by ANDREA SMITH
“This can’t be possible,” I said aloud, shakily.
“What is it Tylar” Trey asked, concerned.
I handed him the letter. “Could you take a look at this for me? I’ll be right back; I need to get my toothbrush from your bathroom.”
“Of course,” he replied, already distracted by the letter and looking at the returned check from the bank. When I returned, Trey was folding the letter.
“Tylar,” he asked, “if you don’t mind sharing this with me, do you know how much money was left in your trust at the last accounting?”
“It was a little over $50,000,” I answered. “That's before I requested this disbursement for my fall registration fees.”
“Would you like me to contact this Mr. Sneed on your behalf to see what I can find out? It could save you a trip back there and I’d like to be sure that he's on the up and up with this matter. Didn’t you tell me that your mother worked for this firm?”
“Yes,” I answered, already fairly certain where he was going with this. “But she had no ability to access my trust,” I explained. “That was clearly stipulated in the terms.”
“Do you have a copy of the trust documentation?” he asked.
“No, my mom would have that, or the firm.”
“Yes, I realize that,” he stated, “I just wondered if you've ever been provided a copy.”
“Trey, the truth is I'd be grateful for your help with this, that's if you have the time. I know you still have this case you’re working on.”
“It’s not a problem, Tylar. I'll make some calls and request copies on your behalf. You’ll need to sign a statement of representation. I have a form in my briefcase; let me get one for you to sign.” He disappeared momentarily so I went down the hall to Gina’s room, opening the door.
“Call your aunt, Gina, I’m ready,” I said. She nodded.
Trey met me back in my room with the form; I signed it.
“There you go, Trey. I really appreciate your help.”
“No problem at all,” he said, all smooth and silky.
“You go ahead and keep the letter with all of the contact information,” I said, handing him back the envelope. “Just let me know what you find out when you get a chance to contact the firm in Louisville, okay?”
“Sure,” he said, puzzled, “you aren’t still planning to leave are you?”
“Nothing’s changed from 15 minutes ago,” I replied. My heart was broken, but it would mend.
“I want you here,” he stated firmly.
“I understand that, Trey, though I'm not sure why. I mean what's in it for you? It's not like we know each other all that well; hell, it's not like we're even fuck-buddies. I don't really get you, I guess. Maybe it's the age difference, or maybe it's cause you're rich and used to getting what you want even though you're not sure why you want something. I can't hang with that."
He was silent; his face void of expression as if he really couldn't explain his need to have me close either.
I grabbed my suitcase and backpack, heading towards the door. Trey's arms stopped me, pulling me against him.
Oh God! I need to stay strong.
Gina’s timing was perfect. She knocked on the door before coming in on her own. “Tylar, Aunt Becky’s out front waiting.”
I pulled myself away from Trey, grabbing my suitcase and heading to the door. He didn’t try to stop me. Part of me was glad, part of me wasn’t. I couldn’t look back. I knew that if I left, that was the end of us. Whatever "us" was which was pretty fucked-up in itself being that neither Trey nor I had a clue.
Gina met me in the hall, studying my face as we descended the stairway.
“Are you all right?” she asked, concerned.
“Not at the moment,” I answered truthfully.
We got settled in at Gina's aunt's house. The whole upstairs of the Cape Cod house was a finished bedroom and bath. The room was huge with several beds. Gina switched the television on for some distracting noise to break the silence... She finally sat down on one of the twin beds and looked at me.
“Do you want to talk about it, Tylar?”
I shook my head, “I’m not sure what there is to talk about.”
“Listen,” she said. “I’ve got an idea that may take your mind off this bullshit, at least for a couple of days, though we'll need Aunt Becky to clear it.”
“Shoot,” I said.
“We’re going to be done with the stuff at the winery at end of shift Wednesday. Ian will be coming with his pick-up truck to get the cases of wine we're taking back to our club, Sanctuary,” she explained. “Why don’t you plan on finishing out the week, and then getting a bus on Friday after your shift to come to Atlanta and stay with us for a long weekend? Monday is the Fourth of July and then just come back on the bus on Tuesday. You'd only miss one day of work, how about it?”
I considered it for about 10 seconds. “As long as you can clear it with Becky, I’d love to,” I replied. The change would do me good.
“Fantastic!” Gina said. “We'll have a great time. You'll love Ian, and Atlanta.”
“I’m not getting my hopes up until you clear it with Becky,” I reminded her.
“Not to worry,” Gina responded.
CHAPTER 19
The next few days sped by quickly. Gina and I returned to the winery on Monday to finish the bottling, corking, and labeling on the last batch of wine. True to Gina’s estimation, we were finished by close of business on Wednesday. Ian was driving up from Atlanta. He should reach Bristol late Wednesday night.
Things were coming together. As promised, Gina had cleared it through Becky for me to enjoy a long weekend with them in Atlanta. Gina had generously used some of her frequent flier miles to buy me a flight. I had a follow-up with my doctor on Tuesday and was cleared to work with no restrictions; I could go back to the stables. I was ecstatic. Becky said I could finish the week out taking inventory in the wine cellar, and performing general cleanup and maintenance of the equipment there as well. Another tank would not be fully fermented for another few weeks.
Trey had returned to Atlanta on Sunday to finish up the trial on the class action suit. He'd called my cell several times, leaving messages for me. I hadn’t returned any of them. I wasn’t sure if he had information back from Andrew Sneed yet on the status of my trust. At this point, I didn’t care. I was packing my stuff up in my suitcase when Gina came bouncing up the steps.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.
“Gina, your husband is coming here tonight. You guys need some time for yourselves. I’d be in the way. Besides, I’m not going to impose on your aunt once you’re gone. I’ve got to establish myself somewhere.”
“Where are you going?”
“Back to my cottage,” I replied.
“Oh you can’t do that, Tylar. I’ll really worry about you if you do that.”
“Listen,” I replied, “It'll just be for a couple of nights and then I’m off to Atlanta for three whole nights. I'll be fine.”
“Promise me you'll have Clint keep an eye out on you? Maybe he could crash on the couch or something?” She was really getting freaked out.
“I'll let him know, okay?”
“Okay, I mean it.” She pulled an envelope out of her purse, handing it to me. “Your tickets,” she explained. “I'll be at the airport to pick you up. Your whole itinerary is in there.”
“Thanks Gina,” I said, my eyes welling up as I hugged her.
“Now don’t go getting all mushy on me, girlfriend. That's so not east coast,” she complained, wiping her eye.
Becky gave me a lift back to the stables. From there, she helped me carry my stuff up to my cottage. “You know you're welcome to stay on with me, Tylar.”
“Thanks Becky, I appreciate that, but it's more practical for me to stay here near the stables."
She looked away as if she knew something she couldn’t share with me. I got everything unpacked and put away. I cleaned out my fridge seeing that
I'd definitely need to get some groceries. I'd see if Clint would drive me to town later. I plugged my cell phone into the charger as someone knocked on my door. It was Clint, standing there grinning.
“Hey neighbor, are you back to stay?”
“Apparently so,” I replied, feeling sheepish. I'm sure Jenna would spread the word Trey had dumped his Twinkie. “Come on in,” I invited, holding the screen door open. “I wanted to ask you a favor if you have a minute.”
“Sure thing,” Clint replied, following me into the kitchen.
“I just made some iced tea, Clint, would you like some?”
“Sounds great.”
I got our iced tea poured handing him a glass.
“So what’s up?” he asked taking a drink of tea.
“First off, would you mind running me up to the grocery this evening?”
“Not a problem.”
“Great, thanks. And well I wouldn’t impose but I promised Gina that I'd ask if you'd mind keeping your eye out for me over here? You know, with the strange items and, now, notes that've mysteriously shown up and all?”
“You know I will,” Clint answered. “Tell you what let me program my number into your phone, okay? That way if you get spooked for any reason, just call me and I’ll run over, how’s that?”
“Thanks, Clint that makes me feel a lot better.”
“Is everything else okay?”
He could tell that it wasn’t. I just didn’t feel comfortable getting into the details with anyone, at least not right now.
“Everything will be fine.” I responded.
He didn’t press me any further. “You ready to go to the grocery now?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Let’s go then, my truck is parked down at the stables.”
As we walked down the path to the stables, Clint filled me in on how things had been going lately. He mentioned that some local intern had been filling in for me part time, but that it looked as if the kid might go full-time next week. I stopped in my tracks right then and there. Clint walked a few paces more before he realized that I was no longer walking beside him.
“What do you mean, ‘the kid is going full-time next week’? I’m cleared to come back now.”
“Hey,” Clint replied, “I didn’t mean to upset you Tylar. I thought you knew all about it.”
“About what?” I demanded.
“About you not coming back over to work with us.”
“Who made that decision?” I barked. It wasn’t Clint’s fault but I was livid.
“Who do you think?” he asked with a sidelong glance.
As if on cue, we saw a black stretch limo winding up the long drive to the manor. Trey was back. Clint and I jumped into his small pick-up truck and headed down the drive.
“Well,” I said sarcastically, “it appears that his majesty has returned to his castle. I think I'll be paying him a visit this evening. Perhaps he'll enlighten me as to what my new duties will be next week.” Clint gave me a look that said, “I wouldn’t fuck with him if I were you.” I didn’t care. I had options no matter what. Perhaps he simply planned on firing me; if that were the case, life would go on. Maybe he wanted to make me miserable enough to quit. He was almost there on that one.
Clint and I finished our grocery shopping. I asked him to stop at the carry-out and purchase some wine for me. He was extremely uneasy about doing this.
“Oh for Chrissake,” I whined, “In two and a half weeks, I'm turning 21.”
He finally relented after he made me promise that I'd go nowhere near the pool. It was clear Clint wasn't very comfortable being my cohort in crime. Clint walked up to my porch with me, making sure I was safely inside before leaving, reminding me to keep my cell phone near and call if I needed him.
I put my groceries away, leaving a small, frozen pizza out to microwave for dinner. The wine Clint had bought for me was chilled, so I pulled out a big plastic cup, filled it to the top, and tossed a couple of ice cubes in it for good measure. I popped the pizza into the microwave and clicked on the TV to get some noise going. The quietness of the cottage was eerie.
I sat crossways in the living room chair, flipping through the channels, finally stopping on the tail end of my favorite show, "Revenge." I sipped my iced wine, enjoying the taste of it and loving the feeling of relaxation that seeped in while watching the show.
God! Daniel is hot!
I really hoped that Emily wasn't playing him like the others. Anyone could see he was in love with her! That Emily was one complicated bitch! This brought a new fit of giggles.
Then it hit me: Daniel. The character on the show's name was Daniel, just like my old boyfriend's name was Daniel.
I remembered what had happened after prom. Daniel had dropped me like yesterday's trash. The dream in the hospital wasn't a dream, it was my subconscious doing its job; forcing me to face the reality of what I'd witnessed yet refused to believe or acknowledge all those years ago.
The microwave beeped. I got my pizza out and refilled my cup of wine going back to watch the show while I ate. When I'd finished eating, I tossed the cardboard disk the pizza came on towards the trash can and missed. Fuck - I'll get it later Time for a refill! Uh oh, it's nearly gone! For some reason that struck me as funny, and I started giggling.
I slipped out of my clothes, tossing them into the bedroom. It was warm and I was afraid to open windows because of the stalker. I returned to the fridge and poured the rest of the chilled wine into my plastic cup and tossed the empty bottle over to the trashcan.
Missed again!
I broke into hysterical laughter as tears rolled down my cheeks. Someone was at the door of my cottage, pounding loudly. Oh no, I wonder if Clint was checking on me. It was unusual for me to be up this late on a work night. I padded over to the front door in my bare feet, wiping my face dry of the tears, still giggling.
“Clint, is that you?” I asked.
“It’s Trey,” the smooth and silky voice replied.
What?
I opened the front door momentarily forgetting I was just wearing my undies.
One bottle of domestic Chardonnay wine: $6.99
The look on Trey Sinclair's face after I'd finished drinking it: Fucking Priceless!
“Come on in, Trey. I thought you were Clint.”
He raised an eyebrow, glancing at my attire. “Dressed like that?” he snapped. I acted like I'd been oblivious to what I was wearing. I looked down at my stomach, seeing the navel ring and low-cut silk bikini panties.
“Oh, I forgot I hadn’t put my robe on after I changed. Is it warm in here?” I asked, fanning myself. “Be right back.”
I took my time walking to my bedroom, knowing that his sapphire eyes were watching my backside the whole way; I got some satisfaction in that. I grabbed my bathrobe from the hook on the bathroom door and put it on. I left the belt untied; I didn’t want to hide everything from him. As I exited my room Trey was in the kitchen, picking up all of the trash. As he picked the empty wine bottle up, he turned to me.
“How were you able to buy this?” he asked. I hesitated for a moment, trying to come up with a plausible explanation. “Because if I find out anyone that works for me bought you alcohol after all the shit that happened a few weeks back, that's cause for immediate termination.”
“Chill, Trey,” I laughed. “I bought it myself when I was staying with Gina. They didn’t card me.” I sauntered over to where he was standing, taking the empty wine bottle from him and setting it on the counter. “I’d offer you some wine, Trey, but as you can see, I’m all out.”
“I’m surprised that you’d come back to this cottage, Tylar.”
“Well, I really had no choice,” I responded.
“That’s not true, Tylar. You know it.”
“I’m not staying with you, Trey, not after the way you accused me of being a whore!” I snapped, my voice rising.
“I never said that,” he argued.
“What do you call asking me about your wh
ite shirt, your robe, your razor? I expected you to be pissed about the car; I didn’t expect you to presume I'd brought in some random guy, let him use your razor, wear your clothes, and fuck me in your bed!” I was slurring now, pointing my plastic cup at him accusingly.
Trey grabbed the cup from me and emptied the contents in the sink. Before I had a chance to verbally blast him, he took my arm and pulled me into the living area, planting me firmly beside him on the couch. I started to say something, but his voice cut me off before I got a syllable out.
“You're going to keep your smart mouth shut for now. I'll do the talking,” he said in his control-freak tone.
Whatever.
“I’m not going to beg you to come back and stay at the manor. But the invitation is open. I came by to let you know that I was able to reach Andrew Sneed this week while I was in Atlanta.”
He had my full attention now.
“Tylar your trust has been depleted, and your mother quit the law firm a few weeks ago. Apparently she's also left your home in Radcliffe and no one knows where she went.”
“I don’t understand; that trust was only accessible by me.”
“Sneed says your signature's on the disbursement requests that started while you were still living with your mother. Those were for minimal amounts; the big take was after you arrived here. Sneed has a copy of it with what he maintains is your signature. Also, the fax stamp on the document shows it came from the fax machine in the business office here, with a fax cover sheet that's on our stationary. Sneed had no reason to believe that it wasn't legitimate. Fax and scanned signatures are considered to be as legal as the originals.”
I gasped.
“There’s more,” he continued. I sat frozen, wondering how this could get any worse. “It looks like your mother’s motivation in getting her part-time job at their legal firm was for the purpose of having the trust managed there. She actually started working there prior to the establishment of your trust. It's a private trust; there's no requirement for it to be filed as a public record with any government agency. Before your mom left her job, just after your trust was cleaned out, she either took or destroyed all of the documents pertaining to it, electronic or otherwise."