Disinherited Barneys Heir Stabs Estranged Siblings In The Back With A Scorched Earth Fake Residency Tax Fraud Revenge Lawsuit

If you make a huge fortune someday, your kids would really appreciate it if you could be so kind as to die a resident of a state that has no taxes. For example, Florida, Nevada, or Texas. On the flip side, your heirs would really, really, really appreciate it if you did not die while living in a super high tax state like California, New York, or New Jersey.

Take a hypothetical person with a net worth of $100 million. If that person dies as a resident of Florida, Nevada, or Texas, their heirs will owe ZERO dollars in state taxes. If that same person dies as a resident of California, New York, or New Jersey, their heirs will owe tens of millions of dollars in state income and estate taxes.

To avoid scrutiny — or more importantly, to win an audit — wealthy people go to absurd lengths to prove they've left a high-tax state behind. It's not enough to just get a new driver's license. Auditors have been known to demand proof of new local doctors, utility bills showing consistent water, gas, and electrical usage, and even cellphone GPS data confirming where you've actually been sleeping. You're expected to switch banks, join a local country club, change your pharmacy, and make sure your Amazon packages and DoorDash orders are all showing up in the right zip code. Your cellphone metadata, credit card history, and prescription logs all become potential evidence.

If the tax man in your former state gets even a whiff that you're still spending time in your old apartment or Hamptons beach house, that can be enough to blow everything up.

Because the stakes can be so high — and because many rich people don't actually want to move to Florida, Texas, or Nevada — some go to even more absurd lengths to fake a change in residency.

Consider the case of Pamela Anderson's ex-husband (and co-star of Paris Hilton's sex tape), high-stakes poker pro Rick Salomon. In the wake of their bitter 2015 divorce, Pamela alleged that Rick had been lying about being a Nevada resident. She tattled to a California court that he secretly spent most of the year living at her house in Malibu. Which, as you know, is not in Nevada. This mattered because Pam ALSO alleged that Rick made $50 MILLION in 2014 playing poker. It gets worse. Pamela claimed that in order to make it look like he was in Nevada, Salomon allegedly gave one of his assistants a credit card and instructed him to make periodic purchases in the Silver State. The difference in state tax liability? Easily north of $6 million.

Which brings us to the latest high-society tax drama: a $100 million estate, a suspicious Florida address, and a furious Barneys heir who just filed a scorched-earth lawsuit accusing his own siblings.

Mallory Pressman, Marisa May, Phyllis Gurwin, and Bob Pressman (L-R)(Photo by MARC DIMOV/Patrick McMullan via Getty Images)

The House That Barneys Built

Before we go any further, note the two people on the right side of the photo above, Phyllis Gurin and Bob Pressman. They are mother and son. Keep their names in mind.

Barneys began in 1923 as a humble men's discount clothing store on Seventh Avenue in Manhattan. Its founder, Barney Pressman, supposedly pawned his wife's engagement ring to come up with the money to open the 500-square-foot shop. Over the next several decades, Barneys evolved into a cultural institution — the kind of place where fashion editors, celebrities, and uptown shoppers all rubbed elbows while hunting for imported suits, avant-garde couture, or that season's "It" handbag.

It was Barney's son, Fred Pressman, who transformed the store into a luxury retail empire. In the 1960s and '70s, Fred began importing high-end European designers like Giorgio Armani, Comme des Garçons, and Christian Dior — long before they became mainstream in America. Under his leadership, Barneys shed its discount roots and rebranded as a temple of cutting-edge fashion. By the 1990s, the brand had gone global, with stores in Beverly Hills, Chicago, and Japan. The Madison Avenue flagship was a retail cathedral. For a certain type of New Yorker, Barneys wasn't just a store — it was a lifestyle and a status symbol.

Fred's wife, Phyllis Pressman (pictured above), was also a prominent figure in the Barneys orbit. Known for her exacting taste and social presence, Phyllis was deeply involved in the family's fashion world and charitable circles.

Fred and Phyllis had four children: Gene, Bob (pictured above), Elizabeth, and Nancy. All were involved in the business at various points. Bob and Gene ran the company together after Fred's death, with Bob handling finances and Gene overseeing creative. Elizabeth and Nancy were buyers.

Fred Pressman died in 1996. In 2001, Phyllis married a man named Joseph Gurwin. That's why she is listed as Phyllis Gurwin in the photo above. Joseph Gurwin's life deserves its own little blurb, which I'll give you real quick, then we'll get back to our Barneys story:

Joseph was born in Lithuania in 1920. He moved to New York City in 1936 with a grand total of $100 in his pocket. Most of the family he left behind in Lithuania died during World War II. With the help of an uncle in the US, Joseph became a military contractor, eventually earning a fortune making bulletproof vests, parachutes, and gas mask hoods for the military. Later in life, he used his fortune to establish two philanthropic foundations. Unfortunately, he put Bernie Madoff in charge of managing the foundations' assets. All of their assets were lost. Joseph died in 2009.

Back to Barneys….

When Phyllis married Joseph, she gave up life in the Hamptons, where she owned a palatial oceanfront estate that today is worth $40 million, and moved into his house in West Palm Beach, Florida. Keep that in mind.

After a series of financial missteps, lawsuits, and an infamous bankruptcy, the Pressmans sold their interest in Barneys in 2004 for a reported $937 million. Most of which, as you'll learn in a moment, ended up in the hands of Phyllis — and eventually just three of her four children.

In 2024, Phyllis Pressman Gurwin died at the age of 95. Her estate, conservatively valued at more than $100 million, included a 2.3-acre oceanfront mansion in Southampton (estimated to be worth $40 million), a swanky Upper East Side apartment (sold for $3.95 million), and an enviable collection of jewelry and fine art from brands like Bulgari and Harry Winston. According to her will, the bulk of this estate was divided among her three children:

• Gene
• Elizabeth
• Nancy

Bob Pressman, her fourth child, got nothing. The trust documents made it brutally clear: "Bob doesn't get anything for reasons he well knows."

However. Bob did not just sulk away and lick his wounds. He lawyered up, and then he dropped a legal bomb on the entire family.

In a scorched-earth lawsuit that was just filed in New York State Supreme Court, Bob Pressman accuses his siblings and late mother of committing a massive tax fraud scheme.

According to the complaint, Phyllis was NOT actually a Florida resident at the time of her death and had, IN FACT, been living full-time in Southampton for the last six years. Yet, on her estate's legal documents, she was listed as a resident of West Palm Beach, Florida — a state that conveniently imposes no estate tax.

Bob alleges that his siblings listed her Florida address on estate documents, transferred the Southampton mansion into a limited liability company, and, in a final twist, moved Phyllis to hospice care in Florida shortly before she died… even though she had reportedly been living — and receiving medication, phone calls, and housekeeper visits — at her New York residence for years.

Why does that matter? Because if New York tax authorities determine that Phyllis was actually a legal resident of New York at the time of her death, her estate could owe the state upwards of $20 million in taxes. Add in penalties and interest, and the total could balloon to $50 million.

Why would he do this? Is it just to get sweet revenge? Yes, but there's a kicker. Thanks to New York's False Claims Act, a whistleblower like Bob might be entitled to 30% of any money recovered. That could be as much as $15 million in this case!

So yes, Bob Pressman may have been cut out of his mother's $100 million will. But if his lawsuit is successful, he might still walk away with $15 million — and the satisfaction of burning the entire family scheme to the ground. The estate tax man might get his cut, but Bob's aiming to get his, too. After all, revenge is a dish best served with a whistleblower payout.