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The door opened.
“It’s me,” Trey said.
I turned and saw that he'd put a white tee shirt on. Only on Trey could a white tee shirt look haute couture. “Why're you doing that?” he asked as I continued packing. “I didn’t ask you to leave, did I?”
“It’s what I want Trey,” I answered. It wasn’t the truth, but it should’ve been if I'd any sense of self-preservation.
“Well, it’s not what I want,” he said, coming closer to me.
I couldn’t let him get close to me. I needed to take Gina’s advice and get out while my heart was somewhat intact.
“Look,” I said, “let’s be practical about this. You have multiple responsibilities, Trey. All I seem to do is distract you from them, and then you resent me for it.”
“That’s not true,” he replied, sitting down on the bed, next to my open suitcase. “I only worry about you and want you to be safe. That's why I flew back here to make sure you were okay. I was worried when that picture came up on my phone. It was obvious you were wasted. One guy on each side of you, erect,” he hissed as he said the “e” word. “I'd no clue as to who was taking the picture with your phone and then randomly sending it to me with no message. So I called your phone and it was clear you were totally hammered. In that state I wasn’t sure if you'd end up in the trunk of one of those idiot’s cars.”
“Oh, please,” I remarked. “Be honest, Trey, you were pissed because that picture coming across your phone probably interrupted your cozy little dinner with your mystery woman.”
“I have no clue what you're talking about.”
“Remember? You and I on the phone earlier, muffled conversations, then a female voice saying ‘time to go…dinner reservations’?”
He was thoughtful for a moment, and then a smile broke loose. “Her?” he said, as if I should have a clue as to who she was.
“That's an intern at our firm, Beth. She's simply helping with the administrative process on this case; she’s actually more like a junior intern.” He laughed as if that information alone should put my mind at ease.
“Why would you be having dinner with Beth?”
“I wasn’t having dinnerwithBeth,” he replied. “We all–everyone from the firm involved with this case–broke for dinner. It looks to me like someone’s imagination is running away again,” he teased.
“Yeah, like whensomeonefinds their own clothes strewn around their own bedroom and believes another guy has been there wearing them?” Trey frowned at my response. He definitely did not appreciate the parallel I'd drawn.
“It doesn’t matter, Trey. I’m not staying here. I’m not going to be talked about, called a Twinkie, profiled as a ‘whore.’ I have enough money in my trust for my living expenses for this summer. I'll do just fine.”
I'd finished packing the backpack. All I needed was my toothbrush, which was still in Trey’s bathroom. I set my backpack on the floor, and then zipped my suitcase shut. Suddenly, the stack of mail from my cottage slipped out of the netting and landed on the bed. One envelope in particular caught my eye; it was from Findley, Morris & Sneed in Louisville, the law firm that handled my trust. It was postmarked June 7th, nearly three weeks ago.
I glanced at Trey and opened the envelope, unfolding the letter. I saw that the signature line was signed by Andrew Sneed. There was a copy of a returned disbursement check stamped “Insufficient Funds – Trust Closed.” The check had been written to my college for fall registration fees for classes. Andrew Sneed’s letter consisted of a couple of brief sentences, basically requesting I contact him to set up an appointment at my earliest convenience to discuss the matter of my trust. His office, home, and cell numbers were provided in the letter.
“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.”
