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Mr. Sneed was a short, rather pudgy man in his mid-50s. His hairline was receding. He wore wire-rimmed glasses. His suit looked like something he'd purchased used 10 years ago. Definitely not your upscale law firm, but certainly the type of firm I could picture my mom working at.
Trey made the introductions and we took our seats in his small, drab office. Sneed provided copies of the trust disbursement documents that he'd ordered from the bank that held my funds. Trey and I sorted through them, separating them into two piles: one being the documents that had my actual signature authorization, the others that were forged. Three documents were forged; two of the three were for $1,000 each, and had been executed with my forged signature during my freshman year of college. The final withdrawal from the trust was for the entire balance left of $53,454.78. This was processed just a week after I'd arrived at the Sinclair estate. Sneed provided a copy of the fax transmission cover sheet that was on La Vie Belle stationary.
I was puzzled by my mother's motivation. The house was paid off or so she'd told me. I'd given her my Jeep. Her only bills were utilities, food, clothing, and car insurance. Surely, her salary would've covered those expenses?
“Mr. Sneed, did my mother give notice when she left her job here?”
“She did not,” he said to me. “She collected her last paycheck on a Friday and did not show for work the following Tuesday. Martha, our other part-time clerk, got worried. Martha drove out to your house in Radcliffe, which appeared to be empty. When Mr. Sinclair here got in touch with us last week questioning the status of your trust, well, we tried to dig deeper. As you know, any documentation concerning your trust has disappeared or was destroyed. I'm really sorry. I never expected this from your mother.”
“Really?” I asked.
He seemed puzzled that I'd doubt that. “She was a good, consistent worker here for years, Ms. Preston. None of the partners saw anything odd or unusual with her behavior. At least not until just over a month ago.”
“What happened then?” I asked.
He seemed uncomfortable discussing it. “She started coming in a little later on her work days; generally she seemed as if she wasn’t feeling well. We don’t know anything for certain, Ms. Preston, but Martha suspected your mother was pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” I was doubtful; pregnancy was always her worst fear.
He nodded and continued. “It was just Martha’s suspicion, though. Martha and Maggie would talk some on the one day a week they worked together. Maggie—your mom, didn’t divulge a lot of details about her personal life. It was years before we even knew she had a daughter. Martha got the impression that your mom had met someone that she was really serious about. I guess Martha just put two and two together, but who knows, she may have come up with five on that one.”
I was stunned by the possibility. I knew Mom was young enough for more children, but all she'd ever done was complain about me.
Trey spoke up. “Thanks for your time and for producing these copies for us, Mr. Sneed. We'll be meeting with the prosecutor today to press criminal charges against Mrs. Preston. Let me make it clear that there's nothing indicating your firm actively participated with this activity; however, you know as well as I do that there's an issue of liability for criminal activities conducted under the auspices of the employer, in this case your firm, that may result in a civil suit.”
“We're a limited liability partnership, Mr. Sinclair.”
“I understand that, Mr. Sneed, however, I'll need to examine how Kentucky regards limited liability partnerships with respect to tortious injury resulting from negligence in the administration of trusts. I'll be back in touch with you if I need more information." Mr. Sneed nodded and tugged at his collar. I thanked him saying good-bye as Trey guided me out of the office.
“Where to now?” I asked once we stood on the sidewalk.
“I think we need to gather more information as to where your mother might’ve gone. Obviously she's left the current jurisdiction, but that doesn’t prevent us from making a criminal complaint. It puts an active warrant out for her at least, which will show up in any other state if she gets stopped for a traffic infraction. The more information we can provide the prosecutor’s office, the more attention they’ll give the case.”
I had no clue as to who could shed any light on her whereabouts. We had no relatives that I was aware of. She wasn’t one to have many friends. The only friend that I recalled was Mona, but I hadn’t seen her since high school.
I remembered Mona had stopped over at our house one Sunday afternoon long ago. I'd overheard her telling Mom that Laurie was pregnant. She'd wanted Laurie to have an abortion, but she wouldn’t. Mona was upset, saying that she'd wanted better for Laurie than to end up in the same place as her. I remember my mom getting defensive with her on that.
“What the hell is wrong with where you’re at, Mona?”
“Oh, come on Maggie. Is this the life you'd choose for your daughter?”
“Hey, if it’s good enough for me, it’s good enough for her!”
“You can’t mean that, Maggie,” Mona said shocked.
“I like what I do, Mona. I love the way men look at me, touch me, and want me. I love the money I make for doing something that I love to do, something that I’m really good at. My only problem is that they’re starting to look at Tylar more than me. I don’t want the competition.”
Mona had a horrified look on her face. I was in the kitchen, but I heard their conversation. Mona noticed me then, and whispered something to my mother.
“I don’t give a shit what she hears,” Mom replied. “She needs to face the reality of life. It’s ‘use or be used.’ Simple as that.”
I tuned out the rest of their conversation as I went upstairs to my room. Another memory to be hidden away.
“Hey, Tylar?” Trey’s voice cut into my thoughts.
“I’m sorry—what?”
“I asked if you have your house key.”
