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Settling for less during the holiday break

By Ed Goldman

After ripping open an envelope containing a check made out to me, it took me less than a minute to call my wealth-and-windfall adviser, Beau Nanza. “Beau,” I shouted into the phone, “I just got my dough from the ‘Fischer, et al. v. Instant Checkmate, LLC Settlement!'”

“I’m watching ‘Wheel of Fortune,'” he said. “Can this wait? You should see what Vanna White’s wearing.”.

“Beau,” I said, “hit ‘pause’ on your TiVo. This can’t wait. Besides, when you play it back, you’ll be able to have Vanna walk in slow motion or backwards.”

I heard some clicks from Beau’s remote and knew I had him. He hasn’t been the same since his wife Rosanna left him for a Door Dash delivery guy who bore a strong resemblance to Pat Sajak when Pat was in his 40s. “Wheel of Fortune” had always been a central theme in their married life; but since Sajak retired, “Rosanna couldn’t sit through the show,” Beau had told me one Saturday night over Happy Hour mocktails at a Thai-Tex-Mex-Kosher-fusion restaurant whose owners let him eat there for free for not reporting them to immigration authorities or, even worse, Benjamin Netanyahu.

Picturing him now settled into what he called his “uneasy chair”—Rosanna had spitefully left with its back cushion—I knew he’d want to end this chat pronto so he could start goofing around with his remote’s playback choices. “Let me get right to the point,” I said. “I just received a check equal to one of my residual payments for my most recent book.”

“The civil lawsuit settlement.” 

“Right. And I’m wondering about investing it right away in a tax-deductible instrument or fiscal shelter or fund hostel, whatever the hell you guys call them,” I said. 

I could hear a louder click than before and realized Beau had turned off his TV entirely. “Look,” he said, “income like this isn’t reportable unless it’s at least $600. And since you told me it was equal to one of the residual payments on your most recent book, I have to assume it was five bucks or less.”

I laughed, snorted and inwardly sobbed simultaneously. “Ooooh, much more than that, Beau!” I said with utterly false bonhomie.

“Six bucks?”

“Hah!” I honked. “Not even clo—”

“Seven bucks,” he said.

“Seven dollars and 41 cents!” I jubilantly cried, declared, proclaimed, trumpeted, promulgated and avouched while privately wondering where I’d left my hard-copy Thesaurus. (Incidentally, the comedian Steven Wright has wondered why there’s no other word for Thesaurus.)

I heard Beau click the TV back on but he paid me the courtesy of not immediately un-pausing the frozen image of Vanna White in mid-swan across the stage. Then, when I thought I’d lost him, he said, “Waaaait a second, guy. I just Googled the settlement. You were supposed to receive from $82 to $137 in California.”

Faced with an amount that was, respectively, 11 or 18 times more than what I received, I did some rid-fire Googling of my own and landed at the website PeopleConnectRightofPublicity.com, which informed me:

“Those included [in this civil lawsuit] who submit valid claims will receive an equal share of a settlement fund that Defendants will provide for each state, after all notice and administration costs, incentive award, and attorneys’ fees have been paid. Individual payments are expected to be as follows for each state: Alabama, $577 to $960; California, $82 to $137; Illinois, $635 to $1,058… .”

“Beau,” I said when I caught my breath, “you’re right. But I also have a question.”

“Make it fast,” he said. “I just un-paused Vanna and have her walking backwards, then forwards, in fast motion. I may add a little dance music in the background.”

“What are the legal liabilities of my claiming I lived in Alabama or Illinois at the time the lawsuit was filed? People there are respectively getting from $577 to $960 and from $635 to $1,058!”

“I’m not a lawyer,” he said, “but let me suggest one word of caution to you.”

“And that is…?”

“Fraud.”