When Mary Barringer saw the old place in December, she felt proud.

The brass was polished, the marble refinished. Murals spanned the walls. Red carpet covered the floor. Barringer had gone to work at 7 E. Redwood St. 36 years earlier, as a clerical worker for First National Bank of Maryland.

Barringer, 67, marveled at how the building's lobby had been spiffed up by Monica Coleman, her stockbroker. Coleman had drafted a financial plan for Barringer in 1994, when Barringer was struggling with breast cancer, her husband's death and medical bills.

Now Coleman was launching her own firm, Coleman Craten LLC, in the grand old building.

"I felt good about Monica succeeding in such a beautiful building where I had worked," Barringer said. "It just took me back 30 years. The same brass, the same marble, the elevator to the upstairs that I used to use. I was just amazed."

But Monica Coleman wasn't succeeding. The state securities division last month shut down Coleman Craten, in part because the firm sold unregistered investments and guaranteed above-market rates to investors like Barringer.

Coleman and her firm both filed for bankruptcy protection and are being liquidated. Four investors have filed suit seeking the return of $3 million. Another who hasn't sued is owed $1.4 million, according to court records.

And Mary Barringer's $103,000 investment -- the investment that had produced a monthly $1,000 allowance, the investment that Coleman promised would return 30 percent in one year, the investment that constituted Barringer's life savings -- is gone, Barringer said.

"Monica promised me a future," Barringer said. And she had sprinkled that promise with comparisons to her own mother and plenty of hugs and kisses, Barringer said. "Now I have nothing," Barringer said through tears. "And it hurts."

Attempts to reach Coleman were unsuccessful. A phone number included in her personal bankruptcy filing was not answered. Asked for a response to Barringer's story, her bankruptcy lawyer, Cornelius Carmody, said: "You go ahead and publish it at your peril. We're not really interested in talking to you."

Coleman invoked her Fifth Amendment protection against self-incrimination this month in a deposition with lawyers for the trustee assigned to the bankruptcy cases of Coleman and Coleman Craten. Lori Simpson, the trustee, said in court records filed this month that she had "uncovered evidence of plans to conceal assets" from creditors in Coleman's personal bankruptcy case.

What makes Barringer's story different from others where retirees lose their life savings to investment schemes is Monica Coleman didn't run a boiler-room operation.

Respected brokerage

The broker had worked at Legg Mason Wood Walker, one of Baltimore's oldest and most respected brokerage houses. There, she turned Mary Barringer's investment of $82,000 into more than $100,000 in four years with legitimate investments documented by monthly statements, Barringer said.

So when Coleman proposed a lucrative one-year "private" investment about one year ago, it didn't seem outlandish at all, Barringer said. "The way she presented it to me, I had no reason to believe it was wrong."

Barringer isn't alone among investors who say Coleman cultivated a personal relationship with them while she was at Legg.

Shahid and Jean Aziz, who are suing Coleman to get their $765,000 investment, said Coleman called Jean Aziz "her dearest friend in the world" and told the couple that they were named as beneficiaries in her life insurance policy. Eileen L. Smith and Agnes M. Henning, who are seeking $150,000 in a lawsuit, said Coleman referred to them as "second mothers."

Those investors have declined requests for interviews. Mary Barringer said she is talking about her experience because she is simply devastated. "How else would I feel?" she said. "It was confidence and trust I had in Monica."

Mary Barringer was having a tough time when she met Monica Coleman in 1994. In 1991, when she endured breast cancer surgery and chemotherapy, she also put her husband, an Alzheimer's patient, into a nursing home. Barringer's husband died in 1993.

Lump-sum pension

Barringer, who was earning just over $22,000 after 30 years at First National, quit in 1994 because of health reasons. She took her pension in an $82,000 lump sum.

Aside from medical bills, Mary Barringer's neat but modest three-bedroom house off Annapolis Road just south of Baltimore needed roof repairs and a new furnace. She was also raising a granddaughter, who was about 12 at the time. The problem was to make the most of the little money she did have.

Barringer's daughter, Cathy Barringer, 45, had opened an account with Monica Coleman at Legg Mason after meeting her at an after-work investing seminar in the late 1980s.

Cathy Barringer, an information systems consultant, arranged a meeting for the three of them on a Saturday morning at Legg Mason's Pikesville office. "We were kind of impressed with her," said Cathy. "Hey, she's got the keys to the office, we thought."

Coleman, who gave Mary Barringer a notebook to store her monthly financial statements, put the $82,000 in an assortment of blue-chip stocks and mutual funds.

"My mother was going to get $500 a month," Cathy Barringer said. "We figured she'd be able to live on that, but it was very tight.

The $500 allowance and a $520 Social Security monthly check were Barringer's whole income. And most of the Social Security check went to repay a home equity loan. "A lot of months I didn't even have enough," she said. "I was always under stress."

Barringer couldn't buy clothes for herself, or Christmas presents for her children and grandchildren. And she couldn't go on trips with her old friends.

Happiness missing

"When you retire, you're supposed to be happy," Cathy Barringer said.

"And I wasn't," Mary Barringer said. Soon, Mary Barringer was calling Coleman, asking for an increase in her monthly allowance. Two years later, when the investment reached $95,000, Coleman doubled the allowance.

It was the little things that got easier, Barringer said. "I could buy myself extra groceries, or shop for a dress or a pair of shoes. I was happy with that. I was satisfied."

So satisfied that Barringer agreed to go with Coleman to her new firm early last year. "I thought about it and said, 'Sure, Monica, I'll leave Legg Mason and go with you. You've been doing great for me. I trust you.' "

Barringer and her daughter had developed an affinity for Coleman. Cathy Barringer was impressed that Coleman had gone to law school well into her adult years while working -- something that she was thinking about doing.

"She always used to talk about how she pulled herself up from Brooklyn Park. And she would say my mother was just like her mother," Cathy Barringer said.

Account moved

Coleman moved Mary Barringer's account to Charles Schwab, a discount brokerage house, where she continued to manage the money.

In late June, Coleman called to set up another appointment. She showed up one evening after work with her briefcase. She took a seat at the small round kitchen table, in front of the refrigerator. Barringer offered her something to drink, but Coleman said no.

Coleman told Barringer about a "wonderful opportunity" that would increase her monthly allowance to $2,000. "She says, 'You'll be much happier,' " Barringer said. "And she says 'I feel like you're my mother. I want to take care of you. I want to see you happy in your old age.'

"You know that was just so impressive, because I had known her for four years, and then she tells me how she feels about me."

Cathy Barringer, who was skeptical, arranged a meeting of the three women at her mother's home. She said Coleman told her the investment was intended to fund inventories for manufacturers.

"As she starts talking, I start reasoning, thinking OK, this makes sense," Cathy said. "This is a legitimate investment -- something that only she, being in the business and having contacts, would know about."

One-page agreement

A few evenings later Coleman showed up with a one-page agreement for Mary Barringer to sign, a night when Cathy Barringer was in Alabama on business. The one-year agreement placed $103,000 in Monica Coleman's care "for the purpose of private investing," and it promised a 30 percent return that would include monthly payments of $2,000.

The payments started coming in August, and Barringer was beginning to feel much better about her money. Coleman invited Mary Barringer and her daughter to the company's lavish coming-out party on Dec. 5. "I felt so out of place," Mary Barringer said. "There were all these professional people there."

The first hint of trouble came a couple of days later, when Barringer checked with her account to see if her $2,000 monthly payment had been deposited. "I was getting nervous because it was Christmas time," she said.

From then on, Mary Barringer had to badger Coleman's office to get her money. Coleman's mother, who worked for her daughter, would call Barringer on Monica's behalf.

"Her mother would call me back and say, 'I talked to Monica. Something's wrong with the bank. She's having trouble with First National Bank. They got her accounts mixed up,' " Barringer said.

Finally, when a $2,000 personal check written to Mary Barringer by Richard Coleman, Monica Coleman's husband, bounced in April, Barringer panicked. "That's when I started to say I'm in trouble. Something's wrong."

Newspaper articles

At the same time, a series of newspaper articles in The Sun about lawsuits filed against Coleman by other investors who couldn't retrieve their money and Charles Schwab began to appear.

Corporate Securities Group, a brokerage clearing house, stopped executing trades for Coleman Craten. John Craten, Coleman's partner, quit. On Friday, April 23, Cathy Barringer demanded her mother's money.

Even with the lawsuits and the resignation of her partner, Coleman appeared cool, Cathy Barringer said. "She sat in this chair and explained that she had done nothing wrong, for us not to be worried," she said in her mother's kitchen. "She said, 'I can't believe what people are saying and thinking right now. I was paying that man [Craten] $180,000 a year to play golf.' "

Coleman wanted two business days to liquidate Barringer's investment. But that Tuesday, nothing came. On Wednesday, Coleman's mother called with another story about a delay. On Thursday, Coleman said she was arranging a meeting in her lawyer's office at which Mary Barringer's investment would be returned.

Cathy Barringer called one of the lawyers representing Coleman at the time, but he said he knew nothing about the meeting, she said. The next thing she knew, Barringer's name was on a list of creditors in Monica Coleman's personal bankruptcy filing. "I couldn't believe it. Cathy had to keep telling me this," said Mary Barringer, who is now being supported by her children.

Bankruptcy filing

In her bankruptcy filing, Coleman placed both her assets and liabilities at between $1 million and $10 million. Coleman Craten said it had assets of less than $50,000 and was facing claims of $5,968,000.

Simpson, the trustee, said she is still sorting through about 95,000 pages of documents, and that it's too early to tell how much money investors will recover. Simpson said she had identified some assets and has found evidence indicating others. "Additionally, the pool of potential creditors continues to grow as additional investors are identified," she said.

Mary Barringer knows only that she's angry. Outraged, she wrote Coleman's mother:

"I say, 'If this had happened to you, you would be as devastated as I am. And then I told her I just prayed for the worst thing to happen to Monica for hurting other people. If Monica had a conscience and if she was as truthful to me as she said she was, she would return my money.' "

Pub Date: 6/20/99