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7-Up vs. Coke Part 2

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"As far as I'm concerned, he did what Aimée said he did," Schmitz says today. "I have no reason to believe she lied. Out on the loading dock, it was clear she was frightened."

He adds that Gladney had crossed boundaries from the start. "I'd have to say, 'Get out of this kitchen, this is not your business!' or, 'Stop playing with this music! This is my music!'"

But he and Doyle both strenuously deny that they turned a blind eye to Gladney's alleged harassment. Prior to the January incident with Boss, Schmitz says, "Nobody told me anything."

Schmitz says he convened the female staff after Boss left to ask whether any other employees had had problems with Gladney. "They all said something generally, like he's exuberant and sometimes rude, but other than that, no problems.

"Morgan continued to work [after Boss quit], and never said a word," Schmitz adds. "Nothing ever happened to Morgan, I assure you."

The women's discrimination charges were forwarded to the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, which conducted its own investigation. In January of last year, Schmitz was informed that the agency had concluded Mosaic had violated the bartenders' civil rights, and in September the EEOC filed a civil lawsuit against Mosaic in U.S. District Court in St. Louis.

Hagedon did not return several phone calls requesting comment for this article. Boss could not be reached. Felix Miller, the EEOC attorney handling the case, did not return repeated messages.

But, says Mary Anne Sedey, a plaintiffs' attorney who represents the women, "There are statements from independent witnesses corroborating two things: One, Mr. Doyle and Mr. Schmitz were around to observe Gladney's behavior, and two, other female employees observed him and experienced him behaving in the same way. At this famous meeting that Gregg and Claus called after Aimée quit, they put it on the staff: They said, 'You're not to fraternize with customers,' as if [the incident with Boss] was the staff's fault.

"Gladney was very conspicuous. He came in and behaved like a big shot, and they permitted him to do that," says Sedey, adding that the EEOC's advocacy in this case is worthy of note. "It is very rare that the EEOC brings one of these lawsuits, because they have limited resources, so they only do so when they feel there's a meritorious claim."

(According to EEOC statistics, the agency received 12,679 sexual harassment claims in fiscal year 2005, the year Boss and Hagedon reported their complaints. Of those, 50 percent were deemed meritless; only 8 percent — about 1,000 — were found to have reasonable cause. The Boss-Hagedon case is one of 87 sex-harassment lawsuits filed by the EEOC in 2007.)

Schmitz plans to fight the suit, which is slated for trial in March 2009. He says the government offered him a settlement of $75,000 a year ago, but he refused it. Last fall Schmitz rebuffed another olive branch, this time for $100,000, he says.

"I don't care how much money it costs me," says the chef. "If I settle, my name is worth nothing."

Claus Schmitz doesn't remember when it first happened. Water, sewer, electricity — he doesn't recall which outage was threatened first, either. "From day one," he says, workmen were tromping into Mosaic in the middle of the lunch hour to cut off one utility or another.

Time and time again, Schmitz says, he pulled out his checkbook or opened the till to pay the delinquent charges, then went in search of Gladney. "In hindsight...," he says, then trails off. "Well, my lawyers tell me I can't do that to myself."

Joel Crater had withdrawn from Downtown North owing to what he perceived to be Gladney's commingling of personal and company funds, according to testimony he gave in court last year. (Crater did not respond to repeated requests for comment for this story.) Subsequently a friend of Gladney named Reuben Peters obtained shares in Downtown North. (Peters, who lives in Telluride, Colorado, recently won 500,000 Euros in a European Poker Tour event; he did not return telephone calls seeking comment.) But for all practical purposes, Gladney was flying solo as landlord.

Joe Taylor and Ken Keiser, Gladney's only other tenants, set forth a laundry list of complaints: The elevators reeked of chemicals and inspections were many years outdated; one shaft was entirely nonfunctional. The air conditioning gave out regularly during the summer; the heat rarely worked in the winter. Last year the fire alarms repeatedly malfunctioned.

Above Mosaic, the building looks orphaned, with unhinged windows, filthy carpets and holes in the floors. On a recent winter day, the temperature on the abandoned fifth floor felt glacial.

The tenants say they held out in hopes of an ever-rumored sale or foreclosure. They say they sparred with Gladney frequently, at times nearly to the point of physical violence.

But over time, they say, their landlord became increasingly inaccessible, to the point where the first of the month was the only time they could count on seeing Gladney. "He and [his wife] would be at our door at 9 a.m. for the [rent] check," recalls Taylor, "and then you'd literally see them running down the street towards the bank with it flopping in one of their hands."

On the home front, Gladney's competence as a parent was again being called into question. Jeanie Haines and Cindy Lee separately sought orders of protection for their sons just after Christmas in 2005, alleging that while the children were in his care, Gladney had secluded himself in a room for several days and consumed crack cocaine. Court papers indicate that the women had learned of the incident from a baby sitter who spoke to both mothers after Haines' son took a fall at Gladney's house and had to be treated at a pediatric clinic. "[Gladney] appears skeletal, frail, bruised and unintelligible when he speaks," wrote Cindy Lee in her protection request.

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