The Talented Walter Garrick
He told them he was a billionaire, dazzled them with his private jet, his box at the Rogers Centre, his friends in high places. Cool and charismatic, he promised them power and riches, and they handed over their savings. His victims want revenge By Joshua Knelman
Ken Vadas first met Walter Garrick on a sunny day in May 2004. He was at Cross Avenue Auto, a high-end Oakville body shop, on a goodwill mission. Vadas, a 21‑year-old Internet entrepreneur, was coordinating a rally where people would pay for short rides in exotic cars, and the money raised would go to the Children’s Wish Foundation. He’d stopped at Cross Avenue to ask the owner if he could suggest any clients who might lend their luxury vehicles for a few hours. The owner immediately led Vadas across the floor and introduced him to Garrick, a handsome, fit 34‑year-old dressed in pressed khakis and a button-down shirt. Garrick was pacing near the window, chatting on his cellphone. Like Vadas, Garrick loved fast cars.
“What do you need?” Garrick asked coolly.
Vadas made his pitch.
“I like it,” Garrick answered. “And I’d like to help you.” He then waved out the window to his car, a silver BMW X5. It was more expensive than Vadas’s black 325i. “I’m also in the process of purchasing a Lamborghini,” he explained, and handed Vadas a business card for Lamborghini Toronto. He then gave Vadas another phone number, for Grand Touring Automobiles. “When you call, tell them Walter Garrick sent you. Tell them exactly what you want, and they’ll give it to you. Why don’t you call them right now?”
Vadas was dumbstruck. Despite his youth, he was fairly accomplished. He had been a professional child actor, appearing in a dozen Canadian and American TV shows. His most famous role was as Santa’s chief elf in the 1994 Tim Allen blockbuster The Santa Clause. (His signature line: “We’re your worst nightmare. Elves with attitude.”) By the time Vadas was 18, his acting career had stalled and he had launched an Internet company. He owned his own house, as well as the BMW and a Porsche Boxster. And he’d tucked away some savings. But he’d never organized a fundraiser. He gladly accepted Garrick’s help.
He took out his cell, phoned Lamborghini Toronto and mentioned Garrick’s name. “Anything for Mr. Garrick,” was the response. Then he called Grand Touring Automobiles. Same story. “This is amazing,” Vadas said to Garrick. Garrick was nonchalant. “It’s not a problem.”
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