breached his team’s artificial firewall, it was as easy between us as it had been in the good old days. I told him how his people had spoken to me and he leaned forward to whisper, ‘Everyone
thinks
they’re in control around here – there’ll be changes made soon.’ I didn’t believe him – he’d been talking about changing his current personnel since the World Music Awards in London, in 2007. I moved on to the reason why I was there – and that was when my security-allocated 20-minute slot turned into hours. When I outlined the financial possibilities that came with Tom Barrack, it blew Michael’s mind. I know that my sister La Toya has said she wished she could have ‘protected’ him from the likes of Tohme-Tohme, but had she known the history and the dire reality of the situation, I doubt she’d have held such an opinion. Everyone’s intentions were nothing but good but all that mattered was that Michael understood this because maybe, just maybe, the two businessmen had the key to unlock the ball and chain that were dragging him under.

I WAS DRIVING ACROSS THE NEVADA
desert with Dr Tohme-Tohme on 23 April 2008 for his first meeting with Michael and he obviously felt he had a good voice because he insisted on singing ‘Lonely Teardrops’ by Jackie Wilson all the way through California and across the state line. It’s hard to tell someone they suck when they’re about to throw your brother a financial lifeline. Diplomatically, I pushed in a CD and ‘Earth Song’ came on.
Nice timing, Michael
. For the rest of that journey, all I could think was that I was about to introduce chalk to cheese. Tohme-Tohme was
blunt, opinionated and had a trip-wired temperament but I knew he wouldn’t blow smoke up my brother’s ass: he was not an enabler-type, and he took no bullshit. Just what Michael needed for the interim. Anyhow, this ‘fixer’ was brought in to facilitate the rescue of Neverland; that was his sole purpose as far as I was concerned.

As things turned out, that first meeting went well and Michael also spoke with Tom Barrack on the phone. He was reassured that all the ‘talk’ seemed likely to be followed up. Tohme-Tohme was decisive. He took the situation by the scruff of its neck and made clear that it was time to get this Jackson house in order. ‘We’ll fly in next week with Tom,’ he said, ‘and we’ll start getting you back in control of your life.’

THE SPEED OF EVENTS WAS DIZZYING,
and I could only thank the spiritual connection between Michael and me for what happened next. A particular email dropped into my lap and, if Neverland was to be saved, it had to be acted on. For reasons of discretion, I’ll keep hidden its origins but it was sent to my management’s email from the lending house that was attempting to talk with Michael about his pending foreclosure. It was seeking to co-operate with him to find a solution. A bank that cared. Go figure. If only it had been that easy in Michael’s world.

That email to me was someone’s last-ditch effort to help. Dated 29 April 2008, it read:
‘Dear Jermaine, A team has been working on this file for two months but has been running into numerous road blocks through attorneys. It was very upsetting to see how something so beneficial to Michael was being turned down. It compelled me to get in contact with you and Michael.’

I immediately alerted Tohme-Tohme. He – on behalf of Michael and without anyone else knowing – held a meeting a few days later with the lender in one of its boardrooms. It was there that the full scale of the emergency was revealed: Michael had until 10am the following day to pay off his $23 million ranch loan or they’d foreclose. He was under the impression that he had until 3pm. Had I
not received that email, he would have waited until 3pm – and lost the ranch with a market value of $66.8 million. Then all the other dominoes would have started to fall. In that meeting, as witnessed by the lenders, Tohme-Tohme rang Tom Barrack via speakerphone and ‘made him’ wire the $23 million, apparently saying, ‘You have to do this. I’m asking you to do this.’ By 9.54am the next day – six minutes before the egg-timer ran empty – the $23 million was wired in exchange for Tom receiving 50 per cent ownership of Neverland. The ranch was saved and if I was overjoyed, I can only imagine what Michael must have felt.