On November 25 1990, Armand Hammer readied himself for the black-tie dinner celebrating the opening of an institution that he had erected in marble-- the Armand Hammer Museum of Art and Cultural Center. He knew from the grim prognosis he had recently received from his doctors that this might be his last public appearance. He was 92 years old and suffered from chronic anemia, bronchitis, prostate enlargement, kidney ailments and an irregular heartbeat and cancer that was rapidly spreading throughout his body. He also ever more frequently lost contact with reality and hallucinated. His night nurse, who twice earlier that fall had used artificial respiration to revive him, had now been instructed not to intervene again. But even in a weakened condition, he was determined to attend this event.

He had had a massive blood transfusion, which made his mind more acute. He also had a large dosage of analgesics, which relieved the pain in his body. He had his hair trimmed and was fitted with a new tuxedo designed to conceal his recent weight-loss. He was then strapped into his wheel-chair and, barely conscious when he was carried down the steps of his home in the Westwood section of Los Angeles to the waiting limousine.

Up until 1987, he had planned to leave his art to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. But when he revised his terms for the gift that year and demanded that it create a virtual museum within a museum for his collection-- one which would be run by a curator that was appointed in perpetuity by him or his designated agent, the Armand Hammer Foundation, its Board of Trustees refused to acquiesce to that extraordinary arraignment. He then revoked his pledge gift and proceeded to build a museum that he could control posthumerously through his foundation.

Although it would cost over eighty million dollars, he relied on Occidental Petroleum Corporation to provide the financing. He had built this company from a near-bankrupt corporate shell in 1955 to the fourteenth largest industrial company in the U.S. Though he owned less than one percent of its stock, he was chairman and could count on it to do his bidding. He had often used its corporate treasury to fund his art acquisition as, for example, when he had it secretly donate the $6 million to his foundation in 1980 that he used to buy the celebrated Leonardo da Vinci notebook, which he then renamed the Hammer Codex and exhibited around the world. He now wanted a special hall in the new museum dedicated to the Hammer Codex. He also wanted the museum erected adjacent to Occidental's headquarters on Wilshire Boulevard, with its outer walls build of white marble imported from the same quarry in Italy that Da Vinci had used five centuries earlier and his name carved in letters three feet high on two sides of the museum.

Occidental accommodated him by donating to the museum the real estate its corporate headquarters stood on (and then leasing back its office building) and constructing and the edifice according to Hammer's approved design. It also provided it with a $36 million endowment that would be used to subsidize its operating expenses. Even though some Occidental shareholders had sued the company over the expenditures it had made on this enterprise, which Newsweek described it disparagingly as "more like a mausoleum than a museum," Hammer was not deterred. He was determined to open it on schedule.

He had assembled that night at the Armand Hammer Museum the leading lights of Los Angeles society.) He now enjoyed the status not just of a captain of industry but of a world celebrity. He could claim to have been received by no fewer than eight American Presidents in the White House and by almost as many Soviet Presidents, as well as Lenin himself, in the Kremlin His international awards included the Soviet Union's Order of Friendship, America's National Medal of the Arts, France's Legion of Honor, Italy's Grand Order of Merit, Sweden's Royal Order of the Polar Star, Austria's Knight Commander's Cross, Pakistan's Hall-I-Quad.-Adam Peace Award, Israel's Leadership Award, Venezuela's Order of Andres Bello, Mexico's National Recognition Award, Bulgaria's Jubilee Medal and Belgium's Commander of the Order of the Crown. He even had a school, the Armand Hammer World College, named in his honor. Though still woozy from drugs and blood transfusions, he greeted the long parade of acquaintances-- the executives at Occidental, who were waiting to take over from him, the art curators, who had authenticated his paintings for decades, the politicians, whom he had helped finance, the doctors, who could do little further for him, the lawyers, ready to litigate his estate and his surviving family-- his only son, Julian, 61 years ago, and his grandson, Michael, the executor of his estate, and granddaughter, Casey.

After cutting the ceremonial ribbon, he took his seat at the table of honor. On his right, was Danielle Mitterand, the wife of the President of France. She had agreed to come to the opening after he had pledged a $300,000 donation to President Mitterand's private foundation in France. Across from him was Tom Bradley, the Mayor of Los Angeles, whose re-election campaign he had generously supported and Rabbi Harvey Fields, who was helping him organize an extraordinary bar mitvhah ceremony that was scheduled to take place in two weeks. Although Hammer had never had the traditional bar mitvah at the age of 13, and denied his Jewish heritage most of his life, he now wanted at his advance age to undergo this rite of passage. On his left was Hilary Gibson, a white-haired women with striking features. She had played an instrumental role in creating the museum. Grasping her hand under the table, he said "We did it." It was the culmination of a 17 year long relationship in which she was, as she would put it, his "confidante, friend, business associate, co-habitant, consultant, nurse, mistress and lover." He had been her King Pygmalian, transformimg her over these years into a totally new identity.

When she had met Hammer in August 1974, her name was not Hilary Gibson; it was Martha Wade Kaufman. She was then an exceedingly comely 38 years old woman with flaming red hair. She was married to a USC professor and the mother of two young daughters. She had come to California from Ohio as an airline stewardess but then earned a degree in fine art at California State University. She had decided to try her hand at art journalism and Hammer was her first assignment. East-West Publications, which publishes magazines for airlines, had commissioned her to write about Hammer's art collection and Occidental's public relations department had arranged for her to meet Hammer at 9 a.m. in his office that day. But, when she arrived that morning, he was not there. She elected to wait-- sitting in a cubicle outside his door most of the day. When he finally arrived at five in the afternoon, he profusely apologized for the eight-hour delay and ordered his secretary to bring them both ice teas. He was heavier than she expected (he weighed almost 206 pounds) but walked with a robust spring in his step. She noticed that he was dressed in an immaculately tailored gray suit, a white shirt and an elegant tie. He also had a deep tan that set off his lucid eyes. He looked remarkably vigorous for a man she knew was in his late seventies.

She watched him assess her carefully. (He later would tell her "You didn't stand a chance." ) She began the interview trying to be as professional as possible. She asked him his motive for collecting art and whether he considered it another business investment or a profound passion.

Instead of answering her questions, he abruptly changed the subject to a painting in his collection. He showed it to her in the catalogue of his private collection. "It could be you," he said looking at her with a fixed gaze. He then explained that the artist's mistress was the model for that painting and told her that her colors perfectly matched the flesh tones in the painting. He then looked at his watch and told her he had an appointment with his barber, and asked her if she minded continuing the interview while he was getting his hair cut.

She had little choice if she wanted to complete the interview. At the barber shop, instead of the discussion about art she expected, he interviewed her about her marital status. She told him that her marriage was rocky and that she wanted more out of life than being someone's wife and that she was in the process of separating from her husband.

When his hair cut was complete--which took only a few minutes-- he had another surprise for her. He pulled her towards his waiting limousine and told they would have to complete the interview en route to the airport where his private plane was waiting to fly him to Moscow. Again, rather than discussing his collection, he preferred telling him about his unique standing in Moscow. He told her he had met Lenin and almost every other important Soviet leader. She was impressed. As they neared the airport, he guardedly scribbled a question to her on a piece of paper-- as if he was afraid his spoken words might be monitored. What was her home telephone? She answered it and, passing the paper back to him, was amazed to see him erase his orinal question. She was intrigued by the layer of conspiracy he had imposed on a simple request.

Hammer called her a few weeks later. In a very business-like way, he told her he was back in Los Angeles and he had thought about her questions and now wanted to complete the interview. He suggested that she meet him that afternoon at a private suite at the Beverly Hills Hilton Hotel which he used when he did not want to be disturbed by routine office business.

He opened the door for her when she arrived at the suite and seated her on a sofa across a table from him. When she took out her pad to take notes, he told her that what he was saying was not for publication but he wanted her to hear him out. She was slightly mystified by the request but put down her pad.

Speaking with almost brutal frankness, he told her about his interest in building a serious collection. He explained that art for him was neither a business nor an aesthetic passion; it was a means to achieve an end-- immortalizing his name. He wanted to leave behind such an unrivalled collection that future generations would associate the Hammer name with greatness. To do this, he intended to spare no expense in buying renowned masterpieces. To give it prominence during his lifetime, he would exhibit the collection in the great museums of the world. After his death, it would be housed in a separate building in the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, where it would stand, forever, as a monument to him. He told her he had already made the preliminary arrangements with the Los Angeles County Museum but he still had to improve the collection and create a global reputation for it. He then told her the real purpose behind this meeting: He wanted her to leave journalism and work closely with him in realizing this prodigious ambition. She would act as his personal art consultant, curator and liaison with museums around the world. She would have her own office at Occidental and travel with him on his private jet. She would help him make the arrangements for exhibiting the Armand Hammer collection around the world. He then leaned close to her, suggesting this would be more than a professional relationship, and told her he was offering her a new life. If she accepted, she would, as he put it, "never have to worry about money again."

She was overwhelmed by this sweeping proposal and the confident manner in which he had delivered it. "Why me?" she asked.

He replied that he felt himself "drawn to her" from the moment they met. He said he could sense that she wanted to learn from him. "I want to take care of you," he said, embracing her like a child. He then led her to the adjoining bedroom and began the relationship that wold change her life.

After Hammer left the suite, Kaufman saw that he had left five one-hundred bills on the table for her. Insulted, she left them on the table. But his message was clear-- if crude.

On September 22, 1974, she was put on the payroll of Occidental at a starting salary of $22,000 per year. She nominally worked for Occidental's public relations department, but, in reality, she could come and go as she liked, without reporting to her superior in the department. She reported directly to Hammer. The job provided a plausible reason for her meetings with Hammer in forein countries-- including Venezuela, Peru, Mexico, Britain and Japan. She also found the job extremely challenging since it involved not only arranging exhibitions for the Armand Hammer Collection but, making sure that the officials, socialites and journalists who Hammer wanted to cultivate favor with would be invited.

When Hammer travelled with his wife Francis on the corporate jet, she would take a commercial flight to the same destination. But on almost these trips, he would then find opportunities to liaise with her. In Paris, for example, he took her to a Russian restaurant, which he had closed to other customers. As they sat alone there, served by a dozen waiters and serenaded by an entire gypsy orchestra, she marvelled at his power to magically empty a restaurant when it suited his purposes.

She soon found that Hammer had his own golden rule: "He Who Hath The Gold, Makes The Rules." He had it inscribed on a plaque in his office, and pointing it out to her, he told her "like it or not, this is the way life is." She soon found out how serious he was about imposing his rules on her. When, for example, she sought a legal divource from his husband in 1976, he told her not to seek either alimony or child support for her daughters from him. If she did, he explained to her that her husband might retaliate by exposing her relationship with him and he could not risk having his name surface. Instead, he asked her to arrange an uncontested divource and he would provide her and her daughters with lifetime support. She followed his instructions and was now heavily dependent on Hammer for her employment.

In 1978, Hammer told her that he was transferring her from Occidental to the Armand Hammer Foundation. She would serve there as his personal art consultant at a salary of $30,000. This change increased her dependence on him-- which she assumed was partly his motive. Instead of working for Occidental, where she might find some corporate insulation, she worked directly for him from her home in Beverly Hills-- a home he had encouraged her to buy because it had an ally that led to a back entrance. Having his limousine driver bring him to this alley, he could keep his visits discreet. It was to be his private retreat. He had her decorate it like an English cottage with furniture that had belonged to his deceased brother, Harry. In the master bedroom was an "Aduster" bed, so he could raise and lower in different positions, and mirrors on the wall, so he could watch himself perform . In the garden, he had her plant his favorite flower, double-delight roses that changed from white to deep red.

Usually, he would arrive about noon time take off the tie and jacket he wore to the office, and make himself comfortable at the table in the kitchen. She found her liked to make phone calls in her presense to the White House, Kremlin, Buckingham Palace and other centers of power, as if to impress her. When speaking to lesser people, she noticed he would almost always dispense with the usuals polite "hellos" and "good-byes. He would tersely state his business and hang up. After lunch, he would often put on a robe and sun himself in the garden.

He would tell her during these visits, "You make me young." And she did what she could to restore his youth, putting him on the low-fat Dr.Atkins diet (his weight dropped from 206 when she first met him to 165 pounds) and helping him "think young."

Aside from her salary, he had promised her a lifetime income after his death that was to be paid out of a secret bank account in Switzerland. Since he was not in the best of health, and an octogenerian, this Swiss Account was an important part of their deal.

It was not an easy bargain for her. He demanded an extraordinary measure of control over her personal life during the course of the next 12 years. She had to be available to meet his schedule at short notice. He gave her two beepers to alert her to his calls. He prohibited her from seeing other men and,to make sure of her wherabouts in Los Angeles, he had a homing device installed in her car and a tap placed on her phone. He also frequently had wear a disguise when they were together in public so she would not be recognized. He also controlled her vacation schedule-- for example, making sure she came to New York when he had to be there overnight on business (He maintained a town house in Greenwhich Village there that he used for these tristes.) She had to submit to his sexual demands even when she considered them, as she later described them, as "extremely humiliating." She also accomodated him by mirroring her bedroom when he told her he enjoyed watching himself. Despite his advanced age, she found him to be physically energetic, which he attributed to swimming laps every day in his home indoor pool.

He went far beyond any conventional romantic liaison by attempting to extend his domain to her reproductive organs. Hammer wanted her to bear him an illegimate son. He would not take no for an answer, but, though he kept careful track of her menstrual cycle, she did not get pregnant. He then forced her, as she later described it, "to undergo surgical procedures to facilitate impregnation"-- procedures he had "conducted under his direct view and direction." They also failed.

When Hammer decided to build his own museum, he involved her in the project, raising her salary to $70,000 in 1989. Then Francis found out that she was Hammer's mistress. She had previously suspected a liaison, but Hammer had managed to persaude her that she was mistaken. Now, even though he again denied the truth, she was not convinced. Since Francis' own fortune, which she inherited before he married her in 1955, had helped finance the art collection, he needed her cooperation in transferring the art to the museum and could not risk her impeding the project. Nor did he want to give up his mistress, as she demanded. He therefore designed an ingenious ploy to dupe his wife.

After telling her that he had fired his Martha Kaufman from the foundation, he had his mistress assume a new identity under the name of "Hilary Gibson." He then told Francis that he had hired "Gibson" as a replacement for Kaufman. To further diminish her suspicion, he had his mistress transform herself into a much elderly woman, telling her that older woman pass unnoticed at social functions. He made her, as she lated noted, "wear wigs, glasses, make-up and attire which made her appear decades older than she really was." When he was satsfied with his make-over, he re-employed her both at the Foundation and Occidental, where she had to disguise "her true identity from co-workers." She recalled that he took immense pleasure in the success of this deception.

Francis died that December. But by this time the persona of Hilary Gibson was well established. She was the director of planning, development and financial control for the museum-- a position from which she personally supervised all aspects of this creation of Hammer's monument. She even oversaw the engraving in marble of the letters of his name. By the fall, Hammer's visits to her home became less frequent, and she put all her energies into making sure of the success of the grand opening. She also drew up a new contract for herself that gave her life time remuneration from the foundation, and, a week before the opening, Hammer had signed it.

The opening ended abruptly for Hammer at 10 p.m. when two medical attendentants picked him, like a rag doll, and carried him out. When he got home that night, he had a prolonged hallucination. He saw his dead mother in the room and, in front of his staff, he carried on a rambling conversation with her, asking her over and over again where his missing father was. His night nurse could not convince him that it was only a hallucination. The next week, two faith-healers were broiught in. They floated Hammer on the surface of the swimming pool and, in a repition of an ancient Aztec ceremony, they danced around him for two days. On 7.22 p.m, on December 10, Hammer died in bed-- it was the night before his scheduled Bar Mitzvah.

The memorial service took place at the Museum on Jauary 4, 1991. Hilary Gibson stood alone.in the row immediately behind the Occidental Board of Directors. She was felling very much like, as she put it, "a pariah." Even since the funeral, the new management at Occidental had begun to distance itself from Hammer. His pet projects, such as Armand Hammer Film Productions, had been terminated. His photographs, paintings and busts taken down. The framed letters and testimonials to Hammer from world leaders also had been removed from the sixteenth floor executive suite. She could see "the handwriting on the wall for herself. She had been Hammer's mistress for 17 years and the museum, which Hammer had meant her to run, had become the subject of huge shareholders suit. She knew the new management was moving to distance itself from both her and the museum. The Leonardo De Vinci book, which he had named the Hammer Codex, would be sold to William Gates of Microsoft-- and re-named. The museum would be turned over to UCLA to manage. She would be put through, as she termed it, "total hell."

Throughout the following months she found her progressively more isolated. Her title was revoked and, finally, on June 2, 1992 two Occidental security men escorted her out of the building. She was fired.

The foundation had also dispensed with her services and made it clear to her that to sequibly settler her claim against it, she would have to sue it.

She also received no money from the secret fund he had told her he had set up for her in Switzerland. He had ked her to believe it contained at least 10 million dollars-- and that this was money he had diverted from oil deals he had made in Libya. Yet, when she asked lawyers for Hammer's estate about it, they denied it existed.

What these lawyers did not anticipate was her extraordinary determination-- and resourcefulness. "If I could handle Hammer for 17 years, I could handle anything." she later reflected. She had during Hammer's visits to her home made copies of numerous addresses she found on papers in his pocket. Even though he often used code-names, she was able to identify a key Swiss banker-- Felix Iselin. In 1994, she flew to Basel and arranged a meeting with Iselin at his office.

Iselin was very brusque and business-like. He told her that Hammer hae made arrangments for her but revoked them. He then took a hand-written document from his file. It was addressed to Peter Lotz, one of his partners and dated September 6, 1990. She could see that most of the words on it had been meticulously blocked out with masking tape for her viewing. The unblocked portion read: "My instructions with regard to ... Martha Kaufman (Hilary Gibson) are revoked." It was signed "Armand Hammer." Iselin looked at her smugly, as if that ended the issue.

She then calculatingly asked Iselin for some information. When he left to get it for her, she grabbed the document and, concealing it under her shawl, calmly left the office. By the time she had arrived at her hotel, there was a frantic message from Iselin, begging her to return the document. Instead, she peeled off the masking tape and found the name of the secret account-- the Grazioza Account-- that Hammer had established for her. The full document also showed that Hammer had secreted money outside of the U.S. that he did not intend to pass through his estate-- or pay taxes on. She speculated that this disclosure could prove enormously embarrassing to the estate. She now also knew that her lover had double-crossed her a few months before he died by revoking his commitment. She decided to sue his estate for his breach of promise.

Confronted with the document, the lawyers representing Hammer's estate, living trust and Occident settled her claim out of court. In March 1996, she received $4.2 million.

She had also opened a pandora's box.