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7-Up vs. Coke, Part 2: From dot-com darling to disaster, the spectacular flameout of Andrew Gladney. Heir to a fortune, Andrew Gladney went from John Burroughs to Yale and came home to found Savvis Inc. Then he squandered it all.


Editor's note: This is the second part of a two-part story. Read Part 1 here.

On December 14 of last year, FBI agents arrested 45-year-old Andrew Gladney at his home in Clayton. He was indicted six days later on federal extortion charges stemming from threatening e-mails sent to a Virginia man and jailed at the Jennings Police Department.

He awaits trial there at the order of U.S. Magistrate Judge Mary Ann Medler, who has deemed him a "danger to the community." Gladney's wife of two years, Susan Wu, whom law enforcement officials believe he may have subjected to physical abuse in the past, now visits him for the allotted fifteen minutes twice a week.

When he graduated from high school back in 1980, Gladney's classmates at John Burroughs predicted that by age 28 he'd be "Chairman of the Board of the Coca-Cola Company."

Though it was a riff on the wealthy Gladney's family ties — his grandfather, Franklin Gladney, was a co-founder of the 7-Up Company — by the mid-1990s the soft-drink scion was indeed running his own business, having launched the Internet startup Diamond.Net (soon to be renamed Savvis Communications Corporation) and assumed the dual role of president and CEO.

But beneath the big-time boardroom veneer of success lurked less-glamorous realities. By the time Savvis held its initial public offering, Gladney had been cast aside. A second ambitious Internet-based sports media venture, MAX Broadcasting Network, went belly-up almost before it got off the ground.

And now, as the fabric of his marriage was fraying, Gladney spiced up his trust fund-draining lifestyle by embarking on a new love affair — with cocaine.

Big time, all the time!"

It was the MAX Broadcasting slogan, but as one former colleague puts it, "it's how Andrew lived his life."

Money was a main accessory. A Harley, a Porsche, a $30,000 stereo system, lockers at private clubs — Bellerive, Racquet, Fox Run — Gladney relished them all, not to mention family heirlooms like his mother's Steinway piano and his father's antique guns.

He refused to marry in 1992 without a prenuptial agreement, and was insistent — despite Cindy's efforts to change the clause — that in the event of a divorce he would never pay alimony. (She acquiesced.)

Ex-Diamond.Net/Savvis employees recall Gladney carrying wads of hundred-dollar bills. He held court Fridays after work at the old Ramon's Jalapeño in Clayton, regularly picking up the tab. Gladney also fancied himself a ladies' man, former associates say. "I always called him a buck in rut," Gary Zimmerman remembers. "If you went out to lunch with him and a good-looking woman walked by, the next thing you knew he'd be off trying to get a date with her."

It was during Diamond.Net's first year of business that Gladney's marriage dissolved. Cindy complained of her husband's alcohol and drug use and infidelity, going so far as to include in court documents an allegation of "an attempted sexual relationship with [her] sister." Gladney in turn griped that Cindy was controlling and uninterested in him sexually. The couple's only child was nine months old when they separated.

Tim Roberts says the domestic drama caused collateral damage: "I teamed up with Cindy, and that ended Andrew's and my relationship."

Gladney's wandering eye is also said to have contributed to his demise at Savvis. For years stories of questionable after-hours activities at the office had swirled among the rank and file. (Dick Ford, John McCarthy and then-company president Clyde Heintzelman did not respond to requests for comment for this article.)

The Gladneys fought it out in a five-day trial in 1997. In the end they shared custody of their son. Cindy failed to obtain alimony and Andrew kept the couple's home on Picardy Lane in Ladue. His girlfriend, Jeanie Haines, a Savvis employee, moved in.

And for a time Gladney kept up his lavish lifestyle. According to a New York Times real estate article from 2000, Gladney and Haines were looking forward to spending part of that summer in a $25,000-a-month East Hampton rental on Long Island. But by early the following year, MAX Broadcasting was no more and Gladney was out of work.

In the spring he was arrested on a felony drug charge for delivering cocaine to a woman at the (since-shuttered) T.G.I. Friday's on Brentwood Boulevard. Represented in court by Scott Rosenblum, Gladney received three years' probation and a suspended sentence.

Around the time of the arrest, Gladney struck up a relationship with a nineteen-year-old woman from Springfield, Illinois. Subsequent court records indicate the two met via an Internet sex chat room for which she worked part-time, where paying customers could chat with her online or by phone and watch her simulate various sex acts. The first night Gladney telephoned her, the woman would later state in a sworn deposition, she gave him her personal number.

Gladney and the young woman — he knew her by her middle name, Rachelle — got together three times in St. Louis. What enticed her, she'd later say, were his promises of cocaine and cash. "I was desperate for money," she stated in her deposition.

Rachelle said she and Gladney consumed copious amounts of cocaine on all three visits. They fooled around in the former MAX Broadcasting office and engaged in sexual acts with a male friend of Gladney. Rachelle testified that Gladney claimed he "really liked men" and "was really into" watching gay couples have sex. She didn't resist when Gladney and his friend tied her legs behind her head during the sex acts, she said under oath.

"I really did enjoy this last weekend," she wrote to Gladney in an e-mail, according to the court file, "you have brought out Rachelle, the part of me that I love most."

But Rachelle's view of the relationship changed after their third "date," on April 11, 2001. It began on a Friday afternoon at the MAX office, she stated in her deposition, and continued with a visit to a strip club before another romp through the office for more cocaine and foreplay with one of Gladney's female friends.

In the evening, Rachelle and Gladney checked into room 1415 at the Ritz-Carlton in Clayton. There, Rachelle stated, Gladney asked her to put makeup on him. He invited the resident in the room next door to engage in sex with the couple, she testified, and he invited two bellboys into the room, separately, and she performed sex acts on each while Gladney watched.

After a shower, Rachelle testified, Gladney tied her up. He "proceeded to bite my legs," she stated. When she attempted to pull away, she alleged, "[h]e slapped my face and slapped my clitoris and he told me that he would only ease up if he wanted to...." Rachelle testified that Gladney bit her on numerous other parts of her body and wrapped the tie from a terrycloth robe around her neck until she cried.

Eventually Gladney left. Court papers indicate that Rachelle woke up the next morning and ordered room service for breakfast, then departed as well. Sometime later she went to police.

In May 2001 the St. Louis County Prosecuting Attorney's Office charged Gladney with two felony counts of sodomy and one count of first-degree assault.

Gladney's girlfriend Jeanie Haines, who was pregnant with his child, left him. His ex-wife, Cindy, requested that his custody rights to their son be rescinded, alleging that the boy was in his care at the time of his arrest.

Gladney, still out of work, strenuously fought the charges. He was prepared to go to trial, according to attorney Rosenblum, who says he intended to prove that the alleged victim was sexually active with other men at the time, and to argue that the relations between his client and Rachelle were entirely consensual.

On October 4, 2001, Gladney's second son was born. Haines had taken him back, and by Halloween Gladney had further cause to celebrate: County prosecutors had reviewed the case and decided to drop all charges against the new dad.

Joe Taylor was working late on a summer evening in 2004 when he heard the click-clack of the door to his office suite unlocking. The attorney peered into the lobby and beheld a muscular man, shirtless and wearing a pair of camouflage cut-offs, stumbling in. "He's holding a stepladder and a light bulb, and he's clearly drunk, and I say, 'Can I help you?'" recounts Taylor, a local attorney. "He says, 'I bought the building. I'm your new owner. I came to change a light bulb.'"

The landlord — Andrew Gladney — proceeded to "jaw" at breakneck pace, Taylor says, about the million-dollar professional and residential condos he envisioned for the building. Gladney suggested Taylor should stick around as a tenant.

"You play Ping-Pong?" Taylor says Gladney suddenly blurted. "Come with me!"

Hoping to detach himself as politely as possible from what was becoming an increasingly bizarre encounter, the attorney followed Gladney to the latter's office, where his new landlord began rifling through papers on his desk. "He lifts up a piece of paper, and there's a mound of what appeared to be — and most certainly was — cocaine, sweeps it into his hand, eats it and chases it with a Diet 7-Up," Taylor says.

"I was shocked," the lawyer adds. "Because he had no idea who I was, and he didn't give a shit. And then he goes: 'Let's play!'"

For Gladney, it had been a couple of tumultuous years.

Jeanie Haines had left him in 2002, this time for good. According to a Division of Family Services report in a court file, she was fed up with his alleged addictions to drugs, alcohol, sex and gambling. Gladney had twice gone to rehab but was kicked out once and failed once, according to a statement Haines made to a DFS social worker. The exes had become embroiled in a custody battle. That made two for Gladney, who was still fighting Cindy for guardianship of his elder son. Clayton Police Department memos document several occasions on which officers stood by at Gladney's townhome, at the women's requests, on the days his sons' visits with him ended. Both Haines and Lee had sought protection orders against Gladney, alleging that he repeatedly threatened them.

Court papers also show that Gladney's fortunes were diminished; though he was getting by on $8,750 a month in 2003, among other alleged debts he owed $175,000 to friends and family.

But in the summer of 2004, Gladney (who handily dispatched Joe Taylor at Ping-Pong) was finally getting into a new line of work. He and a former Savvis employee, Joel Crater, had formed G&C Capital in January 2003, in order to develop real estate. For months they worked to seal a deal on their first property, the 1903 Hadley-Dean Glass Building, and on June 1, 2004, they closed, paying $1.6 million.

An attractive brick seven-story set back from Washington Avenue at 1101 Lucas Avenue, the Hadley-Dean was the longtime home of locally based megadeveloper McCormack Baron & Associates (since renamed McCormack Baron Salazar). Shabbiness notwithstanding — it was last renovated in the early 1980s — tenants like Taylor were enraptured with the building's exposed brick, lofty ceilings and expansive windows.

"His architectural renderings looked really exciting and wonderful, and the neighborhood was coming back," says Ken Keiser, another long-standing tenant who was so taken with Gladney's luxury plans, which included a downstairs restaurant and a rooftop pool, that one of his companies bought a second-floor unit before renovations began. "At that time Andrew was very articulate and charming, with real goals and visions."

Another Gladney convert was chef Claus Schmitz. A native German, Schmitz had worked in London, New York and Australia and had moved to the United States in 2003 to marry. He met Gladney and Crater while managing and tending bar at his brother Frank's restaurant, BARcelona in Clayton. Gladney, Claus Schmitz recalls, was "boisterous" and "eccentric," "an excitable chap" — all qualities the 45-year-old chef enjoyed.

The Schmitz brothers, along with Frank's then-partner Mike Johnson, had aimed to spin BARcelona into a small-scale regional chain, but in early 2004, for a variety of reasons, the men abandoned the plan. When Schmitz spoke of opening his own eatery, Crater and Gladney proposed the perfect location.

"There was nothing but vagrancy down here then," Schmitz recalls. "No retail, and for restaurants just Pablo [Weiss, owner of Kitchen K], who was so generous and who said, 'This place is going to be something!'"

Schmitz recalls celebrating an amusing Fourth of July that year at the Kimmswick estate of Gladney's Aunt Lucianna, with Gladney and his cousin, John Ross — well known around town as a gun enthusiast and firearms instructor — entertaining friends by shooting into the Mississippi River. Two weeks later a lease for the Hadley-Dean's ground floor was drawn up. Plans were made for Crater's and Gladney's company — now called Downtown North Development Group — to become a minority owner in the restaurant, to be dubbed Mosaic.

Unlike Joe Taylor, Schmitz doesn't recall any initial misgivings about Gladney. "Although he was exuberant," the chef says, "he was not out of whack."

In early 2007 Claus Schmitz sat down for a glowing Q&A with St. Louis Magazine in which he was asked what advice he'd give to would-be restaurateurs. "If you're not business-savvy, find a partner who is," Schmitz replied. "That being said, choose your partners wisely."

By then Schmitz must have been kicking himself for the choice he'd made.

When Mosaic opened in December 2004, the local food press showered praise upon Schmitz's tapas and the gorgeous interior design by Baseline Workshop. But two former bartenders have unpleasant memories that go all the way back to the eatery's earliest days.

Aimée Boss, then 28, of Belleville, and Morgan Hagedon, then 25, of St. Louis, claim that from the moment Mosaic opened, Andrew Gladney sexually harassed them.

Boss quit on January 19, 2005; Hagedon was gone by the end of February. On July 14 of that year, the two went to the Missouri Commission on Human Rights and filed charges of discrimination, alleging that Gladney's offensive behavior had forced them out.

"From the beginning there was trouble with Mr. Gladney," Boss states in her harassment claim. "He cursed, using the word 'fuck' over and over again and shouted at me and other bartenders. He screamed 'Don't point your fucking finger at me!' and 'Get your fucking ass over here and make me a drink!'"

According to Boss' statement, Gladney visited the bar nearly every night and came on to her from day one. She claims that an encounter on January 19, 2005, when Gladney had two friends in tow, precipitated her resignation:

"He pulled me over and whispered to me that I should make sure that I do 'whatever and anything it takes to please' his guests and him. Later that night he invited me to 'party' after work with him and his friends. He used the term 'party' to refer to using drugs and sexual conduct. He also asked me to drink some shots so that I would 'loosen up' because according to him 'you always act like you are on your period.' He told me to come up to his office and do cocaine with him. He said cocaine 'will relax you while you suck my cock.' Then he said he would do the coke while I gave him oral sex. He went on and on about how he wanted to do coke in parts of my body and on top of my breasts.... He told me repeatedly that he wanted me to 'suck his dick' while he does coke. Then he suggested that I call my fiancé so that Mr. Gladney could perform oral and anal sex on my fiancé. He went on like this and with even more explicit detail for quite some time."

Boss states that the general manager, Gregg Doyle, stood behind the bar "the whole time Mr. Gladney made these comments," and that after an hour, she escaped to the building's loading dock and burst into tears. When Doyle and Schmitz found her outside, she asserts, the former "excused Mr. Gladney's behavior by saying, 'He's on too much blow.'" She states that Schmitz apologized for Gladney's actions and Doyle tried to talk her out of quitting.

In interviews with Riverfront Times, Doyle and Schmitz tell a different version of the encounter. They say Boss was shaking so hard she couldn't articulate the problem, other than to suggest that Gladney had been rude. Schmitz says he summoned Gladney outside and the two got into a shouting match. The chef says Gladney denied acting inappropriately and suggested that Boss wanted to sleep with him. Whereupon, Schmitz says, he banned Gladney from the premises.

Adds Doyle: "I was unaware of drug use. If I'd observed anything like that, he would've been evicted even sooner."

Boss left work that night and never returned. Doyle says he tried unsuccessfully to call her for several weeks afterward in an attempt to get the full story.

In her discrimination charge, Morgan Hagedon echoes many of Boss' allegations. Hagedon notes that Gladney "often had a large crowd with him" and "would run up nightly tabs of $200 to $300." She states that if he found a female employee unattractive, "he would refer to her with derogatory terms, such as 'fat cow.'" The attractive employees, on the other hand, were invited to "party" with him.

Hagedon claims that Gladney proposed sexual threesomes and touched female employees inappropriately. She states that he drew pictures on napkins of the outfits he thought she should wear and wanted to take her shopping for "sexy clothes."

Hagedon also states that she related Gladney's "offensive" behavior to Schmitz and Doyle but that they "did not do anything to actually stop or change the situation."

The women both claim they were forced to quit because Gladney made them uncomfortable, and because they believed that Schmitz and Doyle would permit him to do whatever he wanted, rather than risk alienating a part-owner and high-paying customer.

"As far as I'm concerned, he did what Aimée said he did," Schmitz says today. "I have no reason to believe she lied. Out on the loading dock, it was clear she was frightened."

He adds that Gladney had crossed boundaries from the start. "I'd have to say, 'Get out of this kitchen, this is not your business!' or, 'Stop playing with this music! This is my music!'"

But he and Doyle both strenuously deny that they turned a blind eye to Gladney's alleged harassment. Prior to the January incident with Boss, Schmitz says, "Nobody told me anything."

Schmitz says he convened the female staff after Boss left to ask whether any other employees had had problems with Gladney. "They all said something generally, like he's exuberant and sometimes rude, but other than that, no problems.

"Morgan continued to work [after Boss quit], and never said a word," Schmitz adds. "Nothing ever happened to Morgan, I assure you."

The women's discrimination charges were forwarded to the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, which conducted its own investigation. In January of last year, Schmitz was informed that the agency had concluded Mosaic had violated the bartenders' civil rights, and in September the EEOC filed a civil lawsuit against Mosaic in U.S. District Court in St. Louis.

Hagedon did not return several phone calls requesting comment for this article. Boss could not be reached. Felix Miller, the EEOC attorney handling the case, did not return repeated messages.

But, says Mary Anne Sedey, a plaintiffs' attorney who represents the women, "There are statements from independent witnesses corroborating two things: One, Mr. Doyle and Mr. Schmitz were around to observe Gladney's behavior, and two, other female employees observed him and experienced him behaving in the same way. At this famous meeting that Gregg and Claus called after Aimée quit, they put it on the staff: They said, 'You're not to fraternize with customers,' as if [the incident with Boss] was the staff's fault.

"Gladney was very conspicuous. He came in and behaved like a big shot, and they permitted him to do that," says Sedey, adding that the EEOC's advocacy in this case is worthy of note. "It is very rare that the EEOC brings one of these lawsuits, because they have limited resources, so they only do so when they feel there's a meritorious claim."

(According to EEOC statistics, the agency received 12,679 sexual harassment claims in fiscal year 2005, the year Boss and Hagedon reported their complaints. Of those, 50 percent were deemed meritless; only 8 percent — about 1,000 — were found to have reasonable cause. The Boss-Hagedon case is one of 87 sex-harassment lawsuits filed by the EEOC in 2007.)

Schmitz plans to fight the suit, which is slated for trial in March 2009. He says the government offered him a settlement of $75,000 a year ago, but he refused it. Last fall Schmitz rebuffed another olive branch, this time for $100,000, he says.

"I don't care how much money it costs me," says the chef. "If I settle, my name is worth nothing."

Claus Schmitz doesn't remember when it first happened. Water, sewer, electricity — he doesn't recall which outage was threatened first, either. "From day one," he says, workmen were tromping into Mosaic in the middle of the lunch hour to cut off one utility or another.

Time and time again, Schmitz says, he pulled out his checkbook or opened the till to pay the delinquent charges, then went in search of Gladney. "In hindsight...," he says, then trails off. "Well, my lawyers tell me I can't do that to myself."

Joel Crater had withdrawn from Downtown North owing to what he perceived to be Gladney's commingling of personal and company funds, according to testimony he gave in court last year. (Crater did not respond to repeated requests for comment for this story.) Subsequently a friend of Gladney named Reuben Peters obtained shares in Downtown North. (Peters, who lives in Telluride, Colorado, recently won 500,000 Euros in a European Poker Tour event; he did not return telephone calls seeking comment.) But for all practical purposes, Gladney was flying solo as landlord.

Joe Taylor and Ken Keiser, Gladney's only other tenants, set forth a laundry list of complaints: The elevators reeked of chemicals and inspections were many years outdated; one shaft was entirely nonfunctional. The air conditioning gave out regularly during the summer; the heat rarely worked in the winter. Last year the fire alarms repeatedly malfunctioned.

Above Mosaic, the building looks orphaned, with unhinged windows, filthy carpets and holes in the floors. On a recent winter day, the temperature on the abandoned fifth floor felt glacial.

The tenants say they held out in hopes of an ever-rumored sale or foreclosure. They say they sparred with Gladney frequently, at times nearly to the point of physical violence.

But over time, they say, their landlord became increasingly inaccessible, to the point where the first of the month was the only time they could count on seeing Gladney. "He and [his wife] would be at our door at 9 a.m. for the [rent] check," recalls Taylor, "and then you'd literally see them running down the street towards the bank with it flopping in one of their hands."

On the home front, Gladney's competence as a parent was again being called into question. Jeanie Haines and Cindy Lee separately sought orders of protection for their sons just after Christmas in 2005, alleging that while the children were in his care, Gladney had secluded himself in a room for several days and consumed crack cocaine. Court papers indicate that the women had learned of the incident from a baby sitter who spoke to both mothers after Haines' son took a fall at Gladney's house and had to be treated at a pediatric clinic. "[Gladney] appears skeletal, frail, bruised and unintelligible when he speaks," wrote Cindy Lee in her protection request.

At a January 2006 hearing in Haines' case, St. Louis County Circuit Court Associate Judge Dennis Smith voiced his suspicion that Gladney had come to court while under the influence. The judge proceeded to cut off all visitation rights until further notice. Seven months later, on July 19, 2006, Haines was granted full custody. Two months earlier, Gladney had been stripped of custody rights to his elder son.

In December 2006, Ken Keiser's company, PRG Properties, filed suit, seeking access to Downtown North Development's books and compensation for damages. Last summer, after one of the Taylor & Taylor attorneys got stuck in the "working" elevator and had to climb half a flight through the shaft, Joe Taylor found office space elsewhere. His firm, too, filed suit against Downtown North.

Claus Schmitz quit paying Gladney rent in January 2007, opting to escrow payments via his attorneys. A battle of wills ensued, with Gladney demanding his money and Schmitz insisting that Gladney indemnify him against damages in the federal EEOC litigation. The chef says Gladney made harassing phone calls to his home, to his bookkeeper and to other Mosaic employees and told a maintenance contractor he was going to kill Schmitz if he didn't get his rent.

Schmitz attempted détente on several occasions. At one point last summer, the chef says, he agreed to sign a check made out to Gladney for $5,000 if Gladney signed an indemnification pact.

Gladney had instructed Schmitz to bring everything by his townhouse, but no one answered the door when he arrived. He put the check in the mailbox along with paperwork for Gladney to sign. The check was cashed, Schmitz says, but Gladney never signed the agreement. Schmitz went back to escrowing.

Ultimately, Downtown North and Mosaic sued one other in St. Louis Circuit Court.

On December 7 Judge John Garvey heard arguments in the non-jury proceeding. (Gladney had failed to attend the initial trial date of November 2.) Garvey issued a ruling one month later.

Gladney's management of the building, the judge wrote, was "abysmal," the evidence of sexual harassment on his part "uncontroverted." Garvey also noted Gladney's "overall bizarre behavior" on the stand, terming it "sometimes evasive, other times rambling, but most of the time incoherent." Wrote Garvey: "Many times during the trial, the Court had to admonish Gladney from testifying too fast. His demeanor on the witness stand was disturbing."

Garvey ruled that Schmitz may continue escrowing monthly rent in order to protect himself in the event of foreclosure, and that the restaurateur should subtract from the rent the cost of defending Mosaic in the EEOC lawsuit. Additionally, Garvey awarded Schmitz's attorneys $12,000 to cover fees and court costs and ruled that a constructive trust (essentially a lien) must be placed on any sale or foreclosure proceeds that Gladney is entitled to involving 1101 Lucas. Garvey has yet to rule on Schmitz's request to be indemnified against all potential damages in the EEOC matter.

Schmitz says he is on the verge of opening a second Mosaic downtown and a third location in Kirkwood.

"Even though we had a very ugly divorce, I could tell you good things about him," says Andrew Gladney's ex-wife, Cindy Lee, before deciding to leave it at: "He used to be a completely different person."

A Yale friend, who would only be interviewed on the condition that his name not be published, calls Gladney "one of the more entertaining people I've ever met, a great storyteller, a great joke-teller, has a magnetic personality." Gladney, the former classmate says, was "usually the life of the party — the guy who would end up singing at the end of a friend's wedding."

"He could be really kind and thoughtful — he's such a bright person," adds a former female friend. "But he was kind of a lost soul. I think he had a really shitty family life and somehow missed the self-worth chapter of his life-book."

Tim Roberts, his old partner in Savvis, thought Gladney's mother's losing battle with leukemia in the mid-1990s left him extremely lonely. "I knew if I needed money for the company I had to do whatever he said, but he was a lot more demanding about just having you around," says Roberts. "If he wanted you at dinner, there was no excuse for you not to go with him."

But it's hard to pinpoint any one moment in time when Gladney might have begun coming untethered. He is estranged from old friends. The mother of his second son has moved to northern Illinois with the boy. (She could not be reached for comment.) His sister, Hope Gladney Jessup, through Frank Gladney, declined to comment because she "[doesn't] have anything positive to say." His current trustee, Carl Lothman, did not return a phone call. A woman who answered the phone at the home of Warren Maichel, a former trustee, exclaimed, "He's not interested!" and hung up. Gladney's cousin John Ross also opted to remain mum.

The friends who attended a December hearing in U.S. District Court in order to guarantee Andrew Gladney's bond went unnamed when attorney Scott Rosenblum pointed them out to the judge.

Besides the ongoing litigation with Claus Schmitz, and the EEOC's sexual harassment allegations, and the cases with Ken Keiser and Joe Taylor, Gladney is a defendant in a number of civil lawsuits in St. Louis County Circuit Court. Among others suing him for outstanding debts is the exclusive St. Louis Racquet Club.

According to documents in his criminal case, Gladney's net worth is approximately $3.9 million. But, says Rosenblum, "His financial picture is complicated because there's a trust and a trustee involved. It's not like he can just write checks." Rosenblum says he does not know how federal officials arrived at the $3.9 million figure, nor whether it is accurate. According to Frank Gladney, his father left individual trust funds to each of his children. Upon the death of each child, the trust is to be passed to the next generation — in Andrew Gladney's case, to his two sons.

But, Frank Gladney adds, he is unsure of how his half-brother's trust is distributed today. "Four or five years ago, I learned that Andrew's trust was shifted to other trustees. I don't know them. I presume that there, too, the fiduciaries are looking after [my father's] grandchildren and trying to meet the needs of [Andrew] at the same time."

The federal felony charges against Andrew Gladney could result in twenty years or more in prison. As of last month, the government's investigation was ongoing, with the possibility of additional charges to come, according to a court filing submitted by Rosenblum.

Assistant U.S. Attorney Howard Marcus declined to comment about the case.

Noting Gladney's cocaine abuse, U.S. District Judge Medler, in her order denying bail, also made reference to "at least two Confidential Informants [who] reported that [Gladney] offered them money to allow him to have sex with their children."

Rosenblum says the cocaine issue "will be addressed as the litigation proceeds." As for the confidential tipsters, the attorney says, "I believe when that's fleshed out, as far as their credibility, if they are who I think they are, that issue will evaporate."

Rosenblum turned down repeated requests to facilitate and sit in on an interview with Gladney for this story. The attorney also declines to comment in detail about his case, calling it "inappropriate" to discuss pending matters. When asked to elaborate on a reference he made in court to Gladney's case involving "family issues," Rosenblum again demurs.

The attorney reports that his client is holding up well in the Jennings jail.

"It's definitely not Clayton," Rosenblum allows. "And Andrew understands that."

Read Part 1 here.

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