When Donald Boehm was sentenced to prison Tuesday, he left behind a mess, legal and otherwise, that could take years to clean up.

When Donald Boehm was sentenced to prison Tuesday, he left behind a mess, legal and otherwise, that could take years to clean up.

There are at least a half-dozen Boehm-related lawsuits yet to be decided — and more likely to come.

Stuck in the middle of all the controversy, more by necessity than choice, is Tonia Campbell.

She ought to be a millionaire right now, as should her mother and three brothers. But Boehm took that away from them when he stole more than $5 million in cash and property from the estate of Campbell's grandfather — and Boehm's own cousin — Fredric Warmers.

Updated to today's prices, the land alone is likely worth two or three times that much, especially considering the sharp discounts Boehm employed to unload it. Several of the properties Boehm stole from the family have since been developed, with one large subdivision pending in the Town of Newburgh.

Warmers' heirs won't see a dime from any of that.

"Sure, it would have been nice to have a million bucks in the bank, but that's not real life," Campbell said the day after the sentencing. "It wasn't meant to happen."

Real life for Campbell, in the three-plus years since she took Boehm's place as executor of her grandfather's estate, has been about hard work, lost sleep and a lot of waiting.

Her family has run up roughly $100,000 in legal bills — fighting with banks, lawyers and bankruptcy trustees over the remains of the estate and related family trusts.

Just two properties are still in their hands. One is a fairly large tract of land in Newburgh that Boehm was unable to unload before he lost control of the estate. It was one of Fred Warmers' least desirable properties, and the family hasn't been able to sell it.

The other is a bank branch on Long Island. It has generated roughly $1,500 a month in rental income, along with yet another lawsuit, this one over an alleged slip-and-fall.

When it rains "¦

It would be funny, Campbell concedes, if she weren't involved in it.

"It would be funnier," she added, "if I wasn't so concerned about my mom, and what she's going to do."

Campbell's mother, Antonina Warmers Caston, turned 60 in February. Buried in debt, she's a few credits shy of earning her paralegal degree, and preparing to look for work.

"This isn't where I ever thought I'd be at this point in my life," Caston said after Boehm, 12 years her senior, was sentenced to one to three years in prison.

Despite the sometimes overwhelming urge to wallow, Campbell's family is looking to the future.

One of her brothers is about to get married. Another is looking at colleges.

Eight years after he began stealing from her family, the man Campbell called a "conniving, amoral crook" during his sentencing is finally behind bars.

Campbell, 31, is finding small ways to put the man behind her, too.

For months, the screen-saver on Campbell's computer was a picture of Boehm being led out of the Town of Newburgh Police Department after his arrest in October.

The night after he was sentenced, she took down the picture. She replaced it with a pretty flower.