The Injustice System, It Could Happen to You

By Ronarose Train

THE INJUSTICE SYSTEM, It Could Happen to You is a frightening account of the abuse and negligence rampant in our judicial and prison system. Sam and Marilyn Gray appointed their banker and trusted friend Steve Miller as Chairman of the Board of their casino ship operation. He also acted as treasurer of the family enterprise. When the Grays learned that Miller had embezzled millions of dollars from his bank and laundered the stolen money through their casinos, they had no idea he would swear they were involved in his crime. Sam believed they need only tell the truth to be exonerated. He was wrong.

• Language: English
• Publisher: White Station Publishing LLC
• Release date: Jan 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781734628159

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A White Station Publishing, LLC Production

Text © 2022 by RONAROSE TRAIN

Copyright © 2022

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Requests for permission to make copies of any part of this work should be sent to address below:

White Station Publishing, LLC

www.whitestationpublishing.com

First Edition

Book layout and cover design by Ira S. Van Scoyoc

Printed in the United States of America

DEDICATION

IDEDICATE THIS WORK TO ...

Sam and Marilyn Gray, for their courage and determination, and their trust in me,

My family, for their patience,

And always to L.A., who loves and supports me in all ways.

...Ronarose Chafetz Train

INTRODUCTION

Sam and Marilyn Gray worked hard, raised their children with love, and looked forward to retiring in comfort. Their lives changed forever when the FBI informed them that their trusted banker had embezzled millions and implicated them as accomplices. The Grays believed they were repaying a multi-million-dollar mortgage loaned by his bank. They had the documentation to prove it. The embezzler claimed they knew they were laundering stolen money.

This is their story. Names of people have been changed or omitted, but all other facts, incidents, and references are real and true.

Sam and Marilyn put their faith in the American judicial system. They only needed to tell the truth and justice would prevail.

They were wrong.

THE NIGHTMARE

ONE

The intercom buzz interrupted my concentration. I absentmindedly tapped the speaker button on my desk phone while still checking our P & L report. The numbers looked good.

My receptionist sounded perplexed. "Sam, there’s a guy on the phone asking for you. Says he’s a reporter from the Toledo Blade."

Why would a reporter from Ohio be calling me in South Carolina?

She sighed. All I know is what he told me. Says he wants confirmation.

Of what?

Didn’t say.

As long as the bottom line showed another profitable week in our casino ship enterprise, I could spare a minute. Well, put him through.

Thus began the nightmare.

A man’s voice asked, Is this Sam Gray, owner of Stardancer Corporation, operating out of the Myrtle Beach area?

Curious, I turned my attention to the caller. I am. Who’s this?

He ignored my question. You know an Ohio banker named Steve Miller, right?

I do.

Well, sir, Mr. Miller is in FBI custody. Embezzlement.

I laughed. Who put you up to this? I know a practical joke when I hear it.

The receptionist rushed into my office and breathlessly whispered in my ear. Sam, two FBI agents are on their way from the parking lot. Tommy just called from the gate to warn you.

Right. I chuckled at the thought of somebody going to so much trouble to pull this gag on me. Or maybe not.

I returned to the so-called reporter. Whoever you are, this isn’t funny. I hung up and told my receptionist, Better ask Marilyn to join us. We’ll see what this is about.

As I put the spreadsheet in a drawer, my beautiful redheaded wife walked in. Eyes narrowed, she leaned across my desk. What’s going on?

We’re about to find out. It must be a joke. 

I’m not so sure. Just got a call from Tommy at the parking lot. She sounded worried. He didn’t know if those guys are really FBI, but their badges looked official. He hopes you won’t fire him for letting them onto our property.

Tommy guarded our passengers’ cars while they enjoyed a few hours’ entertainment on one of our casino ships, and occasionally called us if there was a problem with a returning customer too drunk to drive home. This was unusual. I shook my head. They must have been convincing.

Her forehead creased in concern. Could they be for real?

Can’t be. I was never surer of anything. Steve Miller was no embezzler. Harold wouldn’t have recommended Steve if he didn’t trust him.

She nodded. We trusted him, too. She paused. If you think about it, Sam, our friend Harold only knew Steve’s brother George.

I remembered that introductory conversation and now saw it in a new way. You’re right. We were looking for a favorable loan to buy another casino ship and Harold said his friend’s brother was a banker who might be interested in talking to us.

Marilyn and I looked at each other. After more than 40 years of marriage, we knew each other’s thoughts. We had reached the same conclusion: this might not be a joke.

I heard my receptionist greet the visitors, soon followed by the sound of footsteps approaching my open office door. With a smile, I stood and gestured to the two grim-faced men to come in. Seeing their solemn expressions, I didn’t offer to shake hands. Have a seat. I indicated the guest chairs. I’m Sam Gray and this is my wife, Marilyn. I sat behind my desk. Standing next to me, Marilyn squeezed my shoulder as I asked, What’s this about?

Mrs. Gray. Mr. Gray, the older man said with a nod to each of us. The two men took badges from their sport coat pockets and displayed them for us to view. They seemed real. But how could I recognize an authentic FBI badge?

The cards they handed us bore an FBI seal. Special Agent Jenkins. Special Agent Lee. They looked official, and so did the men, with their closely shaved haircuts, dark sport coats and somber ties. The younger one carried a briefcase emblazoned with the seal. No longer smiling, I sat on the edge of my chair, unsure what to expect.

What can we do for you? I asked. Why are you here?

Jenkins cleared his throat and leaned slightly forward. Having seen enough movies and television dramas to know that his stance and direct stare were meant to intimidate me, I purposely remained calm and expressionless.

You are acquainted with Mr. Stephen Miller of Lima, Ohio, correct?  Marilyn and I nodded in acknowledgement. Did you know Mr. Miller embezzled money from his bank?

We just heard that, I said, but it can’t be true. You can stop the prank, now. We’re not that gullible. I smiled, waiting for them to grin and admit the joke was over.

The men continued to glare at us. Their serious demeanors indicated they were either excellent actors or actually FBI agents. Agent Lee spoke up. So far we find that he embezzled approximately one hundred million dollars over twenty years. He paused, and I suspected they were evaluating our reaction. For five of those years, he’s been laundering that money through your casinos.

You guys are good, I said, still hoping this was a gag. A hundred million dollars? I shook my head. Who put you up to this?

We assure you we are who we say we are, the older agent said. This is not a laughing matter.

Marilyn dug her fingers deeper into my shoulder. I glanced at her, noticing her eyebrows raised in a questioning expression. I could not believe what I was hearing, and saw that she, too, was confused.

We had operated gambling junkets for several years. From our Georgia home base, we chartered private planes and flew gamblers to properties in Las Vegas, Atlantic City, and Mississippi, among others. We made friends in the hotels and learned the intricacies of the gaming business. When we had an opportunity to purchase a casino ship, we arranged financing from various investors.

Our family enjoyed working together as we added ships and ports to accommodate the growing enterprise. Marilyn handled various company expenditures and employee matters, while our children held management positions. Some of their friends worked for us as well. With my background as a CPA and years of developing and selling various companies, always in partnership with Marilyn, we had built another successful business. 

After we met Steve Miller, Vice President of Oakwood Deposit Banks in Lima, Ohio, he became the primary source of funding for our Stardancer enterprise. We developed a friendship, and soon named him Chairman of the Board. He also acted as treasurer of our company. We trusted him.

My frequent angina attacks and recent heart surgery prompted me to consider retirement. Though I had health issues, I expected to have several more years with Marilyn. Now in our sixties, we planned to sell our successful casino ship business soon and retire in comfortable circumstances. Even if what they said about Steve Miller were true, I couldn’t imagine this embezzlement revelation having any bearing on our future.

That naiveté altered when Agent Lee produced a document from the briefcase and handed it to me. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Look at this. I handed the paper to Marilyn. Steve says we knew that we were laundering money.

Marilyn’s eyes widened as she read the lies Steve Miller swore.

You can’t believe he’s telling the truth, I said to the agents.

The men ignored my comment and Agent Jenkins continued in his serious tone. Were you aware that your loans were funded from stolen money?

I tried to remain calm. In a matter-of-fact manner, I explained our history. Marilyn and I have owned several businesses over the years and dealt with numerous banks. We’d been approved for millions of dollars and paid it all back.

I opened file drawers. Take a look. I pulled folders out and spread their contents on the desk. There were loan agreements on Oakwood Deposit Bank letterhead, cancelled checks payable to the bank, letters on bank stationery. These are legitimate. You can see, they’re normal, just like the documents for our loans from other banks.

You did not know that these are fraudulent?

I can’t believe it, I said again. We can give you copies. Check them out and you’ll see they’re real.

Marilyn gathered some of the documents and Agent Lee stood. I’ll help you.

She and I shared a wondering glance. Did he not trust her?

Marilyn nodded. Sure. The two left me alone with Agent Jenkins.

Tell me about your involvement with Steve Miller.

Steve’s been a great help in growing our business and a friend from the moment we met him. While we waited for Marilyn and Agent Lee to return, I related the progression of our relationship.

Steve was among the speakers at our fortieth anniversary party. He said he’d only known us a few years, but we were like family.  ‘Of course,’ he added, ‘Marilyn’s the brains in the family, as well as the beauty, and we tolerate Sam.’ That got a big laugh. Then he said that he’d never known finer people. The agent showed no reaction as I continued. We thought the same of him. We hugged each other and toasted to many more years of friendship and association. I shook my head. I’m not going to believe any of this.

Not yet.

Jenkins nodded knowingly. Embezzlers typically establish close relationships with anyone useful.

Marilyn returned with the sheaf of copies, and Lee put them in the briefcase.

Those should prove our point, I said. You’re welcome to check them out with the bank.

Their solemn expressions and polite thanks for our time did little to reassure me. They left, carrying the full briefcase.

Marilyn collapsed into my embrace. I promised her that this would blow over when the agents investigated further. Assuming our explanation and documentation proved our innocence, I didn’t realize we should have immediately called an attorney.

Instead, I sat Marilyn in my chair. Calm down and let’s find out what’s going on. I’m calling George Miller. We need to know what his brother did and why the hell he involved us.

I put the call on speaker so Marilyn could hear. George’s words shocked us even further. It’s true, he confirmed. Steve implicated me, too. He’s frantically trying to reduce his time.

That’s unconscionable, I said. Accusing his own brother!

You have to understand his desperation, he said. Steve’s facing fifty years in federal prison. He’s naming anyone he can.

You mean if he throws enough against the wall . . .

Right.

It’s not going to stick to us. We had no idea your brother was embezzling.

Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.

I ended the call and looked at Marilyn. Are you satisfied?

I don’t know what to think.

We chose to wait and see if anything further would develop.

TWO

Though Steve Miller had claimed we were involved or at least complicit in the laundering scheme, Marilyn and I knew we were innocent. As time passed and we did not hear from the FBI, we began to relax. We thought that no news was good news. 

Several years after their visit, the FBI phoned me to arrange another interview. It seemed that this problem was not going away, and this time I took the situation seriously. After hiring an excellent law firm in Jacksonville, I deposited their retainer of $150,000 into a dedicated bank account. My attorneys scheduled the FBI meeting in their office.

The same two agents met with us, and Jenkins politely confirmed the official end to life as we knew it. Mr. Gray, we are here to advise you that Steve Miller, formerly of the Oakwood National Banks, declared that you and Marilyn Gray were complicit in his embezzlement operation.

I shook my finger at the agent, though I really wanted to use my fist to punch the despicable Steve Miller. At the top of my voice, I said, That’s a flagrant lie! Our attorney held my arm to pull me into my chair. Before he could speak, I continued, Give me a polygraph test, I insisted. I’ll do it right now.

The attorney’s kick brought me to my senses and interrupted my tirade. His glare directed at me indicated I had spoken more than I should. However, the agents seized the opportunity.

Marilyn and I drove from our home in Johns Creek, Georgia, to Jacksonville, Florida, for my appointment to take the polygraph. Unwilling to miss more than one day of work, we left our house in the early morning to drive the six-hour trip for our noon appointment. We checked in, gave our names to the receptionist, and waited on folding chairs until a man introduced himself to us.

After learning that Marilyn was not my lawyer, he asked Will your attorney be arriving shortly?

I don’t need an attorney present, I said. I did nothing wrong.

With no further comment regarding my remark, he said, Very well, then, and escorted me to a small office. I’ll first ask you for basic information, explain the test, and answer any questions you have about the procedure.

It all seemed understandable, and we proceeded.

Mr. Gray, Mr. Gray, the interviewer prodded, and I realized I had dozed during the testing.

I’m so sorry. I shook my head. I didn’t realize. Can you repeat the questions I missed?

That’s not allowed. We’ll have to reschedule.

What a waste of everyone’s time, I said. For the next appointment, we drove to town the day before and spent the night in a hotel.  I still chose to have no attorney present. There was no need for one. We were innocent.

A top-level FBI interviewer from New York spent a couple of hours questioning me. After the test he assured, Mr. Gray, I don’t believe you would ever cross the line for money. Good luck to you.

I appreciate that. Would you give that statement if there’s a trial?