We have some new—and disturbing—information on the house of horrors in Bedford occupied by billionaire Nelson Peltz and his wife Claudia. (If you missed yesterday's installment, go here.) We've made contact with several other people who worked inside the home in the past, and their stories, which are just as outrageous as the ones we'd heard previously, make it clear that the Peltzes may very well be the scariest couple to work for in the tri-state area.
The legendary corporate raider, as we mentioned yesterday, is obsessed with his personal safety and insists on having bodyguards with him at all times. We now hear that more than a dozen guards are always present at the Peltzes' 130-acre estate. All are them are armed, too, since Peltz insists that his security team be comprised of men with law enforcement or military backgrounds.
Having a small army patrolling the property may keep Peltz safe, and they also serve to intimidate other members of the household staff, but the guards don't sound nearly as frightening as the couple's "house manager," who keeps tabs on everything going on in the home. The maid quarters, kitchen, and other common areas all have security cameras overhead, so staff's every move can be monitored from a central location.
You wouldn't think that a billionaire would be too concerned about one of his employees enjoying a free bagel, especially one that's destined for the trash. But you'd be wrong, as one staff member discovered when his innocent bagel-toasting was caught on camera, leading to a severe reprimand from the house manager. Apparently, one of the many rules at the house is that the staff must bring any food they plan to eat during the day with them, and are forbidden to touch anything in the kitchen, even if it's food that is intended for the garbage. Since the Peltzes typically order enormous platters of food—and much of it goes uneaten—on several occasions employees have been scolded for eating food that the Peltzes would rather see go to waste.
According to the people we've spoken with, Mr. Peltz is less abusive to the household staff than his wife. While he spends his time focused on business, it's Claudia and the estate manager who rule over their charges with an iron fist. Even more abusive is the couple's daughter, an aspiring actress in her early teens for whom heaping abuse on the maids, nannies, and butlers has become something of a sport.
Indeed, the tension has reached such levels that the Peltzes appear to be having trouble finding help these days and agencies that are still willing to work with the family now warn prospective employees of the perils involved. Then again, given we're in the middle of a recession and everyone is cutting back these days, perhaps having six bodyguards instead of 12—or four maids instead of six—isn't the worst idea in the world.