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When we were growing up, Marc and I, we lived in Los Angeles. And starting from the age of eight, nine years old, we were obviously knowledgeable children. We lived in the Los Angeles area. We had a lot of friends. We lived together. But as we grew up, we got in a lot of arguments. Marc became more, you know, disagreeable. I was younger, so he often picked on me. He had older friends, I was the younger one, so I was always like separated or stupid or useless or didn’t do things right. Our relationship started out badly and we did not get along very well.
I never felt that when we were growing up, since about the age of nine years old, that he cared about our family or the effects that he was creating. With all the arguments Marc got into, the petty fights and serious fights that him and I got into, bullying me, punching me back and forth. I was always smaller. It was evident that I would never win that fight physically and all these times and several incidents, family was not his concern.
Marc and I would swim often in our apartment building when we were children. And we were always in the pool during the summertime. And he thought it was a great game to hold me under the water as long as he could until he knew I couldn’t breathe—like on the verge of drowning, and it was not the first time. It definitely happened twice, if not more even the same day. And he thought it was funny—he would laugh and giggle and I would wriggle around until finally he knew that I would probably drown and he would finally let me go. And he was always stronger than I was so he would just hold me underneath the water, with little effort for his part, until he thought I would drown. And then he would let me get back up.
Since we were children, he has been running this game of bullying, or trying to act stronger, bigger, pushy—all in the result to make others inferior. But in the end, he never resolves whatever the conflict is.
And Marc got into a very angry screaming match with my mother when she was pregnant. And it got so bad that he pushed her physically and he was bigger than her at the time. He was taller than her and much older, like physically, like he was big. And he pushed her and she fell over at a full—almost full-term pregnancy, and fortunately she didn’t get hurt. But he didn’t stop and ensure that she was okay, he didn’t get her up. My mom was just so upset and angry, on the verge of tears, that she kicked him out and then he left.
Over 15 years ago my father had another episode of cancer and he had a very serious operation. And he called and contacted myself and Marc. Originally, on the first phone calls that I had with my father, he was doing very poorly. He was on oxygen, he could barely breathe. You could hear it over the telephone, it was very emotional. Marc could barely handle it. Mind you, he didn’t seem to have the stomach for it but there was—it was not a matter of having the stomach for it—this was our father who was like possibly going to die and he was asking for help. This is why my father was in touch with us and he was doing badly. I told Marc after the phone call that we needed to make it go right no matter what, like figure out whatever we needed to do with our jobs and get out there and spend some time with him and help him. Marc immediately was not interested. I financed the trip myself with no desires or demands from my father because he wasn’t doing well. And I went there and I helped him get better and made sure he was okay before I returned. And Marc never went to visit him, didn’t help him, didn’t go out there. He did nothing. So again, he was looking after himself—and just do whatever he felt like. And my dad was secondary to all of that. And that was the result of what occurred—he didn’t care.
For many years Marc and I worked with each other on our jobs. We sometimes were in the same area, like we worked side by side. This happened for maybe a year or so; not a good idea, that did not go well, we did not work well together. Marc was very belligerent—he would get very argumentative with me to the point that we again would get in physical fights with each other, the same bullying thing would happen and he would pan it off as like I was just being his little sister but this was in a professional background that we were now working—we were adults. This was not about brother and sister. It was very unprofessional.
So, when Marc was working with me many years ago, before he left, he was entrusted to take a bunch of Church equipment and sell these items so that we could recoup that investment towards the project that was supposed to be done, which was directly his responsibility. Instead of doing that, to the tune of over $10,000 to $15,000 worth of Church funds and recompense that came from these materials were put through his own personal accounts. And this evidence was located and at the time an investigation was being done to get the straight facts on what occurred, because it was obvious that this is where the money had gone. And when Marc was given the opportunity, and the day he was to give his side of the story and explain himself because he’s the one who did it, that is when he left unannounced. Never, never came clean on it, never told anybody what really happened one way or the other. And to top it off, he very strategically went and acquired my pay before he left and stole his little sister’s pay with no word to me.
A week or two had gone by, never called me, never contacted me, wouldn’t answer my emails, no care in the world for what I thought or my efforts and attempts to get him to make good or to come and just deal with it and amicably, like any normal human being. And this he couldn’t do.
And not only doing that, upon his departure, he went and contacted my father who I had a perfectly fine relationship with. My dad has respected me, I’m very—I was very competent, he was proud of me. We had a fantastic father-daughter relationship. And when Marc went to him and dumped all this garbage and nonsense on him about all these “horrible people that did all these things to him,” he effectively ruined my relationship with my father, tainting his judgment of all that I had done my entire adult life and how well I was doing, just to cover his own ass.
So, I was working in a particular office place and Marc had arranged for people to have picket boards with my name specifically on them in huge letters, gallivanting outside my office. I was completely unaware of this. Just my normal working day, going on about my life, to come outside of my building with all these strange people that I don’t know, saying things that aren’t true, leaving me in a position of being awkward and embarrassed because of something that’s absolutely not the case. Again, for the sake of some monetary achievement or gain. But again, doing it in such a way, it’s quite frankly—it’s completely embarrassing. It’s a disgrace to our family. This is not the morals that my parents brought us up to be nor did my father raise us to be. It has nothing to do with being a respectable human being. It’s pretty disgusting and it really has—it’s an embarrassment for myself and my mother.
Marc is a complete and utter toxic personality to anybody, whether in business, as a family, as a friend. You know that if you’re going to work with him, your well-being and your success is not what’s in it. It’s what is he going to gain, and if you’re taking that away from him or he’s missing out, that’s his agenda. Not you, it’s just him. That couldn’t be more toxic in the work world or in a religion or in a relationship because that’s not how people live together and how they grow and succeed. And that’s not what Marc’s all about.