In January 2024, my colleague crowbarred me into a conference call with Oliver Stanford, a potential client in New York who had been beaten up by a gang. The story, as relayed to me, was that Oliver was so traumatized by the incident that he wanted to leave the United States to live under a new identity.
I didn’t see this as a matter I could help with. Oliver was an attorney and if he needed a new name he could simply apply for one. Name changes are commonplace and surely an attorney would know this.
Oliver was afraid of gang reprisals. He didn’t feel safe and didn’t want even to identify the gang. Could be the Crips. The Bloods. Tren de Aragua. Even Da’esh. I didn’t want to participate in the call. He didn’t mention why the gang had attacked him.
Supposedly it had been a random attack. A random attack would not implicate the gang. Oliver’s attackers were not arrested. He did not know who they were. He was not asked to testify against them. There was no reason the gang would want to have anything to do with Oliver.
The 60-something Oliver claimed to be afraid for his life. There was no motive for the beating but he was sure the gang was “after him.” He wanted to move overseas with a new identity. He believed this was the only way he could be safe.
I told him that if he wanted to change his name, he could file for a name change by paying $500 or so, maybe less, to file a petition at the local county courthouse. Normally, only one hearing was required. There was no adverse party. I wondered why I should be telling this to an attorney.
The whole story seemed suspicious to me. Then Oliver asked where he should move. He only spoke English. So I said, Ireland, England, Australia, NZ. Canada. Maybe South Africa.
He didn’t think his assailants —he claimed to have been beaten up in Brooklyn–would leave him alone in these countries. Did I have an alternative? Medical care was yet another issue.
I recommended Malaysia. Former British colony, (mostly) English-speaking; good medical care that was delivered in English and practicing a mild flavor of Islam.
But Oliver wasn’t convinced.
Oliver also didn’t like the idea of a name change, even though I told him he could take a certified copy of the judgment to the Passport Office and they would give him a passport in the new name.
What he really wanted was a new identity. “Is that something you could arrange?” he asked. The fire alarm went off, clang clang clang. I felt like saying, “No, officer it is not.”
So that’s what this was all about. I wondered if he was a fugitive, running from the law. That would complicate the name change. More likely, he was an informant working on a Rule 35. Or a special agent, pretending to be a sixty-something New York attorney.
I told him he should get a legal name change and that would be sufficient. I further told him that I don’t run a private witness protection program. He quickly hung up.
I told my colleague–who was on the call—“you realize that call was recorded and he was trying to set us up?”
“Oh no,” my colleague said, “no way.”
“Way,” was my response. I never heard from Oliver again.