Lloyds of London Asbestosis Fraud

<br>TIME EUROPE FEBRUARY 21, 2000 VOL. 155 NO. 7 <br><br>SPECIAL REPORT <br>The Decline and Fall of Lloyd's of London A legendary institution has barely escaped bankruptcy and is now accused of perpetrating the greatest swindle ever. What happened? By DAVID MCCLINTICK <br><br>Caressed by a soft breeze, Ralph Rokeby-Johnson and Roger Bradley surveyed the forbidding fourth hole of the vintage Walton Heath golf course south of London. It was a bright Thursday in early October, 1973. <br><br>"Orator, you're not orating," Rokeby-Johnson said. "Have I upset you?" Rokeby-Johnson had been needling the normally loquacious Bradley for inside information since they'd teed off in the autumn golf outing of Lloyd's of London, the world's pre-eminent insurance market. Bradley and Rokeby-Johnson were leading executives at competing firms in the market and Lloyd's men maintained a spirited rivalry in golf as well as business. <br><br><br>But as they shop-talked their way along the first three holes, "Orator" Bradley had fallen silent, because he sensed that Rokeby-Johnson was himself harboring information that could prove explosive: the threat to Lloyd's posed by asbestos, the ubiquitous, benign-looking insulation material that was slowly but surely infecting workers in the asbestos industry with deadly lung diseases--asbestosis and cancer--prompting lawsuits and insurance claims in America. <br><br>"What can you tell me?" Bradley finally asked as they idled on the fourth tee, waiting for the players ahead to clear the green. <br><br>"What I can tell you," Rokeby-Johnson replied in a stage whisper, "is that asbestosis is going to change the wealth of nations. It will bankrupt Lloyd's of London and there is nothing we can do to stop it." <br><br>Fast forward to February 2000. Over a quarter of a century has passed since Ralph Rokeby-Johnson shared his apocalyptic vision with Orator Bradley. Legendary Lloyd's of London, pioneer of the insurance industry and synonymous with it, has escaped bankruptcy. But the organization that was once part of the very bedrock of Britannia has been devastated by losses including massive compensation claims from American workers afflicted by asbestosis and lung cancer. The wealth of nations may not have changed dramatically, but Lloyd's fundamental character has changed, and thousands of Lloyd's investors--the so-called Names who pledge all their personal wealth to underwrite insurance policies issued by Lloyd's syndicates--have been ruined. <br><br>The decline and fall of Lloyd's, like all engrossing tragedies, has been building to a spectacular d?nouement. The final act is now upon us and waiting in the wings are a group of Names who could yet prove to be Lloyd's nemesis. These are the dissident investors, including members of the so-called United Names Organization, who have refused to settle their asbestos-related debts with Lloyd's because, they claim, they are the victims of a massive and calculated swindle. Back in the 1980s, they argue, Lloyd's duped them into becoming Names by fraudulently misrepresenting its profitability and concealing the ruinous asbestosis losses that were in the pipeline. <br><br>Do they have a case? The truth, they say, will soon out. Later this month, in what could prove to be the trial of the new century, the Lloyd's dissidents will claim in England's High Court that they have been the victims, not just of negligent underwriting, but of one of the greatest fraudulent conspiracies of all time. They will argue that they were recruited to Lloyd's at a time when the 300-year-old institution knew it was facing massive asbestosis claims and needed extra capital to absorb its forecast losses. The dissident Names will further charge that this massive fraud was not the work of a few posh-mannered, money-grubbing Lloyd's underwriters, but was condoned and indeed orchestrated by the Lloyd's hierarchy itself. <br><br>Sir William Jaffray, a former Name, is one of the dissidents scheduled to take the stand when the case, named after him, opens on Feb. 28. He has no hesitation in alleging fraud at the highest level. "By the late 1970s," he told Time, "the Committee of Lloyd's knew they were facing a crisis and by 1982 the hierarchy knew that Lloyd's was bust. The only way they could keep going was to suppress the asbestos information, cook the books to ensure they were still showing profits and go after new investors." Jaffray claims that in 1982, the year he became a Name, Lloyd's closed its accounts fraudulently under the orders of the then chairman Peter Green. "The books should have been left open to acknowledge the exposure still out there," Jaffray argues. "If I and other investors had known then what the hierarchy and insiders already knew about Lloyd's exposure to asbestos and the losses in the pipeline, I would never have signed up. We were the victims of a massive swindle." <br><br>John Melville Donner, an investor and retired executive who worked at Lloyd's for 40 years, the third generation of his family to make a career there, says bluntly that Lloyd's perpetrated "one of the greatest commercial and political crimes of the 20th century." Thomas Seifert, a New York lawyer representing several angry American Names, goes even further. "The facts are clear," Seifert asserted in a letter to British Prime Minister Tony Blair dated Oct. 7, 1997. "Lloyd's has committed the largest, most extensive and pervasive fraud in history." <br><br>Harsh words to go with high stakes. If they lose, many of the dissidents will surely be ruined. Not only will Lloyd's come after them for the money they have so far refused to pay to meet the losses of their syndicates--about $44.5 million--but they will be hit by legal costs totaling further millions of dollars. If, on the other hand, they can show that the Lloyd's hierarchy knew about the asbestosis time bomb and failed to stop syndicates from fraudulently recruiting new names to spread their losses, or even encouraged them, then the outlook for Lloyd's will be bleak indeed. <br><br><br>Having denied wrongdoing for so long, Lloyd's would find its credibility in tatters and its efforts to build a new Lloyd's seriously compromised. <br><br>Lloyd's denies the allegations of fraud (see box) and will defend itself vigorously in court. "Lloyd's is confident that [the allegations] will ... be rejected," says a Lloyd's spokesman. How seriously it views the upcoming proceedings can be judged from the 48-strong team of lawyers and para- legals from the leading London law firm Freshfields and Lloyd's own legal department it has deployed for its defense at an estimated cost of upwards of $32 million. But as the dissident Names set out their evidence it may well be that Lloyd's, even if acquitted of fraud, will not emerge from this trial with its motto Fidentia--or confidence--intact. And as the trial exposes the dirty linen of the past thirty years, it is hard to imagine investors taking seriously the ancient principal of insurance underwriting which has supposedly governed Lloyd's down the years: Uberrima Fides, or utmost good faith. <br><br>TIME's investigation of the events leading up to the Jaffray trial lends some support to the idea that the explosive information of the kind that Rokeby-Johnson shared with Roger Bradley in that conversation on the fourth tee at Walton Heath golf course in 1973 became widespread knowledge among Lloyd's insiders in the years that followed. Those were the years when certain Lloyd's syndicates, with the apparent backing of the Lloyd's hierarchy, made a determined effort to recruit new Names to boost the market's capital base. <br><br>Did Lloyd's top brass endorse this rapid expansion with the legitimate aim of growing its business? Or was there, as the likes of Jaffray claim, a more sinister motive: the need to recruit suckers to help pay for asbestos claims which threatened to overwhelm the market? Was it mere coincidence that many new recruits ended up on the syndicates most exposed to the asbestosis risk? Was it also a coincidence that back in the early '80s, key insiders began laying off their asbestos exposure onto other syndicates? <br><br>Such questions will now be answered in an English court. But even if Lloyd's wins the upcoming trial its legal troubles are far from over. The European Commission in Brussels is questioning British compliance with E.U. insurance legislation. But more ominous for Lloyd's is what lies in wait in the U.S. Although most attempts down the years by ruined U.S. Names to sue Lloyd's for fraud haven't succeeded, largely for procedural and jurisdictional reasons, there are clear indications that the legal tide may be turning in America. The U.S. government itself may soon be getting into the act. The Department of Justice, in the person of the U.S. Attorney in New York City, is currently conducting an intensive, criminal investigation of Lloyd's. Senior federal investigators probing fraud, conspiracy and perjury allegations have interrogated witnesses recently in both the U.S. and Britain. The U. S. government is increasing the resources it has committed to the investigation. <br><br>Meanwhile, in California, a pivotal civil case is scheduled to go to trial early next year. <br><br>The suit, brought by Lloyd's investor David West and his daughters, Deborah and Susan, charges that Lloyd's defrauded them in much the same way it allegedly defrauded the Jaffray Names. Lloyd's has more to fear from the West suit, however, because it is easier to prove fraud in the U.S. than in England, and the California state court, where the case will be heard, has been more sympathetic to Lloyd's Names than U. S. federal courts. <br><br>As these things so often do, the Lloyd's debacle began with an obscure person in an obscure place. In 1969, a dying insulation installer, Clarence Borel, began a lawsuit in federal District Court in Beaumont, Texas, against 11 asbestos-insulation manufacturers alleging that they had known of the dangers of working with asbestos but had failed to warn him. Four years later, a federal appeals court ruled that the companies were liable for damages. Other asbestos workers sued--in small numbers at first, then by the hundreds, then by the thousands. Eventually, damage awards would soar into the billions of dollars and threaten the financial viability of asbestos companies such as the Johns-Manville Corporation, which carried liability insurance (but not enough, it turned out) for such contingencies. The insurer of last resort--the most exposed to a tidal wave of claims--would be Lloyd's. <br><br>It was this revelation, grasped then by only a few people, that Ralph Rokeby-Johnson confided to Roger Bradley on the Walton Heath golf course in 1973. <br><br>Along with yachting, golf was an important entr?e to the persnickety Lloyd's social culture. Membership of the club was by invitation only and it was on courses like Walton Heath, carved out of a jungle of heather and gorse in Surrey in 1904, that social and commercial bonds were forged. These bonds could--and did--lead to an incestuous insider culture which was lambasted as early as 1969 in a report produced by former Bank of England governor, Lord Cromer. The report had been commissioned by Lloyd's itself in the wake of 1965's Hurricane Betsy, which cost the average name $120,000 and caused Lloyd's membership to fall for the first time in a century. But it was speedily buried because it turned out to be too embarrassing. Cromer warned that Lloyd's was not only outmoded, but riddled with "conflict of interest." It was thus fitting that the huge insider trading scandal now alleged by angry Names should have been foreshadowed by two Lloyd's insiders sharing a round of golf. <br><br>"Well, Orator, has Green got all his reinsurance for asbestosis in place?" Rokeby-Johnson asked as their game progressed. <br><br>Bradley paused. "Peter seems relaxed," he replied. <br><br>Peter Green, a second-generation Lloyd's man, keen yachtsman, social mover, future knighted Lloyd's chairman and Bradley's boss in the Lloyd's trading room in London, was indeed laying plans to avoid the asbestos threat. But his plans were top-secret. Had Rokeby-Johnson got wind of them? <br><br>"Has he got enough reinsurance?" Rokeby-Johnson pressed. "Has he got it placed offshore?" <br><br>Bradley, addressing his lie on the narrow fairway, fell silent. The "reinsurance" to which Rokeby-Johnson referred was the universal practice of spreading risk. If Insurer A insured a risk, he then typically "reinsured" all or part of it with Insurer B, who then reinsured it again with Insurer C. The governing principle of reinsurance, established over centuries in law and custom, was the Latin maxim Uberrima fides. If Insurer A disclosed all the elements of the risk in laying it off on Insurer B, the contract was valid. However, if Insurer A intentionally concealed important facts, the contract could be voided. <br><br>Roger Bradley was chilled by the questions. Rokeby-Johnson sounded as if he knew more about the sensitive matter of asbestos than he was letting on. Bradley said nothing further until Rokeby-Johnson pressed him on the fourth tee as they looked out across a stretch of unforgiving heather that would swallow any ball hit less than 100 meters. It was when Bradley pressed back that he elicited the melodramatic declaration that he would remember vividly a quarter of a century later: <br><br>"Asbestosis is going to change the wealth of nations. It will bankrupt Lloyd's of London and there is nothing we can do to stop it." It was conceivable to Rokeby-Johnson that the Bank of England might have to intervene to prevent a meltdown at Lloyd's causing serious damage to the City of London's reputation as a business center. <br><br>Admonished by their partners to stop the shop-talk, Bradley and Rokeby-Johnson dropped the subject until after the game when they settled with drinks in a corner of the tweedy bar of the clubhouse. <br><br>"Were you serious about asbestosis destroying Lloyd's?" Bradley asked. <br><br>"Of course," Rokeby-Johnson replied. On the back of his scorecard, he then proceeded to calculate that Lloyd's could be swamped by claims far in excess of the market's ability to pay--perhaps as much as $120 billion by the year 2000. <br><br>"Do you mean 'million' or 'billion'?" the incredulous Bradley asked. <br><br>"Billion," Rokeby-Johnson stressed. "It's the time bombs that worry me." <br><br>"What are the time bombs?" <br><br>"The time bombs are the young victims [of asbestosis] who will gradually develop lung disease. When they die, the lawyers are going to have a field day. Pick a figure, but it won't be far off what I've told you. See whether I am right. I shall be gone long before you." <br><br>Rokeby-Johnson, who managed to dodge more of the asbestos losses than many of his clients, now enjoys a comfortable retirement in California and South Africa. He told Time last year that he found "nothing offensive" in Roger Bradley's account of their Walton Heath conversations. That account is also contained in sworn affidavits filed with authorities as disparate as the High Court of Justice in London, a British parliamentary investigative committee and the Attorney General and District Court of the State of Utah. It's understood that in the upcoming Jaffray trial, Lloyd's will attempt to rebut Bradley, who has been an occasional paid consultant to the dissident Names. <br><br>"What Rokeby-Johnson knew," Bradley said in his affidavit, was that Lloyd's of London had written liability insurance for American asbestos companies since the 1930s (actually, reinsurance on their insurers), that the policies were still in effect, and that they were generally unlimited. There were no maximum amounts where the insurance stopped paying, and no diseases were excluded from coverage. The potential damage awards--and Lloyd's exposure (it had insufficient reinsurance itself)--were limitless. <br><br>The day after the golf match, Bradley recounted the conversation to a senior Lloyd's colleague who warned him against repeating it to anyone else. It seemed to Bradley then that at least a few Lloyd's insiders were aware of the looming asbestos problem even as they recruited new Names to bolster the market's capital base. <br><br>And recruit they did. The number of names soared beyond 7,000 in the early '70s to 14,000 in 1978 and reached over 34,000 by the late '80s. After nearly three centuries of genteel, discreet one-by-one recruitment in Britain, Lloyd's salesmen fanned out across the world, especially North America, touting Lloyd's as an exclusive club offering secure investments to only a select few who qualified for membership. According to many of these new recruits, the Lloyd's sales pitch promised not only risk-free profits, but the opportunity to join an elite and prestigious "society" which had existed for 300 years and whose membership included titled British aristocrats. New investors signed up in droves. As one Name recalled later, "You don't need to drop the names of many English earls to attract a bunch of North American dentists." <br><br>Among the recruiters dispatched to the U.S. was Charles Parnell, an avid golfer who moved about American cities with his golf clubs in tow. Parnell worked for Rokeby-Johnson and for David Coleridge, an even more senior Lloyd's underwriter. <br><br>Coleridge and Rokeby-Johnson had been contemporaries at Eton, where Coleridge had been the coxswain and Rokeby-Johnson the No. 7 oarsman on the second-string crew. Coleridge, a descendent of the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, would go on to become the deputy chairman and eventually the chairman of Lloyd's. Rokeby-Johnson also wielded increasing influence at Lloyd's through leadership of key committees, including the group that monitored the asbestos problem. <br><br>To help their U.S. recruitment drive the three men enlisted the aid of big brokerage firms such as E. F. Hutton (now owned by Salomon Smith Barney, a part of Citigroup) and paid them substantial commissions to introduce them to potential Names. But the smooth talking was left to the Lloyd's men themselves. "No one in your office will be required to spend any of their valuable time explaining the advantages ... in joining Lloyd's," Parnell wrote to a Hutton officer in April 1977. "You will be required only to introduce us to prospective interested persons--I think it important that this 'thing' must be handled with care." <br><br>Parnell wooed investors at meetings that E. F. Hutton arranged at places like the plush Pacific Union Club on Nob Hill in San Francisco. The payments to Hutton violated the stated policy of Coleridge's underwriting company, Sturge, whose brochure promised, "We do not pay any introductory commissions nor provide financial reward to companies or individuals through whom new Names are introduced." <br><br>According to investigators for the State of California, which brought a lawsuit in federal court in Los Angeles, Coleridge, Rokeby-Johnson and Parnell, as well as other Lloyd's insiders, conspired to defraud investors by lying to them about the risks of Lloyd's investments, especially the losses likely to be caused by massive asbestos claims as well as potentially huge claims from environmental damage at sites such as the Love Canal. The California State Government lawsuit was settled by a compromise so these charges were never tested in court. Amongst them were claims that Lloyd's recruiters led potential investors to believe that the "unlimited liability" clause in their contracts with syndicates was a "mere formality," part of an initiation rite into an exclusive club that had been in business for 300 years without loss. <br><br>These charges have been revived by David West, who is now suing Lloyd's in a California state court. He claims he was told that the risk of loss was "purely theoretical ... the risk to Names was effectively minimized and controlled." <br><br>Lloyd's recruiters used the same sales pitch in New York, Texas, Ohio, Illinois and elsewhere in the U.S. Another major Lloyd's underwriter, Stephen Merrett, who would become deputy chairman of Lloyd's, was particularly active recruiting big names in New York. <br><br>And even as Lloyd's salesmen were emphasising the exclusivity of their club and recruiting many big fish, they did not neglect the smaller fry, thanks to a decision by Lloyd's itself to lower the wealth barrier to membership. The net worth requirement was cut below $1 million, a discount that sucked in many recruits whose assets were not up to the risks involved. <br><br>While penetrating the ranks of dentists, doctors, civil servants and retirees around the world, Lloyd's did not neglect its core constituency, the rich and famous of England. In the late '70s it landed former Prime Minister Edward Heath; Frances Ruth Shand Kydd, the mother of Diana Spencer, who would become the Princess of Wales; Camilla Parker Bowles, who would become the mistress of the Prince of Wales; and hotelier Rocco Forte. <br><br>Back in the U. S., Lloyd's snared some of the savvier people around as well as the glamour-struck dentists: Stephen Breyer, a Harvard-trained lawyer and jurist who, in 1994, would be named by President Bill Clinton to the Supreme Court of the United States; Wall Street entrepreneur Dan Lufkin, a founder of the renowned investment firm of Donaldson, Lufkin & Jenrette; millionaire businessman Bruce Sundlun, who would become Governor of Rhode Island; discount stockbroker Charles Schwab; and Wall Streeter Oliver Grace Sr., a principal of the New York Stock Exchange firm of Sterling Grace & Company. Grace was a cousin of Rokeby-Johnson, who was instrumental in selling Grace and his wife their Lloyd's investments. <br><br>What all these investors have in common, says former Lloyd's Name Dona Evans, is that they were the victims of a sophisticated confidence trick in support of the larger fraud. London-based Evans joined the Sturge syndicate in 1987, two years after Coleridge was appointed deputy chairman. She says he was present at one of the recruiting sessions when Evans, who had been alerted by newspaper articles to possible asbestos problems at Lloyd's, asked whether she could find herself on a syndicate with exposure to asbestos claims. Coleridge, so she recalls, told her not to worry about asbestos because "all this was known about and reserved for, it is all in the past, we never take risks with our new Names, this is the best time to join Lloyd's." <br><br><br>In a later meeting prior to Evans' signing on as a Name, she says Coleridge was again present when the issue of unlimited liability came up. "He was wearing a pink shirt with these exquisite gold cufflinks," Evans recalls. "He stood up and shot his cuffs and said jokingly, 'You are of course liable in theory for losses right down to your cufflinks.' It was a vaudeville gesture intended to make us take the unlimited liability issue lightly. Then she claims he added, 'In practice it never happens because it's all reinsured.'" <br><br>Now broke and a party to the Jaffray suit, Evans rejects suggestions that the Names were gullible or greedy investors in search of quick and hefty profits. "I joined in the hope of making enough money to help out with my children's school tuition. I pledged my house and lost everything. I was well aware of the unlimited liability clause but Lloyd's brushed that aside. I believed I could trust Lloyd's to look after my interests in much the same way I would trust my bank. The branch manager might run off with my money but the bank itself would protect my interests." <br><br>Evans says the clinching argument for joining came again from Coleridge, who boasted to recruits that Lloyd's was backed by its own act of Parliament. "He said, 'Parliament would never have passed the act had Lloyd's accounts and regulation not been impeccable.' I thought to myself, if Parliament has given its seal of approval to Lloyd's, what more do I need?" <br><br>"Johns Manville is a goner," Don Tayler confided to Ronald Verrall at a Lloyd's of London social gathering in February, 1981. Tayler and Verrall were underwriters for David Rowland, a leading Cambridge-educated Lloyd's insider who would become its chairman in the 1990s and be knighted by the Queen. Tayler, chairman of a small group of insurance professionals that monitored the asbestos threat, was warning Verrall of the looming bankruptcy of the Johns Manville Corporation, the world's leading asbestos products manufacturer. It was still a year and a half before Johns Manville would file for protection and reorganization under Chapter 11 of the U.S. bankruptcy law--one of the largest industrial corporations ever to do so--but Tayler had learned from private sources that bankruptcy was inevitable. He also knew that claims for damages against the company were so massive that they threatened to overwhelm not only Johns Manville but its last-resort insurers, the syndicates of the Lloyd's market. <br><br>Armed with that information, Ronald Verrall took steps to reinsure massive asbestos liability away from David Rowland's syndicate onto an unrelated Lloyd's syndicate. Verrall concealed the asbestos problem from the managers of the other syndicate and their unsuspecting Names, disguising it on the books as innocuous ship cargo he was insuring, according to records of an arbitration proceeding in London in 1990. In typical British understatement, an arbitration panel found Verrall's syndicate liable for "non-disclosure of a material fact." <br><br>Manipulations such as Verrall's are even now being combed by investigators, for it appears that the early '80s were the years when the frantic activity to spread or offload the asbestos risk got into high gear. But the Parnells and Verralls were not the only ones seeking to offload looming asbestos liabilities or who knew that insolvency beckoned. <br><br>There is evidence that as early as 1979, one of the largest banks in the world, Citibank of New York, was aware through a senior bank official of the incipient crisis. Lloyd's North American reserves, then worth about $4 billion, were on deposit at Citibank, and Thomas Hitchcock, who was in charge of the bank's international insurance business and was the bank's point man for the Lloyd's American Trust Fund, had concluded that the fund was not enough to cover Lloyd's asbestos exposure. That is claimed by Roger Bradley who says in a sworn affidavit that Hitchcock confided his findings to him over dinner in New York. <br><br>The banker's recommendation? Lloyd's should recruit still more Names. On the back of a napkin, says Bradley, the two men figured that the capital of 25,000, 50,000, or perhaps even 100,000 Names would be required to meet the coming asbestos claims. Thus Citibank may have become caught up in the effort to bring unsuspecting Names into the market--a claim made in a State of California lawsuit that was settled on non-evidentiary grounds in 1996. <br><br>Another suit, now pending in federal court in New York City and certified as a class action, alleges that Citibank breached its fiduciary duty to Names who had trust accounts at the bank. Citibank, according to the suit, looted the trust accounts of Names who owed nothing to Lloyd's to pay the obligations of those who purportedly did. A spokesman for Citibank told Time that neither the bank nor Hitchcock would have any comment because of the pending litigation. <br><br>By 1982, a flustered Lloyd's was not only worried about its financial exposure but its exposure to future litigation arising from the recruitment drive for Names. The answer was to persuade Parliament to grant Lloyd's immunity from lawsuits by the Names. Because of its exalted status, Lloyd's for centuries had enjoyed a unique freedom from regulation in Britain. Down the years Parliament had explicitly exempted Lloyd's (in so-called private acts) from the laws that applied to the insurance industry at large. But now Lloyd's needed to protect itself from legal action by disaffected Names. Immunity, however, was unlikely to be granted if Parliament got wind of Lloyd's looming financial problems. In the upcoming London trial, the dissident Names will charge that in order to make itself look healthy Lloyd's and Lloyd's syndicates manipulated their finances to show false profits, thereby deceiving not only Parliament but also existing and prospective Names. <br><br>To understand these allegations one must first fathom the peculiar financial system--fundamental to the operation of Lloyd's--that the Names say was manipulated. Like so much else at Lloyd's, the system, having originated in the 17th century, was complex and unusual--"odd" and "quirky," as a committee of Parliament would later observe, "arachnoid," as a U.S. judge asserted. <br><br>Instead of figuring profits and losses and closing its books at the end of each year like most businesses, a Lloyd's syndicate waits two additional years to better account for unresolved or disputed claims. At the end of the third year, the underwriter in charge balances the accounts as best he can, estimating the size of any unresolved claims and setting aside reserves to cover them. Unresolved claims can also be reinsured assuming another syndicate willing to take them on can be found. However, if unresolved claims are still too numerous or large at the end of the third year to allow a closing of the books, the underwriter is supposed to leave his syndicate's books open until all claims are covered, even if that takes many years. <br><br>When asbestos claims began to arrive at Lloyd's, the insiders knew they would take longer than three years to be resolved. Asbestos claims were more than doubling each year from the late '70s onward. Estimates of eventual claims ranged well over $100 billion, exceeding Lloyd's total reserves and Names' combined assets. <br><br>"Lloyd's was bust and had to disguise its problems by false accounting," concluded Anthony John South, a British insurance expert and member of Lloyd's from 1968 to 1994, in a sworn affidavit prepared for the West case in Los Angeles. (South died in December, but lawyers can still use his evidence in both the West and Jaffray trials.) Under normal procedures, Lloyd's underwriters would have been barred from closing the books on the affected syndicates--even after three years--and would have had to set aside large reserves in anticipation of the claims. But Lloyd's insiders knew such moves would alert Parliament to the looming trouble and scuttle the new bill that would insulate Lloyd's against lawsuits. "Three-quarters of the market was technically bust in 1982," Jaffray claims. "But Peter Green was determined to close the books, otherwise Parliament would not have passed the Lloyd's bill." Adds Christopher Stockwell, a leader of the dissident Names in a witness statement prepared for the Jaffray trial: "[Green] ... would not have hesitated to seek to hide the problem if he believed that the interests of the market were threatened." <br><br>The insiders are alleged to have devised a two-part cover-up. First, in order to post current "profits," they used funds that instead should have been set aside as reserves against future asbestos claims. That is "fraud anywhere in the world," said South in his affidavit. Second, they formed new Lloyd's syndicates with newly recruited Names, who were oblivious to the asbestos problem, and had them reinsure the old syndicates. In effect, the old Names, typically Lloyd's insiders, passed liability for enormous potential claims to new Names, none of whom had been warned about what they were being asked to reinsure. They were like "lambs being led to slaughter," alleges a legal memorandum filed by lawyers for the family of Oliver Grace in a New York court in December, 1998. "Lloyd's ... permitted the liabilities to be rolled forward onto an expanding pool of investors ... without disclosure," concludes William H. Mohr, an assistant attorney general in New York, who conducted an intensive two-year investigation of Lloyd's. "It has been a classic Ponzi scheme, in my opinion," British investor John Finlay testified to a committee of the House of Commons in February 1995. <br><br>To succeed at these deceptions, it is alleged that Lloyd's misled its auditors as well as its Names and Parliament. At a time in the early '80s when asbestosis claims were more than doubling every year, the chairman of Lloyd's audit committee, R.J. Kiln, gave instructions that the specifics of asbestos claims were not to be mentioned to outside auditors for Lloyd's. Some auditors, however, sensed trouble. At a meeting at Lloyd's on Jan. 15, 1982, they told senior officials informally that if Lloyd's were to set aside sufficient reserves to properly anticipate asbestos claims, the marketplace would be "effectively bankrupt." A formal written warning--less blunt--followed a few weeks later, on Feb. 24, 1982. <br><br>In that warning, the chartered accounting firm Neville Russell informed Lloyd's that losses from asbestosis and related diseases such as cancer appeared to be "considerably in excess" of what Lloyd's had acknowledged and raised doubts about the adequacy of reserves. The Neville Russell letter, although judicious and understated, implied that asbestos threatened the viability of Lloyd's itself. Neville Russell spoke for auditors for more than 80% of Lloyd's syndicates. It was an apocalyptic warning. <br><br>The challenge of responding to these concerns was assigned by Lloyd's chairman Peter Green to his deputy, Walter Nicholas "Murray" Lawrence, who had attended the meeting when R.J. Kiln had ordered that asbestos details be withheld from the auditors. <br><br>Like David Coleridge, the descendant of the poet, Murray Lawrence was an Englishman of impressive pedigree, educated at Trinity College, Oxford, where he had read history and become a top amateur golfer. He also had American roots as the grandson of Nicholas Murray Butler, who had been president of Columbia University and the Republican candidate for Vice President of the U.S. in 1912, on the ticket with President William Howard Taft that had lost to Woodrow Wilson. <br><br>In his response to the Neville Russell letter, Murray Lawrence, on March 18, 1982, recommended what would have been a reversal of course--that Lloyd's Names be informed of the asbestos crisis. Had the Names received this information, it would have been harder for them later to claim a cover-up. But neither they nor Parliament saw Murray Lawrence's letter or the auditors' letter that had prompted it. Like the 1969 Cromer Report, the Murray Lawrence letter was seen only by a few insiders--the Names claim that he feared wider dissemination would panic the market and destroy Lloyd's. Lawrence confided his fears to a London lawyer and Lloyd's investor, John Osbrey, who had known Murray Lawrence since boyhood and attended Oxford with him, according to Osbrey's interviews with Time and his sworn affidavit which is filed with courts in Los Angeles and London. (Osbrey died in 1999. His evidence, however, can still be used in both the Jaffray and West cases.) <br><br>Reflecting the same fear of disclosure, just two days before the Murray Lawrence letter was dated, the Lloyd's membership committee decided "not to refer specifically to asbestosis risks" when initiating new Names, according to the committee's minutes. David Coleridge, the future Lloyd's chairman who had been recruiting names in the U.S. since the '70s, was present at the meeting when the decision was made. <br><br>While hiding the asbestos warnings from the Names at large, senior Lloyd's insiders--described to Time by a former Lloyd's official as a "clique within a clique"--took steps to safeguard their own syndicates, reinsuring them to protect against asbestos claims, shifting the liability to others who were unaware of the mounting claims. <br><br>The Murray Lawrence letter was "crafted by Lloyd's to create the appearance of a watchful umpire," says New York Assistant Attorney General Mohr. It was written to be buried and was part of the cover-up, he argues. In a December 1998 New York court memorandum, lawyers for the Grace family in New York agree, claiming the letter's sole purpose was "to make it appear that full disclosure had been made." According to the State of California suit in federal court in Los Angeles, the letter was prepared "for the purpose of creating a false record in Lloyd's files to protect Lloyd's from future liability for failing to disclose the asbestos crisis." <br><br>These allegations are made not only in the New York Assistant Attorney General's investigation, the Osbrey affidavit and the Grace memorandum, but in the testimony of a former Lloyd's committee member, Ian Posgate, in a Toronto court case and a report prepared for Lloyd's investor John Melville Donner, who had asked his London lawyers, Memery Crystal, to investigate the apparent cover-up of the asbestos problem at Lloyd's. "The Committee of Lloyd's concealed data and made statements that were false and were intended to be false," Memery Crystal asserted. <br><br>Lloyd's of London, through its attorneys, Freshfields, has called the Memery Crystal statement "misconceived" in a written reply that rebuts each of Memery Crystal's charges. The Memery Crystal charge--that Lloyd's concealed the "nature and size of asbestos claims"--is echoed, however, by a number of other sources consulted by Time, including a well-placed insider who worked at Lloyd's for several years in the 1980s and 1990s. An internal recommendation for an independent inquiry into the Memery Crystal findings was rejected by Lloyd's in favor of having its own lawyers investigate and respond. <br><br>Murray Lawrence, in a deposition, vigorously denies John Osbrey's claim that Lawrence feared market panic. He does acknowledge protecting his own syndicate from asbestos claims while not warning the Names at large. <br><br>None the wiser, Parliament on July 23, 1982, gave Lloyd's its exemption from lawsuits. It could be held liable for damages only if a plaintiff could prove "bad faith," which is difficult to establish under English law where the "buyer-beware" principle is more firmly established than in the U.S. (an obstacle the Jaffray suit will have to surmount). Not only was Lloyd's still self-regulating, it was empowered to determine itself what was meant by the notion of self-regulation, unilaterally making rules governing its operations, without answering to any outside authority, even Parliament. Lloyd's secrets were still safe. <br><br>Though Lloyd's of London was largely successful in concealing its problems in 1982, they were being whispered around the City of London. The Bank of England grew so concerned that it undertook a top-secret inquiry into Lloyd's. Though the bank had no direct power over Lloyd's, it approved six of the 19 members of Lloyd's governing group and was responsible for the overall financial health of the City of London, where Lloyd's was a large direct and indirect employer and historically contributed almost as much to the British balance of payments as the entire banking system. <br><br>The Bank of England's inquiry determined that the collapse of Lloyd's, or a significant number of its syndicates, would pose what one analyst termed a "significant systemic risk" to the British banking system. The bank's findings were conveyed to Lloyd's chairman Peter Green in a letter referring to serious liability problems at Lloyd's. Insiders dubbed the study Project Armageddon. <br><br>Chairman Green showed the bank's letter to his Committee at a meeting in the chandeliered Adam Room on the second floor of the Lloyd's building between March and May, 1982, according to a draft affidavit from Ian Posgate who was present. Posgate has confirmed the essential details of the affidavit in an interview with Time. The letter "warned of enormous losses, resulting from asbestos claims which were about to engulf the Lloyd's market and of the disastrous effect they could have, not only on Lloyd's itself, but on those banks who had provided Lloyd's guarantees or lent money to Lloyd's syndicates," Posgate says. Numbered copies of the bank's letter were distributed by the chairman's white-gloved waiter, and then collected, with all copies accounted for. <br><br>Green admonished the Committee to keep the contents of the letter secret, and it was indeed kept secret from the Names, Parliament and all other outsiders. A few Lloyd's insiders in sensitive positions learned of the letter, however. "I certainly remember being told by a number of people, in some cases slightly obliquely, that there was a letter, there was correspondence, there were notes of a meeting that was predicting very adverse financial consequences," says one insider. "This was a significant factor behind the continued recruitment, or indeed the increased rate of recruitment, of Names ... The terms Armageddon and meltdown were put to me in discussions." <br><br><br>Because of its concern, the Bank of England used its influence to get an executive of its choosing, Ian Hay Davison, a chartered accountant who had been in charge of the British office of the global firm of Arthur Andersen & Co., named chief executive officer of Lloyd's in 1983. But if the bank and Davison believed that he could set Lloyd's to rights, they were naive. Davison had limited real power, which remained with the chairman, the richly corrupt Green, Bradley's former boss, who would later be found guilty by a Lloyd's tribunal of "gross negligence" and "discreditable conduct." Green, when once accused of having a conflict of interest, replied, "Gentlemen do not have conflicts of interest." He concealed much of the asbestos problem from Davison, who resigned in November 1985. Green, however, did confide in the man who would succeed him as chairman, Council member Peter Miller. "The 1982 results were 'frankly ghastly' and 1983 and future years may be even worse," Green said in a letter to Miller. "There are plenty of horrors in the pipeline." <br><br>Back in his December 1969 report to Lloyd's, Lord Cromer had warned of the inherent conflicts of interest in a system which allowed underwriters, brokers and agents to form limited liability companies and charge exorbitant fees and commissions to Names whose liability remained unlimited. Lloyd's had buried the warning and allowed the conflicts to flourish. In some cases, underwriters were fattening their companies in order to sell stock to the public. <br><br>One of the fattest such companies was Sturge Holdings, which was owned and controlled by Coleridge and Rokeby-Johnson and which Dona Evans was later to join. Having known of the asbestos problem since the '70s, Sturge had been selling Lloyd's investments around the U.S. and placing investors on syndicates it knew would be hit with asbestos claims, according to allegations in lawsuits in the U. S. and Britain and an American law enforcement memorandum. The Sturge Names included American stockbroker Charles Schwab, as well as two investors who had been put on the similarly infected Merrett syndicates, Dan Lufkin and Bruce Sundlun. <br><br>Charles Parnell, representing Sturge, also lured investors of much lesser means such as Shirley Cook, a third grade teacher from Texas, and Elizabeth Bencsics, the wife of an electrician in New Mexico. "At school, we were taught that there was nothing more honorable than Lloyd's of London," Bencsics says. "I was thrilled to be part of it." <br><br>In 1984, when it is said they knew that the market was in for a drubbing, Coleridge and Rokeby-Johnson sold Sturge stock to the public. Both men made millions of dollars, while allegedly continuing, along with others, to foster the cover-up of the coming debacle. "Both of them were clearly aware by then of the likely scale of forthcoming losses which were to swamp the market--in particular, the Sturge Names--a few years later," asserts Coleridge's cousin, Priscilla Stewart-Smith, in a confidential report to Sturge Names on her Lloyd's investment (see separate story). <br><br>In 1985, Coleridge was named deputy chairman of Lloyd's. That same year, a U.S. law firm warned a leading Lloyd's underwriter that the asbestos matter couldn't be kept "low key" much longer. By 1986, according to a later finding by a federal judge in Texas, "if any reasonable outside Name had known what insiders at Lloyd's knew, that Name most certainly would have preferred to terminate or suspend his or her underwriting activity with Lloyd's." <br><br>In 1986, Lloyd's quietly added a clause to its contract with investors. Any legal dispute over the investment would have to be resolved in England under English law. Investors were not told that Parliament four years earlier had effectively inoculated Lloyd's from lawsuits in England. <br><br>By the late '80s there were sufficient signs of trouble at Lloyd's to alert investors. On Nov. 26, 1986, the Economist warned that a rising number of Lloyd's Names were quitting and that new investors had "the dice loaded against them." In 1987, Ian Hay Davison, whom Lloyd's had made chief executive four years earlier to appease the Bank of England and then disgorged in 1985 after concealing its worst scandals from him, published a book about his experience. "When I joined Lloyd's," he wrote, "I had announced my determination to pick out the rotten apples. I then thought that to exclude the wrongdoers would solve the problem. But it was not as simple as that. Many of the apples were to some extent tacky, and the barrel itself appeared ... to be infected." <br><br>Yet the allure of Lloyd's was still strong. It signed up Robert Novak, the cnn political commentator whose nationally syndicated column, written in Washington with Rowland Evans, appeared in newspapers all over the U.S. In England that same year, Lloyd's recruited the Earl of Airlie, a distinguished banker and member of the House of Lords, who served as the Lord Chamberlain, the Queen's chief executive officer at Buckingham Palace. Lloyd's also lured several more Members of Parliament, bringing the contingent of Names in the House of Commons to around 50 and in the House of Lords into the hundreds. <br><br>As the crisis intensified inside Lloyd's, its underwriters and agents pushed outside Names to increase their financial stakes. The number of syndicates in which Dan Lufkin invested rose from four to 52. Charles Schwab raised his commitment from five syndicates to 41, Robert Novak from seven to 20. Lloyd's sales commissions leveraged the process: the riskier the syndicate an investor was induced to join, the higher the commission the salesman was paid. <br><br>The first unmistakable sign of serious trouble at Lloyd's came in June 1991, when Lloyd's reported a loss of $980 million for 1988 (remember the three-year lag in reporting underwriting results). There had been major disasters that year like the Piper Alpha oil rig explosion, but it was clear that the claims from asbestos and pollution were finally hitting the market with a vengeance. What Rokeby-Johnson had confided to Bradley on the Walton Heath golf course in 1973 was coming true. <br><br>The losses sent many Names into a panic. Those who had taken heed of the small print in their contracts knew that their liability was unlimited. But most, like Evans, remembered the joking assurances of those who had recruited them that Lloyd's was as "safe as houses." Others recalled more enticing blandishments. "Lloyd's is a license to steal--it's a legal way to steal," Sturge's Parnell told California Name Verne Ballard, who wound up living in a trailer after losing his $1 million house. <br><br>And still the red ink flowed. Lloyd's declared a loss of $3.85 billion for '89, partly as a result of disasters ranging from the Exxon Valdez oil spill to Hurricane Hugo and the San Francisco earthquake. Names hit by the '88-89 losses received cash calls averaging $600,000. 1990 was even worse with a loss totaling $4.4 billion. Contributing to all those losses were the unrelenting asbestos claims. <br><br>Angry Names began lawsuits alleging fraud against Lloyd's and its principal officers, underwriters, brokers and agents. Suits brought in California and New York accused not only Lloyd's but more than 100 individuals and dozens of their companies. There were efforts to compute the magnitude of the alleged swindle. John Rew, a British investment analyst, chartered accountant and former Lloyd's Name with considerable insurance expertise, examined Lloyd's own figures and estimated that external Names were bilked of at least $23.8 billion for just the years 1988 through 1992. That figure included $15 billion in losses from asbestos and other liabilities that allegedly were concealed from them, and $8.8 billion from fraudulent sales commissions generated by so-called churning--the repeated charging of both premiums and sales commissions for insurance written to give the illusion of business growing faster than it was. This allegedly involved the excessive, repeated, widespread and unnecessary reinsuring of certain risks within the Lloyd's market with commissions and premiums collected at each step along the way by agents, brokers and Lloyd's. <br><br>One particularly outraged Name hired a firm of German private detectives to secretly break into Coleridge's residence in Switzerland to search for evidence against him. It found none. American Names complained to the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission, which is supposed to police securities fraud in America. The sec's enforcement division and general counsel began separate inquiries into Lloyd's in 1991. <br><br>The British police--the fraud squads of Scotland Yard and the City of London police--were swamped with reports of fraud at Lloyd's. "We were hearing the same thing from every direction," a senior law enforcement source told Time. "There was worry that the whole insurance business of the U.K. could collapse." Attempting to investigate, the police got little cooperation from Lloyd's top brass. "Usually the ceo of a company with a fraud problem will fall over backward to assist the police," the source says. "Here they weren't committed to cleansing, only to concealing." <br><br>Eventually the flood of reports about fraud at Lloyd's overwhelmed the police, which turned them over to the Serious Fraud Office, a unit of the British government that had been created in 1987 to prosecute major financial crimes. The SFO, which reports to the Attorney General of Britain, assigned its own investigators to the Lloyd's case. <br><br>Across the Atlantic, as the losses at Lloyd's mounted in the '90s, a host of judges and law enforcement officials investigated Lloyd's and found serious wrong-doing. In Texas, Federal District Judge John D. Rainey determined that Lloyd's and Sturge, the company belonging to Coleridge, Rokeby-Johnson and Parnell, had defrauded a Lloyd's Name by "misrepresentations, misleading partial disclosures, and nondisclosures of material facts." But the judgment was overturned on appeal on non-evidentiary grounds, and the Name, forced to take the case to England, chose not to pursue. <br><br>Enforcement officials in 11 states charged Lloyd's and some of its associates with various wrongs such as fraud and selling unregistered securities. The Pennsylvania Securities commissioner determined that Lloyd's had begun defrauding investors as early as 1969. In New York, Assistant Attorney General Mohr asserted in a memorandum to officials in other states that the Names' contracts with Lloyd's should be voided. In a separate enquiry at the New York State insurance department, supervising examiner Paul Cohen determined that $12 billion in Lloyd's reserves on deposit at Citibank (the amount had grown from $4 billion in the late '70s) were "seriously deficient" and "unlikely to cover all losses" at Lloyd's. Reporting in May, 1995, Cohen stated that Lloyd's in effect had borrowed from Peter to pay Paul in administering Names' liabilities. With Citibank's knowledge, Cohen said, Lloyd's had "borrowed" from the assets of Names who owed nothing to pay the obligations of Names who did, all in violation of the Names' contracts with Lloyd's and trust agreements with Citibank. Citibank declined comment because of pending litigation. <br><br>In Britain, in 1995, a parliamentary committee that was investigating how the government regulated financial services decided to include Lloyd's in its inquiry. The committee allowed a group of Names to assail Lloyd's publicly for creating false profits, lying to Parliament in 1982 and cloaking itself in a "culture of secrecy." The committee even got Lloyd's officials to acknowledge fraud at Lloyd's. "You have quoted me as saying there was fraud in Lloyd's," former chairman Peter Middleton said. "There was. Also, that there were some terrible things that happened. I believe that." Labour M.P. Brian Sedgemore assailed the incumbent Lloyd's chairman David Rowland to his face. "It looks like bluntly from all the documentation I have got here and from listening to you that either you were behaving with culpable negligence or you were being dishonest ... This documentation seems to me in all fairness to point a very strong accusatory finger at you ..." <br><br>Rowland denied any wrongdoing, saying he had always fully disclosed his personal financial interests and had himself suffered "very substantial losses" from his Lloyd's investments. He didn't say how much. What has been the result of this welter of lawsuits, allegations, investigations and hearings? So far very little and "Orator" Bradley is worried. "I've gone to all this trouble, gone through all these papers, verbiage, repeated these things over and over to various investigators and nothing ever happens," he muses. Seated behind the closed doors of a secure room in the U.S. Embassy on London's Grosvenor Square, Bradley is in the third hour of interrogation by a senior American prosecutor, Assistant U.S. Attorney Michael Tabak, and two fraud investigators, John S. Ellis Jr. and John M. Marsh. The American team decided to move its questioning into the security of the embassy after hearing a rumor that the outside office where it had intended to meet witnesses was bugged. <br><br>"I can hear the phone call now," Bradley is saying. "'Mr. Bradley, nice meeting you, but we've decided not to proceed.'" <br><br>Tabak rises to his feet, positions himself behind Bradley's chair, and grasps the older man's shoulders. <br><br>"Roger, that will not happen in this case. I can assure you we are going right to the end." <br><br>Will they? It's hard to dismiss the Orator's doubts. Consider all the other investigations: the sec probes; the British police and Serious Fraud Office investigations; the Parliamentary inquiry; the inquiries by officials in New York and other states across America; the numerous lawsuits. So far nothing has come of all this probing. Houdini-like, Lloyd's has escaped all substantive accountability for the actions that have ruined thousands of investors. <br><br>After reviewing evidence of fraud gathered by the police, and after assembling extensive further evidence from Bradley and others, Britain's Serious Fraud Office (often derided as the "Seriously Flawed Office") decided in 1995 that there was "insufficient" evidence to support prosecution. Yet just prior to the SFO standing down, a British judge, Sir Peter John Creswell (who will be presiding in the upcoming Jaffray case), had found that a former deputy chairman of Lloyd's, Stephen Merrett, had "deliberately concealed" the true condition of his syndicates and "kept the Names in the dark," exposing them to potentially huge liabilities. In the case, a civil action brought by angry Names, Creswell criticized Merrett for false statements and offering "unsatisfactory and unconvincing evidence." Merrett told Time he had done nothing wrong (see box). <br><br>The Creswell ruling was "as damning an indictment as you can imagine," says a London lawyer and former senior law enforcement official. Yet the SFO declined to bring criminal charges against Merrett or attempt to use him as a witness in prosecuting other Lloyd's officials. The SFO's reluctance to prosecute Lloyd's angered former Lloyd's chief executive Davison, who said later that he was "extremely indignant and disappointed at this." <br><br>A top police official insists that "it would have been easy to put a case against Lloyd's together. All it needed was will on the part of the government," which was not forthcoming. Ironically the government official in charge of the SFO at the time was Attorney General Sir Nicholas Lyell, who was a Name himself and who stood to lose if Lloyd's moved against him. It is understood that Lyell ultimately settled his final debt to Lloyd's for $32,000. <br><br>Because of his Lloyd's membership, Lyell didn't participate in decisions on whether to prosecute Lloyd's, leaving them to his second-in-command, the Solicitor General, Sir Derek Spencer who has not responded to Time's questions about the SFO decision. <br><br>The parliamentary committee that investigated Lloyd's proved nearly as impotent as the SFO. The committee had very limited staff, no power to subpoena either people or documents, and no power to compel voluntary witnesses to tell the truth. A request for a broader, deeper investigation was rejected by the government of John Major in 1995. Like the Thatcher government before it, the Major regime may have feared that an aggressive investigation of Lloyd's would damage the reputation of the City of London, causing it to lose business to other European financial centers. <br><br>The Major government, already skidding in the polls, may even have feared for its own existence. At least 50 Tory M.P.s were Names and a hefty number were potentially under water. Had Lloyd's forced them into bankruptcy, Major's slim majority would have been threatened, since bankrupts cannot sit in Parliament. "The numbers were such that it would have brought about the collapse of the government--there was no doubt about it," says the former Lloyd's insider. A leading member of the Conservative Party recently told Time he believed an unspoken understanding existed between Lloyd's and the Tory government that their fate was intertwined. <br><br>In the U.S. the staff of the sec wanted to proceed with both of its inquiries. However, they were stopped abruptly in 1992 by the Commission itself, led by Chairman Richard Breeden, not long after British Prime Minister John Major spent a weekend with President George Bush at Camp David. Had Major persuaded Bush to call off the investigation, as British press reports speculated at the time? Both Bush and Major, through spokesmen, say they don't recall discussing Lloyd's. Former Chairman Breeden, who had been a key White House aide under Bush, told Time that the sec decision against proceeding "was not because Mr. Major and Mr. Bush said anything to each other" but because the SEC decided that disputes between Names and Lloyd's should be resolved in English courts. "We didn't make a judgment that the way (Lloyd's) allocated risks among syndicates wasn't sleazy," Breeden told Time. "We didn't make a judgment that their practices were honest." <br><br>Even though federal Judge Robert Payne of the U.S. District Court in Richmond, Va., described the Lloyd's debacle as "one of the most far-reaching and serious insurance frauds of record anywhere," U.S. courts have yet to make any headway against Lloyd's. The 11 states in the U.S. that had sued Lloyd's reached a settlement with the institution in 1996 which was widely viewed as a wrist-slap victory for Lloyd's. State regulation of securities and insurance in America historically is weak. Most lawsuits by private investors against Lloyd's in the U.S. were stymied, too. The fraud allegations for the most part never got a hearing because Lloyd's invoked the clause it had slipped into its contracts with investors beginning in 1986 calling for any legal disputes to be litigated in England. Even though the investors argued that they had been tricked into signing that clause--and Americans' rights under U. S. securities laws generally cannot be waived by such contracts--U.S. appellate courts ruled that the contracts were valid and that Names had to sue Lloyd's in England. When they got to England, however, they discovered that suing Lloyd's successfully in its home country is very difficult, though there have been a few successful suits against individual Lloyd's syndicates. <br><br>In Britain, Lloyd's has not only been protected by its own act of Parliament but by real fear of its clout within the establishment, clout that many insist makes Lloyd's dangerous to cross. "Lloyd's has more power than the government," says a knighted landowner and Lloyd's victim, who, like others, refuses to speak for attribution. "We are scared. People are frightened. This is not the England I knew." <br><br>The fear has been fueled by a series of bizarre and sinister episodes, including threats and intimidation. An anonymous telephone threat was received by John Melville Donner, the retired Lloyd's executive and investor who was one of the earlier Names to accuse Lloyd's of fraud. Inside Lloyd's itself, an employee with sensitive information got two anonymous calls advising him to keep quiet. He also received an envelope in the mail containing a handgun bullet, possibly a practical joke, possibly not. Another investor was threatened with "concrete boots" if he investigated the reasons behind his losses. Sensitive records have been destroyed, according to a computer programmer who used to work at Lloyd's. Files have been stolen from the offices of no fewer than six dissident Lloyd's investors or their lawyers in the U.S. and Britain. A burglar who broke into Evans' house in London ignored cash and other valuables and took only her laptop computer, its hard drive crammed with material relating to the dissident Names' upcoming court battle with Lloyd's. <br>Investigations haven't tied Lloyd's or its officials to any of these episodes and TIME has no evidence that links Lloyd's to them. But suspicions among some Names persist in part because, as former Lloyd's chief executive Davison found, Lloyd's has a long reputation for secrecy and for covering up negative information. And it occasionally has tried to purchase silence with favorable financial settlements for dissident investors. <br><br>Only now, with the Jaffray case about to begin, is Lloyd's facing the prospect of a serious legal challenge in which all its dirty linen will be hung out to dry. "Finally Lloyd's is in the dock, and will have to answer the tough questions it has been dodging for years," says former Name Clive Francis, a retired Royal Air Force pilot. Even as Lloyd's deflected suits, it hounded investors for cash, ruining many lives. Roy Bromley, a British Name since 1977, balanced a shotgun on the ledge of open French windows at his home in London and shot himself in the chest. Richard Burgoyne, a Name who had lost heavily in two years, also shot himself at home--his wife and two sons, ages 8 and 11, found his body in their living room. Margaret Jones, a British lawyer and magistrate, sedated herself with pills and whiskey and then gassed herself to death with carbon monoxide. The wife of Harold Weston, a prominent lawyer, found his body hanging from the banister of a staircase in their home. Charles Bailey and Fred Yeo, both Canadians, hanged themselves as well. Sir Richard Fitch, a British admiral and defense official, killed himself with carbon monoxide from his car exhaust after learning that much of his estate had been wiped out by the Lloyd's debacle. "He saw everything he had based his life on destroyed," says the admiral's son, also called Richard. "Until the last years of his life my father had absolute faith in L