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A career con man brings his talents to Cleveland’s art world

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Then there was his arts work, which Coleman expanded after leaving Arts Collinwood. He moved on to the boards of Art House, a nonprofit near Old Brooklyn that provides classes and promotes artists, and the Community Partnership for Arts and Culture, one of the area's biggest cultural agencies.

"Art had always been important in my mother's life and in my life," Coleman says. He wanted to make sure other children got the same opportunities.

None of the groups had any idea about Coleman's past. And at least one had high praise for his service.

"I've had fantastic interaction with him. I have found him to be an excellent member of the board of trustees," says Amy Craft, executive director of Art House.

It was a plush lifestyle, and Coleman might have ridden it for years. But he couldn't resist slipping back into old habits.

Four years ago, when he was still on good terms with Arts Collinwood, Coleman launched a small venture with Gyorki's father, Miles Kennedy. A retired professor, Kennedy is a beloved figure in Collinwood. He and his wife, Nancy, helped found Arts Collinwood and have invested much time and money in creating an arts district.

Coleman told Kennedy that he was a real estate developer and suggested they buy a building on Waterloo Road to house galleries. They would be equal partners, and Coleman would manage the project, Kennedy remembers.

But two years after purchasing the structure, it housed no gallery. Coleman claims renovations cost twice as much as budgeted. Kennedy has another take: "In my opinion, he turned out not to be so good as a real estate developer."

Coleman had also resumed his trademark scam. He opened an American Express card in Kennedy's name, then ran up $24,700 in charges. Some of the purchases were genuine business expenses, Kennedy says. Others were for travel and clothes, and Kennedy never gave Coleman permission to open the card.

Finally, in 2006, Kennedy bought Coleman's stake, then sued him, alleging that Coleman owed him at least $20,600 in addition to the credit-card fraud. The case is still in court.

When Kennedy was contacted by Scene, the disgust in his voice seemed palpable. But because they are still battling in court, his lawyer had urged him not to talk.

Meanwhile, the rest of Coleman's carefully constructed life was unraveling. Last fall, the hedge fund Manchester Partners sued his consulting group, claiming Coleman had defaulted on a $25,000 loan. Coleman never bothered to defend himself, and the judge issued a default judgment.

Then, last August, the final blow came. A decade after she saw Coleman's litany of scams exposed in a New York courtroom, Vandenbosch filed for divorce. Her complaint alleged that Coleman had hidden some of his criminal past from her and "committed other acts of fraud to induce her into marriage." He'd also begun to threaten her.

During one argument, she wrote in an affidavit, Coleman picked up a sledgehammer and repeatedly slammed it into a door, scaring her so much that she called police. She asked for a court order barring him from their house.

Realizing that a divorce would entail agonizing exposure of his past, Coleman went into attack mode. He sent his wife an e-mail, detailing how expensive a long court battle would be and noting that "the only person who benefits from an ugly protracted war is your faggot motherfuckin' lawyer . . . The other question is, do we need the hassle, embarrassment, reputation risk, legal risk (to both of us) and plain grief so that the cocksucker can afford another visit [to] Disneyworld?"

His wife was undeterred. By October, the couple was divorced. Vandenbosch took a job as a dean at the online Kaplan University, moving to Florida to start a new life.

Back in Cleveland, Coleman wasn't faring as well. As more lawsuits against him appeared on the court docket, word of his past leaked through Collinwood. He clung to his new identity, trying to hide behind the name he'd adopted since he'd left prison — Zachary Coleman — and to distance himself from the criminal records listed under Isaac.

When first interviewed by Scene, he pretended this was all a mix-up. "People have relatives," he said. "It could be a relative of mine."

Still, he wasn't behaving like an innocent man. Within two days of speaking to a reporter, he resigned from the boards of Art House and the Community Partnership. It happened so quickly and with so little explanation that Art House director Craft still didn't know of Coleman's past by the time a reporter called. "I am unaware of any of this information," she said.

Thomas Schorgl, president of the Community Partnership, was in the dark as well. All he knew was that Coleman sent the group a resignation letter on April 10, saying that he was moving to Washington, D.C.

Wherever Coleman was going, he had good reason to run. Bratenahl police confirm that there is a warrant for his arrest, but won't talk about the case or release any records.

Three weeks after his first interview with Scene, Coleman requested a second interview. Fittingly, he suggested a meeting at the downtown Ritz.

He arrived late, wearing a blazer and jeans, but without the famed bravado and charm of his high-roller days. He looked tired and unexpectedly old. White hair, trimmed close to his head, framed a gaunt face. With legs professorially crossed, hands folded in his lap, he spoke slowly and quietly.

He still claimed Scene had the wrong man, though his denials sounded curiously like a confession. "Regardless of whether it's true or not, whatever life I had is over," he said. "Assuming it is true, it has the same result."

He complained that Scene's inquiries had already blown his chances of starting a new life. He said he felt "exploited" and asked for more time to get his family's affairs in order before telling his full "backstory."

Finally, realizing his pleas were in vain, he resorted to threats. "I've already talked to a lawyer about filing a lawsuit," he began.

Then he mentioned the name of the reporter's apartment building, asking how she liked it there. The not-so-subtle message: I know where you live.

But in the end, he seemed to understand that his words were meaningless. He walked back toward the Ritz's elevators and disappeared.

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