By itself, Carol Boyce believes, the club would have been profitable while she was a partner if, she claims, Naz had not pilfered cover-charge revenue.
"I never got to see that money," she says.
Jamie Peachy
Ray Stern
A police flowchart shows the alleged “criminal enterprise.” Almost all charges later were dropped.
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Despite the high-profile shooting of the ex-football player the previous year, CBNC raked in $10,000 or $20,000 at the door each Friday and Saturday night during February and March 2006, she estimates. In the first couple of weeks the Boyces were there, the place was packed for a Black Eyed Peas performance.
Naz always explained that the door money went to pay DJs or celebrities, or that there were unexpected expenses.
"He would look you straight in the eye," Carol recalls. "By the time the meeting was over, you were like his best friend again."
At the end of March, the Boyces not only had paid their $150,000 but had chipped in another $18,000 to pay bills. Naz put some money in the CBNC account for the next few months as the Boyces pressed him to adopt proper financial procedures. Then, one day in July, Upton changed the locks on the doors.
Believing they had been defrauded, the Boyces took their complaints to Phoenix police in early 2007.
Throughout that year, police say, several other "investors" in, or would-be buyers of, the businesses also were defrauded by Naz for hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Meanwhile, Upton threatened to negotiate the sale of CBNC herself. To stop her, Doug Allen — at the direction of Naz — filed documents with the state that claimed a financial interest in the club and car dealerships. The partners ultimately sold CBNC in 2007 and split some of the proceeds with Upton. The new owner never opened the club, which was closed at the time for planned renovations.
Then Upton contracted a kidney infection and needed surgery that cost $49,000. She agreed to sign over Scorch to Naz for this amount. Katie Marie Peters became the new "owner" of the bar.
Upton decided her problems were diet-related and skipped the surgery. She flew to Maine and took a course in becoming a raw-food chef.
"I walked away from it, happy, and never cared to look back," she says.
But it didn't turn out to be that easy.
The Valley played host to Super Bowl XLII in 2008, and Scorch Bar had a special party planned. Katie Marie Peters applied to the city of Phoenix for a permit to put out a few portable toilets.
Officials had grown suspicious of how Peters supposedly acquired the bar from Upton. They were left even more suspicious after Peters was called to Phoenix City Hall to answer questions about her ownership. Inspections were carried out at the bar, one of which found a stash of liquor for sale that had been purchased from a supermarket instead of from an authorized wholesaler, a violation of state law. Fire-code violations also were noticed, and the bar was shut down in late February 2008.
The case was assigned to Phoenix police Detective Jeff Kornegay. He and other officers spent almost two years going through financial records, conducting interviews, and unraveling the Naz-Manriquez connection.
When indictments and arrests were announced in January 2010, authorities made it sound as if they had cracked the case of the century.
Then-Phoenix Mayor Phil Gordon and former Councilwoman Peggy Neely joined police and representatives of the state AG's Office as they addressed the news media.
The unspoken sentiment was that if the public was looking for evidence of Mexican criminals tainting the Arizona business community in a significant way, this was it.
Poster boards placed around a conference room at Phoenix Police Department headquarters displayed large pictures of cash, vehicles, gold coins, and other items seized in raids on the homes of Manriquez and Mix. Another poster showed a flowchart of the so-called crime enterprise, with pictures of the accused and arrows showing how money was transferred between the businesses and defendants.
Then-Phoenix Police Chief Jack Harris crowed that his "top-flight detectives" had "done a fantastic job."
Yet the police version of events had a glaring hole. Kornegay was asked by reporters why the group allegedly had tried to launder money.
The answer (long pause): Police didn't know.
"It was their money," Kornegay said, referring to Manriquez and Mix. "We don't have any reason to believe it came from illegal sources."
Police offered no speculation of a motive for the "criminal enterprise." For his $17 million, Manriquez had received little in return — a few hundred thousand dollars in various payments since 2000, plus several non-exotic used cars sent to Mexico for use in Manriquez's cable business.
The first sign of cracks in the prosecutors' case came during a bail hearing for Manriquez and Mix, who were represented by southern Arizona lawyers Michael Piccarreta and Saji Vettiyil.
The suspects had been thrown in jail following raids of their homes and slapped with an initial $5 million bond. Their lawyers soon proved to then-Maricopa County Superior Judge Gary Donahoe that the men were trustworthy. Strengthening their argument was that Manriquez and Mix had no criminal records and were considered respectable businessmen with strong ties on both sides of the border.