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Nathan has mentioned that his father committed suicide, but until now, I always assumed it was because of depression, not my father’s actions. How am I supposed to ever look him in the eye again?
I remembered your name and found out that you were still living in Grapevine. Coincidentally, you work with my son, Theo. After reading about your father, and what happened, I wanted to reach out to you and give you my condolences. My selfishness broke up your family, and ultimately forced your father to take his life, and for that I’m truly sorry. Nothing I can say or do will bring him back, but you deserve to know that I have changed. My time in prison helped me realize how destructive I was toward myself and others. After seeking therapy, one of my steps is to make amends with the families that I have wronged. Your father’s name was first on that list. Not only was he one of my clients, I called upon him in the beginning as my friend. He could have trusted his money with anyone, but he chose me.
He made the wrong damn choice. If my father wasn’t such a good sweet talker, he wouldn’t have landed the clients he did. The opportunity to have all that money never would have happened. I shudder to think what my life would be like today if my father never went down that road. Would we be happy?
Your father was a great man, and he trusted me with everything he had. I sold him on the belief that I could quadruple his money within a year’s time so he could pay off his house and secure a trust for you. Your family would have been set and happy, but instead I stole that money and used it on myself and my child. I took away the very thing he worked so damn hard to secure for you. A bright future filled with no worries.
In the beginning, it wasn’t my intention to take anyone’s money. One month, we faced eviction because I couldn’t afford our mortgage payment, and so I took what I was short from the business accounts in the promise I would put it back once my next check came through. But then it grew, I was always short on bills, and just kept siphoning until something in my head told me I didn’t have to live that way.
It became an addiction. I had access to a multitude of money and it was just sitting in an account, not being used, so instead of investing it like I promised my clients, I used it to keep myself afloat for my son. Selling people on a promise and then spending the money on extravagant things that never really gave me any satisfaction. It was all about the power of money.
The memory of my father coming home one day with keys to a new house still haunts me. I should have recognized it back then, but I was too young. The way we were living, the house we moved into was too good to be true. We were suddenly traveling a lot and doing things that people like us didn’t have the privilege to. We went from living with the bare minimum to living in a huge house with flat screens and a pool. I should have known better.
No one ever tells you about the dangers of becoming rich. The dollar is the most wanted thing in every household. It provides us with food, a roof over our heads, a car to get to work, food for our bellies… but ultimately it’s a burden. The more you have it, the worse things you are willing to do to keep it. Unfortunately, like I said, the addiction got worse, and before I knew it, I was so deep in the hole with over twenty-five clients' money. I had more money than I knew what to do with, and just kept spending.
Every week I told myself, I’ll make enough to replace what I took, but that was never the case. My mind was playing tricks on me. I was never going to give any of that money back. My true intention was to feel like I wasn’t a failure. I couldn’t climb down off the ladder I had got myself on.
When I got caught, I wasn’t surprised. The paper trail led them straight to me. Buying houses, boats, and going on luxurious vacations. It was only a matter of time before I got caught, and I did. This needed to happen for me to reflect on the power it had on me. To recognize the evil growing inside me.
Let me explain. My father busted his ass at a dead-end job to provide for my mother and I. No matter how many hours he worked, it was never enough. We lived paycheck to payback until the day he died. Money can be a blessing, but in my case, it was a curse.
There goes my father deflecting his actions onto something else. He can’t just admit that he did, the blame has to be on something or someone else. He wasn’t cursed. The man didn’t have any balls to say no or stop himself. He had plenty of times where he could have stopped, but continued to do it for months. No one should have any sympathy for him.
I’m not saying what I did was right. It wasn’t, but hopefully this will help you understand the reasoning behind why I first took some of the money. Not to screw anyone over, but to keep my son and I from being homeless. After that, it turned into a whirlwind that I barely remember, until one day I landed up in jail and then sent off to prison to pay for my grievances.
Now knowing what I know, I can’t live with myself. You had to grow up without a father because of my actions, my son in and out of foster homes, and for what? For us to have a year with no spending limit? I wish I could take it all back, start over, and never do it, but it’s impossible. I wish I could bring your dad back. But most of all, I want to say I’m sorry.
Please take care of my son. He has made it clear he wants nothing to do with me, and I understand why.
My deepest regrets,
Hiram Navaldi
The letter drops out of my hand and lands in my lap.I can’t live with myself. The bulge in my pocket goes away once I take out my phone and dial my uncle.
“Hello?” he answers.
I haven’t spoken to my uncle since the day I went into foster care. He could have taken me in, but he chose not to. Guess he didn’t want to be responsible for me.
“Where is Hiram? Is he there with you?” I slap two twenties on the barback and head for the door. “Did you know he’s been writing letters?”
There is heavy breathing followed by a sigh. “I’m sorry son, he’s gone.”
Of course my father is trying to flee the country. He doesn’t want to risk going back to prison and getting somewhere they can’t extradite him so he can live his life without his past haunting him. “What do you mean he’s gone? He’ll end up back in prison if he goes out of state. Please tell me he’s not that fucking stupid.”
“No, son. He’s gone. I found him when I got home from work about an hour ago. Guess he just had enough.”
As much as I disliked my father, the news breaks me.
15
FELICITY
The straps of my backpack tugs on my shoulders as I stroll through the quad. The air seems more crisp and the sky perfectly clear. Our date last night is something I have been needing for a long while. Why have I been so against it? If anything, I now know what I’ve been missing out on because of my overwhelming fear of always being the victim. My therapist is right. I need to break out of my shell and live my life. Thomas has had enough control over it since that fateful night, and I don’t want him to have the satisfaction.
I thread my hands onto the straps, giving my back a much needed break, when my eyes glance upon a young couple making out in the grass. A week ago, I would have been disgusted but now I can relate to wanting to be close to someone. Theo and I might have only been on one date, but he has shown me a side of him that makes me believe he would never hurt me. At least not intentionally. He didn’t freak out when I backed away from his first attempt at a kiss. He apologized and kept the conversation flowing. His attempt to make me feel comfortable intrigued me. Maybe he can sense that I’m fucked up. It’s probably written in permanent marker on my forehead or something. Damaged goods, but I don’t want to be.
I deserve a shot at a normal life just like anyone else. My assault should not define me. Letting it take control of my life is the worst thing I ever did. Theo has helped me in ways he will never understand. If he wouldn’t have asked me out, then the way my body tingles, and a smile takes over my face when I think about him would have never happened. What a boring life that would have been.
