Page 12 - GTA Real Estate Magazine July 2021

Billionaire Murders The Mysterious Deaths of
Barry and Honey Sherman excerpt from the book written by Kevin Donovan
Kevin Donovan
In the year leading up to his death, Barry Sherman was consumed by one thought. What if he did not have enough time? Enough time to do everything he wanted to do in life. At seventy- five, he had already accomplished a great deal. He had built a generic drug empire, faced countless critics, and won more battles than he’d lost. He’d amassed a personal fortune approaching $5
billion. Still, he drove an older car, spent more hours at work than he needed to, and was perpetually unsettled. There was no God, of that he was certain, no afterlife. Consciousness ended with the grave. And so, every day, he did the one thing that was sure to make him happy. He worked.
It had always been that way. Outsiders, even friends who knew him well, were perplexed by Barry Sherman. For most people, if you earned that kind of money, you were entitled to spend it on items that made life more fun. But that was not something Barry Sherman did well. His contemporaries in the pharmaceutical world made their millions and accumulated—deservedly, most the billionaire murders would say—the trappings of wealth: fine cars, first- class travel, a mansion in the city, and a cottage on a lake. Jack Kay, Sherman’s longtime second-in-command, drove an X-class Mercedes- Benz. At their offices at the Toronto headquarters of Apotex, immediately to the right of the
Page 12 GTA Real Estate JULY 2021
front door, were two named parking spots, Barry Sherman’s and Jack Kay’s. Barry’s rusting convertible was a stark contrast to Kay’s gleaming Benz.
“Jack, don’t you worry about what our employees will think?” Sherman asked his friend on many occasions. “They work so hard, and while they’re well paid, they don’t make what it would take to afford that kind of car. I worry about what they would think.”
Kay would just shake his head.
What Sherman did do with many of his millions was give it away to causes he or his wife, Honey, deemed worthy. He made the money; Honey ensured it went to the right places, where the impact would be the greatest. Both were tireless fundraisers. Their four children, cousins, extended family, and close friends were also the beneficiaries of the Sherman family wealth, though it became a sore point at times when the children and other family members asked for too much. And their house was not a happy home—one parent harsh and critical, the other soft and patient.
The bizarre circumstances of their deaths would make head-
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