https://www.politico.com/news/magazine/2024/05/05/jim-courtovich-lobbying-trump-00155924

The lawyers then opened up the manila folders and began asking about contracts and transactions Morris had authorized. At first, Morris responded confidently. But after a few minutes, Morris stood up, said he wasn’t feeling well, and asked for a bathroom break. Rather than heading to the restroom, though, he fled the building.

Morris drove his white Porsche to the Robert Trent Jones Golf Club, where he had received the call from Kentz the day before. After a round of golf, he showered and put on a blue blazer. He ordered a steak at the clubhouse. When he finished his meal, he bought a round of drinks for everyone in the dining room. Around four o’clock, he ordered a bottle of Petrus, a rare Bordeaux that cost $1,500 at the club. It was Morris’ favorite.

He told the wait staff he had work to do, and, with the July sun still aloft in the sky, he walked to the fire pit a few hundred yards down a hill from the clubhouse. It was a secluded spot, and Morris was alone. He took a seat in a white Adirondack chair, lit a cigar and poured himself a glass of wine.

By then, Morris’ wife, Tracy, was beginning to panic. Despite her husband’s angst in the run-up to the meeting, Morris wasn’t providing her any details about the confrontation. When Tracy called, he didn’t pick up. She texted him, but he replied with short, ambiguous answers, according to a series of text messages that have not been previously reported.

“May be the fall guy. I’m ok with it.”

“They are going to put me on paid leave. Will call you when I can.”

Growing desperate, Tracy began contacting Morris’ colleagues and friends. “I haven’t seen Evan all day,” she said in a voicemail to one of his executive assistants. “Do you know where he is?”

When Tracy logged on to his financial accounts, one purchase stood out. Earlier that day, Morris had used his credit card at Loudoun Guns Inc. to buy a .357 Smith & Wesson revolver and a box of ammunition. Tracy frantically called and texted her husband. He didn’t answer. She left a pleading voicemail, insisting that everything would be OK. She sent him photos of their two young children. When Morris still didn’t respond, Tracy called the police and filed a missing person report.

Beside the fire pit, Morris was descending into hopelessness. He sent a text message to his wife with contact information for the couple’s accountant, insurance agent and financial planner. At 6:02 p.m., he sent her his last text: “I want to be done with this shit.”

At around 10 o’clock, a clubhouse server came down to the fire pit and discovered Morris’ body. There was a bottle of rare wine at his feet and a gunshot wound in his head. On his lap was handwritten a note. “Do Not Resuscitate,” it read.

In accordance with Jewish custom, Morris’ funeral service was held quickly after his death. On Sunday, July 12, hundreds of mourners packed into a northern Virginia synagogue. Courtovich did not attend. On the morning after Morris’ death, he’d flown to London on business. His partner, Jeff Zeleny, by then a political correspondent at CNN, was at the service.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5525515&forum_id=2#47638453)

he obviously has fuck you money, but instead chose the fuck me route. too bad.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5525515&forum_id=2#47638472)