A high roller gets his Just Desserts

And somehow it made him known to someone you would never expect – Lawrence Brown, the man accused of murdering Georgina (Vivi) Leimonis at Just Desserts, the café, Mr. Givens once owned.

The Globe and Mail
December 8, 1999

A high roller gets his Just Desserts
Café owner’s secret life of big money and hard drugs now lies in ruins.
Peter Cheney

Once there was a cabin cruiser, a Porsche and a $2.5-million house in an exclusive Toronto neighbourhood. There were spur-of-the-moment trips to Europe, $3,000 dinners and $600 sunglasses.

They are all gone now, part of the glittering wreckage left behind when Jeff Givens’s dream crashed to earth. Now, he lives with a girlfriend on a shaded street in the wrong end of Tampa, off a strip lined with used-car lots, pawn shops and discount liquor stores.

Mr. Givens has left behind a long wake of trouble and complication. In Toronto, there is a divorce file as thick as several phone books, plus numerous lawsuits and the smoking ruins of his business empire.

And then there is Mr. Givens’s secret life, in all its manic, half-remembered majesty – a parallel existence of nocturnal adventure and mysterious disappearances that connected him with worlds other than his own.

It took him to after-hours clubs and to cocaine dealers, and it put a stolen .32 –calibre semiautomatic handgun in his hands.

And somehow it made him known to someone you would never expect – Lawrence Brown, the man accused of murdering Georgina (Vivi) Leimonis at Just Desserts, the café, Mr. Givens once owned.

Ms. Leimonis’s killing on April 5, 1994, was one of the most infamous acts of random urban violence in Canadian history. But it may have been less random than it first appeared.

In the only face-to-face interview Mr. Brown has given since his arrest, he said Mr. Givens was not a stranger to him. “I knew about him,” he said. “He was around.”

Their worlds should never have overlapped.

Mr. Brown, who is awaiting a jury’s verdict on a charge of first-degree murder, was an aspiring rap star and petty criminal who grew up in a Toronto housing project called The Jungle. He hung out with people who sold crack and dealt guns on the street.

Mr. Givens was a successful entrepreneur who lived in north Toronto, gave generously to charities and held black-tie company dinners at the Four Seasons hotel. Mr. Brown refused to elaborate on exactly how it was that he knew Mr. Givens. His reticence in not surprising, since a connection with Mr. Givens could only be seen as incriminating, to be added to the evidence already presented against him at his trial.

Mr. Givens denied knowing Mr. Brown or two other men still charged in the case, O’Neil Grant and Gary Francis. “If they knew me, it wasn’t like ‘Hey, Jeff, how you doing?’ ” he said. “It wasn’t anything like that.”

But there were many other admissions. In an emotional interview in Tampa, Mr. Givens acknowledged that his life in Toronto had facets few would have imagined. “I was mixed up,” he said. “I would admit to that.”

Mixed up was an understatement. His life was so complex that it was as though there were two Jeffrey Givens.

The first was the public one: loving father, successful businessman and charmer extraordinaire, the motivating force behind one of Toronto’s better-known restaurants.

The second was the hidden one: A cocaine addict who carried a gun, a man who came under police surveillance, a man who lived in fear of forces he had somehow invoked – and made others afraid as well.

That was the Jeffrey Givens described by Wolter ten Cate, an accountant who worked for him from 1994 to 1995. “Jeffrey was never civilized,” Mr. ten Cate said in a 1997 affidavit. “There was always this feeling of threat. He could charm the birds out of the trees, if he wanted to. And then, Jekyll and Hyde, turn around and be an absolute beast.”

Until the night Ms. Leimonis was killed in his restaurant, Mr. Givens seemed to lead a charmed life.

He had grown up in a middle-class home, but went on to make millions. His father, a Jewish refugee, arrived in Toronto in the 1940s with $5 in his pocket and built a new life in Canada, working as a furniture designer and raising three sons.

After high school, Mr. Givens studied architecture at Ryerson Polytechnical Institute, but did not finish the course. He was a gifted but erratic young man who applied incredible energy to the things that interested him – and none to the things that didn’t.

Mr. Givens had a rapid, calculating intelligence and a way with people. After leaving Ryerson, he drifted into a job as a doorman at a nightclub called Rooneys, where his skill with people made him a hit.

He later became a clothing salesman for Jordache and Guess, setting records for his output. “He could sell anything to anybody,” a friend said. “He was unbelievable.”

In 1989, Mr. Givens decided that he wanted to own his own business. He came up with the idea of buying Just Desserts, a café in Toronto’s trendy Annex neighbourhood.

He had a partner lined up, a woman named Janet Moriarty, but he needed $170,000. He did not have the money, but he had plenty of nerve and ambition. “It’s not a problem,” he told his wife, Caroline. “I’ll get it.”

Mr. Givens applied to the Federal Business Development Bank for a startup loan and got $50,000. He raised $120,000 more by borrowing from friends.

Mr. Givens and Ms. Moriarty took over Just Desserts in May, 1989.

With its pink neon sign and black storefront, the café was a Toronto fixture. It had an allure known to those in the restaurant trade as the juju, an exclusive commercial karma that is conferred on a select few establishments. It drew an upscale crowd that thought nothing of dropping $15 for dessert and a cup of coffee.

The café was down the street from Designers Walk, a collection of upscale stores where monied Torontonians and personal shoppers went to choose home accoutrements such as watered-silk wallpaper, Italian quarry tile and $10,000 Sub Zero stainless-steel refrigerators.

Across the street from Just Desserts was the fur-storage department of Creeds. Just a short walk away was the office of Clayton Ruby, a well-known lawyer who was sometimes seen tooling through the neighbourhood in his red Maserati.

When Mr. Givens acquired the restaurant, it was grossing about $400,000, but was only marginally profitable. Part of the reason was the high prices it paid for supplies, particularly the high-end cakes that were the staple of its menu. Many of the cakes came from Dufflet, a Toronto bakery that was considered the BMW of pastry-makers.

“We were paying $3.75 for a piece of cake and selling it for $3.25,” Mr. Givens said. “It was crazy.”

He set up a new supply chain. The cakes would be made at a bakery owned by his brother, reducing the cost, and he negotiated with Sealtest Dairies for a discount on milk.

Mr. Givens brought an intensive personal energy to the operation, overseeing even the smallest detail. He overhauled the menu. He imported special light fixtures that looked like giant incandescent bulbs. He made sure there were always fresh-cut flowers, and he chose the music that played overt the sound system.

When there was a lineup, he served coffee to the people standing outside.

Early in 1990, Mr. Givens bought out Ms. Moriarty and became the sole owner of the burgeoning operation. The restaurant was now bringing in more than $1.25-million, more than three times what it grossed before he had bought it – and with a higher profit margin.

Mr. Givens decided to begin franchising his operation. His goal was to have 35 stores by 1995 – “35 by 95.” He set up a bakery called the Wizard, which would supply cakes to all other stores. He also set up a construction company called Hammer-in-Hand to build the new stores.

Mr. Givens sold the franchises through a corporation called AAJJ investments. The initials were the first letters of the names of his first four children.

By 1993, he had sold 24 stores at $280,000 apiece. The terms of the deal gave Mr. Givens 3 per cent of every store’s take.

His accountant told him that the company was pulling more than $23-million a year.

“It was like God gave me a gift, “ Mr. Givens said of his good fortune. “People came to my store, and they came out with a smile.”

The success brought a lifestyle to match.

Mr. Givens and his family lived in a $2.5-million home on Alexandra Wood, a leaf-shaded North Toronto enclave. He travelled continually with his family, always flying first class. They would jet to Florida for the weekend and book into the penthouse suite at the Don Cesar in St. Petersburg. The bill was $1,800 (U.S.) a night.

Mr. Givens went through a succession of high-end cars, including BMW and two Porsches. He bought a Harley-Davidson Fatboy motorcycle – the model ridden by Arnold Schwarzenegger in Terminator 2. Then he bought two more, nearly identical to the first.

The Harleys were an intrinsic part of Mr. Givens’s image, along with the custom-made boots and black jeans he favoured. When he went to work at Just Desserts, he often parked one of the Harleys next to the door.

Mr. Givens seemed to have it all. But behind the façade of success was a complex and troubling reality. He was tangled up in a messy series of business disputes. At one point, he and his companies were named as defendant in 23 lawsuits. There were continual troubles with Revenue Canada over his personal taxes and later over almost $500,000 in goods and services tax that was allegedly collected but never remitted.

The business troubles were compounded by a series of personal problems. In 1989, he was convicted of assaulting his wife during an argument that erupted as they drove along a street near Just Desserts. Mr. Givens pulled her hair and punched her so hard she needed medical treatment.

Then there was a conviction (later overturned on appeal) for failing to appear in court on a traffic violation.

In 1993, he was charged with assault after an alleged road-rage incident near Just Desserts with another driver. Mr. Givens hired lawyer Edward Greenspan to represent him. He was acquitted.

Those were just some of the incidents that began to suggest Mr. Givens’s hidden depths. There would be more to come.

His spending was enormous. He bought two custom powerboats. First came a 28-foot Regal Commodore, built in Florida. Then he replaced it with a 42-footer.

He once bought his children $600 worth of teddy bears at Holt Renfrew in a single visit. He wore Jean Paul Gaulthier sunglasses that cost $600 a pair at Karir, a tony Yorkdale shop.

On his trips to Florida, he often took $25,000 in cash for a single weekend, and spent it all. His American Express bills often ran to $40,000 monthly, cataloguing a long list of extravagant purchases that included a $3,000 dinner at a deluxe restaurant called Acrobat, hand-tailed suits, custom-made Italian shoes and boxes of hand-rolled cigars.

Mr. Givens tipped big and he always insisted on picking up the tab. He lavished money on even the most minor items – when he stopped at a Chinese takeout stand with a friend to buy two egg rolls, he paid with a $20 bill and told the counterman to keep the change.

To those who knew him best, his high-roller act was less impressive than it appeared.

For example, the palatial home on Alexandra Wood did not belong to him. It was rented from a member of the Reichmann family, who later sued him for not paying the rent.

That was not a unique situation. Mr. Givens had a growing reputation as a man who did not pay his bills. One who learned this the hard was Garbe, the owner of a leasing company that supplied Mr. Givens with business equipment and car.

Mr. Garbe spent years trying to get back a leased BMW and $18,412 in arrears. His experience left him marvelling at the restaurateur’s chutzpah. “That guy never gives up,” he said. “He’s a dude – someday he’s going to be in a movie.”

In fact, the real story of Mr. Givens’s life had many of the elements for a film. Behind the smiling public face was an intense and troubled personality. By the late 1980s, he had developed a cocaine problem that got worse as time went on. He would sometimes disappear for four or five days at a stretch without telling his wife or his co-workers where he was.

According to court documents, Mr. Givens would turn off his cell-phone and hole up in a motel during his disappearances. There he would pace and snort cocaine to “get the aggravation out,” as he put it in an affidavit.

He refused to say exactly whom he was associating with during his disappearances, but one of his friends told Ms. Givens that he had spent time with a motorcycle club called the Loners.

Mr. Givens’s secret life was summed up in a court document: “The respondent would consume cocaine with parties unknown.”

In an affidavit, Mr. Givens said the binges were usually monthly, but escalated to biweekly after he was convicted of spousal assault in 1989. As part of his bail conditions, he attended a Buffalo rehabilitation clinic, but quit after a week. He later admitted that his cocaine in-take increased during his stay.

After his binges, Mr. Givens would reappear at Just Desserts as though nothing had happened. The success of his restaurant was a constant in a life that had become increasingly erratic. In his private circles, Mr. Givens’s behaviour was the subject of increasing concern, but to the outside world, he remained a paragon of success.

All that changed with the event that put Mr. Givens restaurant on the national news and later turned the spotlight on himself.

Ms. Leimonis was killed on the night of April 5, 1994. Mr. Givens had stayed home that night because his youngest daughter was running a fever after getting a booster shot.

He and his wife were lying in bed. About 11:30, the phone rang. His wife picked up the receiver. It was Balasz Ari, the Just Desserts evening manager. He told Ms. Givens to put her husband on the phone. She passed it to him, then watched the colour drain from his face.

When he hung up, Mr. Givens was in shock. “Something’s happened,” he told his wife.

By the next morning, the story had gripped the city, then the country. Ms. Leimonis was one of the last people you would expect to die a violent death. She was a 23-year-old hairdresser who lived with her father and was noted for her quiet decency.

On the night she was killed, Ms. Leimonis had gone out for coffee and cake with a friend. They had sat at the best table in the café, set in the bay window that overlooked Davenport Road. Moments after the waiter delivered Ms. Leimonis’s food, three young black men entered the restaurant, one of them armed with a sawed-off shotgun.

The customers were herded into the back, where they were herded into the back, where they were stripped of their wallets and jewellery. As the robbery went on, the gunman panicked and fired. Ms. Leimonis was the only person hit. She spoke her last words in the ambulance: “Tell my mother I love her.”

The investigation centred on a surveillance video that had been captured by a hidden camera. The video ran on television every day, and stills from it were reproduced in papers from coast to coast.

Mr. Brown and three other suspects were publicly identified on April 11, the day of Ms. Leimonis’s funeral.

Mr. Givens was cast in the role of corollary victim, a businessman who had suffered one of the worst PR disasters imaginable. Two days after the killing, he was photographed as he added a bouquet of pink orchids to the pile of flowers that had accumulated in the doorway of his restaurant.

In an emotional interview, he said the restaurant would be torn down and rebuilt as a shrine to Ms. Leimonis.

Mr. Givens seemed devastated by the killing. Unknown to most, he gave Ms. Leimonis’s family $5,000 to help pay for her funeral.

To the public, the story was shocking yet straightforward, a narrative of coldhearted crime and heartbreaking loss. On April 11, 1994, thousands turned out for Ms. Leimonis’s funeral. She was buried in a white wedding dress – a Greek Orthodox tradition in the death of an unmarried woman.

But within Mr. Givens’ private universe, unexpected forces seemed to have been set in motion. He received a number of disturbing phone calls at his home and office. “We know what’s going on,” one caller ominously.

Mr. Givens’s wife told friends she thought that they were under surveillance or that someone was stalking them. In fact, Mr. Givens had turned up during a police surveillance operation, apparently after buying cocaine.

There were other odd elements to Mr. Givens’s goings-on.

Just months before the robbery, for example, Mr. Givens had put a new security system in Just Desserts, including a hidden surveillance system. A coin-sized lens was placed in a rear partition wall, connected to a video camera in the basement.

He said the security system was prompted by a series of troubling developments, including a long series of break-ins that had resulted in the cancellation of the restaurant’s insurance.

That wasn’t all. One day, a young black man with an air of menace about him had walked through the restaurant, then left without saying a word or buying anything. After the man left, Mr. Givens checked the back door and found that it had been unlocked.

“It was weird,” he said. “I was scared.”

Mr. Givens’s security concerns extended past the restaurant and into his private life.

Shortly before Ms. Leimonis was killed, Mr. Givens had upgraded the security in his home, installing a monitored alarm with a dedicated line and panic buttons. He also put in several safes.

“It’s crazy. We’re living in Fort Knox,” Ms. Givens told one of her friends.

In the weeks after the robbery, ugly rumours had begun to percolate about Mr. Givens.

A former employee named Neil Amitay published an article in an underground fanzine called FIYF that painted a damning picture. The article, which was later entered into a court file, included a cartoon headlined “Jeffrey ‘Miami Vice’ Givens, Pastry Lord of the Underworld,” and showed him wearing a T-shirt printed with the words “Just Blow.”

It went on to describe Mr. Givens snorting coke, firing employees on a whim and stealing cash from the till.

Mr. Amitay described Just Desserts as a degenerate, paranoia-ridden fiefdom, with Mr. Givens at the centre, surrounded by thug subordinates, including “Peter M.,” a manager who had no “experience in the business,” but “knew how to use his muscles to keep the staff in line.”

There were also rumours that Mr. Givens was carrying a gun. His wife told friends she thought he had one in the house. Some members of the Just Desserts staff also thought that he had a gun.

On Dec. 29, 1994, Mr. Givens joined a gun club – the United Sports Shooting Range in Gormley. He attended four “probation shoots,” where he fired a .22-calibre Ruger, a .38-calibre Smith and Wesson and a Glock 9 mm.

Not long after Ms. Leimonis was killed, Mr. Givens told a friend that he was worried and that he needed a weapon. A short time later, an unregistered .32-calibre semi-automatic was in his hands.

The interesting part was how he got it.

The handgun was stolen during a home invasion in August of 1994. Also taken was more than $20,000 worth of jewellery. During the robbery, a woman was tied up and sexually assaulted.

On June 9, 1995, police executed a search warrant on Mr. Givens’s home after getting a tip from a street source. The search turned up two items stolen in the home invasion: the handgun and a tennis bracelet. Metro Toronto holdup squad officers said there was “no connection” between Mr. Givens and the robbery where the gun had been obtained.

But there was. Four men were convicted of the home invasion. One was a man named Edwin Harris, who had worked for Mr. Givens as a chauffeur and assistant.

Mr. Givens had met Mr. Harris through a friend who had employed him at his T-shirt shop. Before that, Mr. Harris had worked as a doorman at a nightclub close to Lawrence Heights, the neighbourhood where Mr. Brown and the other men accused in the Just Desserts case had grown up.

None of that was known to police or the Crown when Mr. Givens went to the Scarborough provincial courthouse on Oct. 30, 1995, to face a charge of possessing stolen property. He was accompanied by his lawyer, Mr. Greenspan, who had negotiated a plea bargain. Mr. Givens pleaded guilty and received a fine.

The connection between him and Mr. Harris was never raised.

Last month, Mr. Givens was asked why he did not tell the police about the connection between himself and Mr. Harris. “No one asked,” he said.

By 1996, Mr. Givens’s world was starting to come apart. In 1996 alone, he and his companies were named in 10 lawsuits. One of them was filed by the Toronto-Dominion Bank, which was suing AAJJ Investments over a defaulted loan for $138,709.57. Revenue Canada was after him for $492,000 in unpaid GST and source deductions.

In 1997, Mr. Givens’s wife sued him for divorce – the 24th suit filed against him or his companies since he bought Just Desserts. Mr. Givens left their home with his clothes stuffed into three plastic garbage bags.

When their case went to trial, his wife arrived at the courthouse surrounded by a team of guards wearing wireless microphones. She told the judge that she was afraid of Mr. Givens and that she had spent $45,000 on security.

In affidavits, she and her lawyers cited a disturbing series of incidents and allegations, including:

  • Ms. Givens said she had been emotionally and physically abused for 10 years. She said Mr. Givens had once threatened her by saying he could have someone “blow my brains out” in exchange for a bag of cocaine.
  • Accountant Wolter ten Cate said he was owed money by Mr. Givens’s company but did not try to collect because he was afraid. “He felt intimidated and threatened by the respondent,” his affidavit said. “He had been told by an AAJJ employee, Kelly Taylor, that the respondent was a cocaine user and carried a gun. He had also been told by an ex AAJJ employee, Sid Seymour, that the respondent had threatened to have a biker gang go after him.”

The divorce marked the end of Mr. Givens’s high-rolling days in Toronto. His franchise empire had collapsed. The flagship Davenport Road store where Ms. Leimonis had been killed had never recovered. It was finally pushed into bankruptcy in 1997.

When Mr. Givens listed his assets for the court, virtually nothing was left. “The parties have very few real assets between them,” he said in a responding motion. “The companies owned by the petitioner and the respondent, respectively, owe substantial amounts to Revenue Canada, and most have liabilities that vastly exceed their value.”

Both Mr. Givens and his wife now live under vastly different circumstances.

Caroline Givens resides in a rented home in Newmarket, north of Toronto, with the five children she had with Mr. Givens plus a sixth child who was born later. She collected social assistance.

She refused to talk about Mr. Givens, except to say: “For all the years I was married to him, I never really knew him. Everything I learned about him, I learned after the divorce.”

In 1997, Mr. Givens moved to Tampa, where he tried to resurrect his fallen empire by starting a business called Jeff’s Desserts. Once again, he found himself caught up in a series of disputes, and he is no longer associated with the operation.

In 1998, he moved out of his apartment, cancelled his phone and moved in with a girlfriend. He can be contacted only through a pager.

When a visitor from Toronto showed up in his driveway, he was surprised: “How did you find me here?” he asked.

Then Mr. Givens talked about his life in Toronto. He sometimes wept as he told his story – as when he described arriving at his restaurant on the night of the shooting, only to see a seven-year-old boy who had been inside during the crime walking out with his parents.

He talked about how the killing had destroyed his business, and then his reputation. “I built this company from scratch,” he said. “I made a dream happen. And now you’re going to make me out to be a bad guy. How are people in Toronto going to see me? A bad guy. But the allegations from the street aren’t true…

“I did drugs because I was sad,” he said. “I wasn’t a drug dealer. I was a drug buyer…I’m a guy who had some troubles. I had problems. I continue to have problems. I work on them every day.”

Mr. Givens said that if Mr. Brown and the other accused men knew him, it was a one-way relationship: “They didn’t know me. They knew of me. And what did they know? That I had money. That’s it.”

He said it had been a mistake to display his wealth. “Most people don’t show what they have. I did. I had no idea that it could get someone hurt. Now I know that it’s better to be quiet and keep to yourself. If God were to give me another chance, I would do it that way.”

That was one regret among many.

Mr. Givens was asked to sum up how he felt about the troubled life he led in Toronto and about the possibility that he had somehow established connections, known or not, that had brought the robbers to his restaurant on that spring night in 1994.

He cried once again, then gave his answer: “It makes me think I should have been a different person than the one I was.”

WITH A REPORT FROM ANDREW MITROVICA

Leasing company taken for a ride on a BMW

PETER CHENEY
The Globe and Mail, Toronto

The battle of the BMW taught Alby Garbe more than he wanted to know about Jeffrey Givens.

Mr. Garbe’s company had leased a 1988 BME 535 IS – a limited-edition sports model, fire-engine red, with a black leather interior – to Mr. Givens in October, 1989.

By the time he got his car back and the money owed him, it was 1995.

Soon after Mr. Givens leased the BMW, he began falling behind in his payments of $756 a month including tax.

But that didn’t stop him from asking Mr. Garbe for a Porche Turbo. Mr. Garbe turned him down- he was not about to give up an even more expensive car.

He talked with Mr. Givens about the delinquent account. He found him incredibly charming. But he wondered about some of his connections – Mr. Givens told him that Harold Arviv, the notorious disco bomber, was the godfather of one of his three sons.

As Mr. Givens’s unpaid balance rose, Mr. Garbe began to have serious misgivings. Then he heard that another company had given Mr. Givens the Porche Turbo he had been looking for.

In the summer of 1991, Mr. Givens stopped paying Mr. Garbe entirely.

When Mr. Garbe called, Mr. Givens was pleasant and told him to come to Just Desserts to pick up the keys for the BMW. When he showed up, Mr. Givens told him that he had forgotten the keys. They rescheduled. Again, Mr. Givens said he had forgotten the keys.

A few evenings later, Mr. Garbe drove by Mr. Givens’s house on Alexandra Wood in north Toronto. The BMW was sitting right out in front. Mr. Garbe knocked on the door. Mr. Givens answered the door himself. Mr. Garbe told him he wanted the car. By this point, Mr. Givens owed him $18,412.

Mr. Givens said, “Just a minute,” then disappeared upstairs. Mr. Garbe heard the sound of typing. It went on for several minutes. Then Mr. Givens reappeared. He handed Mr. Garbe a sheet of paper. It was a release saying Mr. Garbe could have the BMW, but could not sue Mr. Givens for any money he might owe him.

Mr. Garbe’s heart was pounding. “I can’t sign that,” he said. “It’s ridiculous.”

Mr. Givens told him that if he did not sign, he would never get his car back – he would park it behind his wife’s every night so it could not be towed away.

Mr. Barbe went outside and used his cellphone to call a towing company. A truck came 10 minutes later. Mr. Givens ran out of the house, but could only watch as the BMW was hooked up and hauled away.

Mr. Garbe had his BMW back at last. Next, he had to get his money – a task that would take three more years.

In October, 1993, Mr. Garbe took Mr. Givens to court. As the case went on, he noted that Mr. Givens ran in and out of the courtroom repeatedly. “It was weird,” he said.

Finally, the judge ordered Mr. Givens to pay Mr. Garbe.

In February, 1994, Mr. Givens gave him a cheque for $5,000. In March, he gave him $5,000 more. On June 28, he gave him another cheque for $5,000, but it came back NSF. It took until Dec. 16, 1994, to get a new one. On Nov. 15, 1995, Mr. Givens finally finished paying Mr. Garbe: He gave him a cheque for $4,783.48.

In the meantime, Mr. Garbe heard that the Porsche Mr. Givens had leased from the other company was stolen under what were described as “mysterious circumstances.” The insurance company paid it off.

Some time later, one of Mr. Garbe’s leasing representatives took an application for a Mercedes sedan. Something about the application, made under a company name, rang a bell with Mr. Garbe. He checked to see who owned the company. It was Mr. Givens.

The lease was not approved.


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