By: A.J. Cook

Calvin Klein Vice President Patricia placed a personal ad in the New York Magazine for a distinguished, handsome and successful man between 38 and 48 who liked art, books, tennis, music, museums and the theater.

A good education and hard work had taken Patricia to the top of her profession. She started as a trainee in the retail clothing industry and rapidly moved up the ladder to her present position. Now she had success: prestige, a promising job, a high tax bracket.

After a failed marriage and a disappointing romantic relationship, she yearned for male companionship. From the magazine ad, she got 70 responses. She picked one to answer: Christopher Griffin. He had described himself as a successful real estate entrepreneur who shared her interests. He included a box number for her answer saying he would be out of the city on business for several weeks.

She responded to his letter and left for a business trip to Asia. While there, her sister died. After returning to the United States distraught, she wrote Griffin she would be unable to meet with him. He called to express his sympathy and called several times thereafter to console her. She felt comforted and a friendship began to develop.

Finally, Patricia could stand the suspense no longer. She suggested they meet for cocktails. He said he would be out of town on business again that week.

The next week when they talked, he confessed the real reason he could not meet her in New York: He was an inmate at Danbury Federal Correctional Institute.

She was horrified. She had been conned by a con and wanted to call it quits. Griffin wouldn't accept that. He pointed out he had been a source of comfort to her when her sister died; why wouldn't she support him now? He justified his lie saying he thought he would be released by the time she adjusted to her sister's death.

Eventually she caved in and visited him in prison. He was charming, witty, appealing. And he was imprisoned for a relatively noble cause: He told her he had tried to help his brother, who was charged with a crime, flee the country to start a new life. He gave her what he called a transcript of court testimony to prove the story. She appreciated his honesty.

Altogether she visited him 12 times. The friendship deepened. During one of the visits, he handed her a small linen handkerchief. On it he had written a marriage proposal. She was charmed -- and accepted.

While he was still in prison, they discussed their future plans. He told her he had large foreign bank accounts. To prove his trustworthiness, he told her he would add her name to his two accounts at Citicorp Bank in Illinois. But, he suggested, to avoid arousing any suspicion, she shouldn't use any of the funds until his parole ended. Knowing she might be skeptical, he gave her the name of a bank employee to call and confirm the accounts. She did and was satisfied.

Five months after they met, he was released from prison. Now their lives together could begin, and they could live happily ever after.

As a parole condition Christopher had to stay in the Chicago area, so they rented an apartment there. Patricia paid the rent and furnished it lavishly. Christopher bought two cars for the couple: a Bentley Lusanne for himself and, because Patricia was uncomfortable in the Bentley, a Mercedes for her. Patricia made the down payment on both cars and gave Christopher money whenever requested.

She traveled back and forth from her home in New York to see him. On one trip, she met his father and younger brother. Sometimes she went with Christopher to business dinners to chat up real estate investors. They also went to movies, the theater, fine restaurants and did other things.

Then Patricia became pregnant. After this discovery, the couple obtained a marriage certificate and planned to tie the knot the next month.

And while it's not exactly what her mother had in mind, Patricia was in love.

Alas, this love was fleeting. Shortly before the wedding, Patricia got a call in New York from the Chicago police. Because her name was on the apartment lease, they wanted her approval to search the premises for things belonging to another woman who had filed a complaint against Christopher.

Patricia freaked. Christopher flew to New York (violating his parole) to calm her explaining it was all a mistake. But she began to doubt the wisdom of marrying this guy. Even so, she gave him $38,000 to settle family debts after his younger brother, while crying on the phone, said that creditors had beaten him to get the money.

That was the last straw. After confiding in two friends, Patricia became convinced she would never be free of him if she gave birth to his child. So she had an abortion. To show his anger, Christopher told her he was canceling the order for the $100,000 he planned to wire her from his Swiss bank account.

Panicked, Patricia finally went to the police. After reading pages of rap sheets on Christopher, she permitted the police to tap her phone. She then hired a Chicago attorney to collect her things from the apartment. Too late. The jailbird had flown the love nest.

What does any of this have to do with taxes? After losing in love, Patricia claimed a theft loss on her tax return. She noted she spent $507,000 on Christopher and deducted $247,000, the amount remaining after her insurance recovery. The unromantic Internal Revenue Service disallowed the loss, saying the money wasn't stolen; she just made gifts in the course of a torrid love affair.

In court, she said the FBI told her Christopher had defrauded 12 other women, including one who mortgaged her home and gave him everything. He was ultimately indicted for theft; at the time of Patricia's tax trial, he remained a fugitive.

The IRS said she "should have known better" than to get involved with an inmate.

The judge, more realistic (and perhaps more romantic), reversed the agency. "Naivete or gullibility, however offensive or distasteful, does not bar a theft deduction." The court did, however, throw out medical expenses related to the theft. This included the cost of the abortion, psychotherapy and the treatment of ailments like gum disease and skin rashes.

The Moral: A broken heart might mend, but IRS hates to allow repair costs.

A.J. Cook is a lawyer and CPA. His tax column appears weekly in numerous newspapers. Why isn't it published in your hometown newspaper? Ask its Business Editor to subscribe.

Copyright © 1987-2001 A.J. Cook All Rights Reserved
This information is not intended for use without professional advise.
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Released 2-15-99 and 2-22-99