A new woman?

New bankruptcy documents make the murky finances of Ken Starr's key witness
look even shadier.


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By Bruce Shapiro

July 12, 2000 |

Federal bankruptcy court, stage for the quotidian tragedies of personal debt
and commerce, is the last place anyone would expect to turn for a
head-spinning legal yarn, and even less for the verdict on a national
political scandal. But sometime in the next few weeks, a Richmond, Va.,
bankruptcy court will be the stage for both, when Judge Douglas O. Tice Jr.
calls the case of Kathleen Schwicker.

Kathleen who? Until her recent remarriage, Kathleen Schwicker was Kathleen
Willey. Almost two years ago, Willey went on "60 Minutes" to accuse President
Clinton of unwanted sexual advances in the Oval Office, followed up by dark,
never-confirmed tales of threats and intimidation by presidential operatives.
Willey has remarried, changed her name and relocated to Ramrod Key, Fla. Now
her bankruptcy appears to be one more effort at a new start, at leaving
behind an overwrought period of life beginning with her husband Ed Willey's
1993 suicide and culminating in her 1998 grand jury testimony for Independent
Counsel Kenneth Starr.

But coming the same week that former Starr spokesman Charles Bakaly faces
contempt-of-court charges, Willey's bankruptcy case raises more questions
about the probity of Starr's investigation. The facts revealed in Willey's
bankruptcy filing and other documents obtained by Salon also raise questions
about her past and character, and Starr's decision to grant her sweeping
immunity as a central strategy in his inquiry.

Willey claims she is virtually destitute. Her bankruptcy petition, filed in
April, declares she has just $50 in her checking account, $2,000 worth of
jewelry and $3,700 worth of household furniture. Her Subaru Outback, worth
$13,000, has been claimed by her lawyers as collateral for unpaid bills.

In fact, Willey is far from destitute. She has been living in comfort in a
suburban home, on a budget of thousands of dollars a month. Court records and
other documents obtained by Salon suggest that in 1997 and 1998, at the very
time she was going public with her accusations of genital groping by
President Clinton several years before, Willey was at the center of a
complicated series of asset transfers that appear to have been designed to
insulate her money and property from the scrutiny of courts and creditors --
and claiming under oath in Virginia that she could not remember basic
personal matters from just weeks earlier.

It is a noteworthy tale of legal intrigue: In declaring bankruptcy, Willey
claimed personal debts of over $700,000. But financial records suggest that
at least two-thirds of that "debt" consists of Willey's own assets, shifted
on paper to her children while she has continued to reap the benefits. At the
heart of this complicated financial maneuver, records suggest, is the
manipulation of a $160,000 loan to create the appearance of a debt.

The road to Tuesday's bankruptcy hearing goes back to 1991 -- long before
Kathleen Willey emerged as a White House volunteer with a tale to tell. It
begins not with a presidential grope but with financial transactions by her
now-deceased husband, Ed Willey Jr.

To understand Willey's predicament, it helps to understand her husband. Ed
Willey Jr. was a Richmond attorney and investor in local real estate deals.
He was the son of the speaker of Virginia's Assembly -- and so in theory,
born to the state's political aristocracy. In fact he was the Willey clan's
black sheep. Sometime around 1970 -- according to Kathleen Willey's own
account in her application for a volunteer position at the White House -- Ed
Jr. was charged with manslaughter in an auto accident, though the charges
were later dropped. His taste for fast money further alienated Willey from
his father.

When Ed Jr. married Kathy in 1971, their joint dedication to ostentation --
the condo in Vail, the Rolex watches and jewelry -- did nothing to dispel
that reputation, though many in Richmond still find it convenient to blame
outsider Kathy for driving her husband's greed quotient into the
stratosphere. Whatever the truth, by the early 1990s Ed Willey Jr. was
beginning a long slide into debt, ultimately owing the IRS alone $325,000.

In August 1991, Ed Willey turned to a longtime friend for help: Richmond
developer, architect and political activist Louis Salomonsky. Salomonsky was
Gov. Douglas Wilder's personal financial trustee and a successful player in
local real estate projects that sometimes ended in scandal and indictments;
though Salomonsky was named in at least one indictment, he was never charged
himself.

Salomonsky agreed to lend the Willeys $160,000, according to court
transcripts and Willey financial records obtained by Salon. The Willeys
secured the loan with collateral: their suburban home worth over $200,000,
part of a real estate partnership and their life insurance policy of over $1
million.

And in a final gesture, Salomonsky secured a promise of repayment not just
from the Willeys themselves but from a company called "Planning and Zoning,"
which Ed had set up as a protective front for his real estate investments --
a company technically owned by his adult children.

This is a lot of collateral for a $160,000 loan -- but given the Willeys'
life on the financial edge, any of their assets might evaporate at any time,
so Salomonsky was evidently hedging his bets.

A few months later, despite the Willeys' precarious financial condition, they
managed to contribute $10,000 to presidential candidate Bill Clinton; they
met Clinton during a campaign swing through Richmond, where he received a
congratulatory kiss from Kathy which her husband reportedly bragged about for
weeks.

Within a few months of the presidential election, though, the euphoria was
evaporating. Ed Willey was behaving like panic-stricken Ray Liotta at the end
of Goodfellas -- the financial noose drawing as close and fast as Liotta's
FBI pursuers. By March 1993, Kathy Willey sought refuge two hours northward,
in a volunteer job in the White House counsel's office. In her White House
application, obtained by Salon, she repeatedly describes legally troubled Ed
Willey Jr. as her "former husband," though she was still married at the time.

On October 15, Ed Willey went to Kathy with a confession: He had illicitly
"borrowed" $200,000 from the escrow account of two clients, a brother and
sister named Anthony Lanasa and Josie Abbott. Caught with both hands in the
cookie jar, Ed had promised to repay the money in a matter of weeks if they
would avoid reporting him to the state bar committee -- but he needed Kathy's
signature on the contract. Reluctantly, she signed.

On Nov. 29, 1993 -- the same day Willey later said she was groped by
President Clinton when she went to seek his advice -- Ed Willey shot himself.

Suddenly, all of the Willeys' long-simmering financial crises boiled over.
Kathy's name was on that contract with her husband's embezzlement victims.
Legally, the aggrieved brother and sister were poised to take Kathy's house,
to attach that life insurance policy and, perhaps, to secure far more of her
assets as damages in a lawsuit. Kathy, who had arranged to sell her home and
already had her eye on another in one of Richmond's up-market suburbs, was
instead in danger of losing every dime.

Rescue came from Ed Willey's old friend Lou Salomonsky. Salomonsky and
another politically connected Richmond attorney, Daniel Gecker, moved with
astonishing speed to protect the Willey family's remaining assets from both
the Lanasa-Abbott lawsuit and the IRS. Salomonsky declines to comment on the
Willey bankruptcy, saying only that "I was a protector of the children, after
their father's death, and of her."

First, Salomonsky transferred the $160,000 note on the loan Ed and Kathy had
arranged in 1991 to the Willey's two college-age children, or rather, to
"Planning and Zoning," the family company with their names on it. On paper,
Kathy Willey now owed the money to her children rather than Salomonsky. The
children -- with Salomonsky as their business agent and Gecker as the
attorney for every party involved -- moved to "collect" on the debt by
foreclosing on their own mother's house, a transaction completed in 1996.

Salomonsky's own real estate company bought the house at foreclosure and
promptly sold it. The Willey children bought the new home Kathleen had been
eyeing, and in 1997 began renting it to her for $450 per month -- a laughably
low rent in affluent Midlothian.

And then there was Ed Willey's life insurance -- more than $1 million worth,
with Kathy designated the beneficiary for half of it. But Kathy refused her
portion -- ensuring that whole payoff would go to her children. The children
began "loaning" their mother living expenses out of the insurance proceeds
she had turned over to them.

The upshot: Kathy Willey received $200,000 cash from her children in the last
five years according to her bankruptcy petition, not to mention tens of
thousands of dollars worth of subsidized housing. Those loans alone make up
one-third of the debts listed on her bankruptcy application. And in Virginia,
at least, it's all perfectly legal.

Lanasa and Abbott, outraged, sued Kathy Willey and Ed's estate in 1994 for
"wrongfully converting" the life insurance funds, but the Virginia Supreme
Court could find nothing in the state's laws to forbid it.

Another key part of the deal, however, remains very much subject to debate.
To better understand Lanasa and Abbott's anger, recall that the Willey
children salvaged their mother's assets through their acquisition of Louis
Salomonsky's $160,000 note, which in turn entitled them to foreclose on their
mother's house.

Yet according to Willey family insurance records obtained by Salon, by the
time of the foreclosure, Kathy's $160,000 note to Salomonsky no longer
existed. In January 1994, weeks after Ed Willey's suicide, Salomonsky had
been paid off in full by Ed's life insurance. Indeed, on December 29, 1994,
Salomonsky wrote to the Equitable Life Insurance Company citing his 1991
agreement with Ed and Kathy, demanding that he receive "all net proceeds" of
Ed's policy; after he was paid his $160,000 plus more than $40,000 interest,
the remainder could be turned over to the Willeys.

On January 25, 1994, Equitable cut a check to Salomonsky for $204,063. The
foreclosure of Willey's house, in other words, was based on a debt which had,
in fact, been paid off months before.

Was the foreclosure legal? That depends on whom you ask. Kathy Willey's
attorney Ed Gecker replies with a polite "no comment" when asked about the
transaction. Privately, say sources close to the case, he defends the
arrangement by saying that since Salomonsky was repaid out of life insurance
the Willey children would otherwise have gotten, they had the legal right to
pursue the lost funds against their mother.

Joseph Koestner, a Richmond attorney who represented Lanasa and Abbot until
they dropped their case out of sheer frustration, called it "a scam" in a
1997 court hearing in which -- without access to insurance records showing
the debt to Salomonsky had been paid -- he was trying to establish a money
trail. "If that $160,000 wasn't owed, then that $160,000 ... went someplace,
and I want to know where it went," he said.

Today, Koestner still believes his former clients were victims of "an
elaborate shell game." The Willey-Salomonsky transactions, he says, were
designed only to conceal Willey's assets from his clients without diminishing
her benefit from them -- as the housing subsidy and open-ended loans from her
children indicate. "The children's interests were not diminished at all when
that note was paid back," he says.

Just how active a player was Kathy Willey in these maneuvers? In court, she
pled ignorance of the most routine financial matters. In fact, around the
same time she was appearing on "60 Minutes" and before Ken Starr's grand jury
to detail purported incidents that had occurred four years earlier, in
Virginia legal proceedings Willey was pleading ignorance of vastly more
recent personal matters.

Asked by Koestner in that 1997 hearing whether she was at that time in debt,
she responded, "I don't know." When did she sign papers transferring the
$160,000 note? "I don't remember." Did she know why the note was transferred?
"No." How much had she borrowed from her children? The Virginia judicial
officer reigning over the hearing finally grew so exasperated that he
threatened her with contempt: "It waxes extremely strange to me, ma'am, that
you cannot answer a question about whether you owe $160,000 or are owed
$160,000."

Whether or not the scheme was technically legal, in any event, it is
profoundly revealing of the atmosphere of evasiveness and deceit surrounding
Kathy Willey by 1997, when tales of her encounter in the Oval Office first
led her to be subpoenaed by Paula Jones' lawyers. Indeed, she was pleading
poor memory about her massive debt during the very period that her story of
being groped by Clinton was floating into public view through Newsweek's
Michael Isikoff and the Jones lawyers.

What does Willey's active, years-long evasion of this massive debt -- even if
falling on the safe side of the legal line, as Gecker asserts -- say about
her motivations in going public with the Clinton story? According to an FBI
interview with attorney Gecker during the independent counsel's negotiations
over Willey's immunity, he and his client decided that the best solution to
her financial problems might be a big book deal.

Gecker, says the FBI interview, "did recall thinking that if [O.J. Simpson
girlfriend] Paula Barbieri could get millions for writing a book, it might be
in my client's best interest to consider a book deal, especially since she
currently has a judgement against her for almost $300,000."

If the inside narrative of Kathleen Willey's bankruptcy raises fresh
questions about her credibility, it also begs renewed scrutiny of the
standards and methods by which Starr sought to make his case against Clinton.
On April 24, 1998, the FBI interviewed Gecker at length in his Richmond
office. He described several smaller-scale "deceptions" by his client, and
then provided detailed records of the Lanasa-Abbott case and the Willey
camp's convoluted financial transactions.

Weeks later Starr granted Willey rare transactional immunity, despite the
extraordinary trail of financial manipulation, most of it already in the
independent counsel's hands, according to FBI records prior to the immunity
agreement. And Starr ignored this same record in prosecuting (but failing to
convict) Willey's former friend Julie Hiatt Steele for refusing to back up
Willey's sexual-harassment story.

When historians evaluate the Clinton scandals still playing out this week,
the questions raised in Kathleen Willey's bankruptcy should form a crucial
part of the picture. The crisis leading to Clinton' impeachment was powered
not just by Starr's "right-wing conspiracy," but through the independent
counsel's collusion with such troubled individuals as Willey, whom Clinton
repeatedly invited into his orbit. Like that even more central player, Monica
Lewinsky, Willey was a questionable character of dubious qualifications,
gaining access to the president only through the corrupting power of campaign
contributions. (Lewinsky, recall, gained her White House internship thanks to
the political connections and contributions of her mother's boyfriend.) Did
Starr's team overlook Willey's hopelessly clouded record, or was it
deliberately obfuscated?

Koestner, former attorney for Lanasa and Abbot, says he was never even
contacted by Starr or the FBI. "When those people did not even call me," he
says, "it demonstrated to me that Ken Starr was a joke." Willey may get
financial absolution in Richmond's bankruptcy court this week, but historical
absolution for Starr is rendered more unlikely by her case.


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About the writer
Bruce Shapiro is national correspondent for Salon News.

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