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Trey ordered chicken parmesan for both of us, with spinach salads. The Chianti arrived at the same time our warm bread did. Trey poured me a generous serving of wine.
Oh my, must be bad news…
We made small talk waiting for our salads. I told him about running into Denise earlier at Ray’s cottage and asked him what he thought about Ray moving in with Denise.
“About time,” was his only comment.
Our salads arrived. More time passed as we ate. This was getting uncomfortable for me. Finally, I spoke up. “There is something you want to say to me, Trey. Will you please just say it?”
“Tylar, I didn’t want to say anything to you while we were in Atlanta celebrating your birthday this past weekend. I wasn’t in Atlanta last week.”
My stomach knotted. What was he getting ready to do? Confess?
“Oh?” I asked, acting as if this was news to me.
“I visited the agent for the LLC that owns your house in Radcliff.”
“You went to Jackson, Mississippi?” I asked.
He nodded. “I needed to investigate your case. I found some things out, but not everything.”
“Well?” I asked.
“The good news is that when you turned 21 last week, the deed to that house was transferred into your name. You now own that house, free and clear.”
“I do?”
“Your mother obviously knew that this was set to happen which explains her disappearance with your trust money. It would have been next to impossible for her to defraud you out of real estate with the deed plainly in your name. What I haven’t been able to find out, Tylar, is who the trustor is, in other words, the identity of your father.”
“Well, couldn’t you ask the agent?”
“It’s not that simple. Many companies assign agents for the sole purpose of protecting their identity. In an LLC, the owners, shareholders, or principals of the company do not have to disclose their identity. They can, as they say, hide beneath the corporate veil. The agent’s purpose is to protect those identities and handle any filings or notices against the particular LLC.”
We sat in silence for several moments.
“I made a trip back to Louisville also.”
“Why?” I asked, truly puzzled.
“I wanted to check birth records in Hardin and Jefferson counties. You weren’t born in either one, Tylar.”
The surprises just kept coming. Was everything about my life a lie?
Our food was brought to the table so our conversation paused for a few moments. Trey filled our wine glasses, and for the next few minutes we ate in silence. The chicken was delicious. I was hungrier than I thought, or perhaps I simply didn’t want the conversation to resume at all. Trey finally broke the silence.
“Tylar, how is it you have made it this far without having a copy of your own birth certificate?”
“I don’t know, when I got my learner’s permit my mom was with me so I guess she had it. My college only required my driver’s license and social security number.”
“Speaking of which,” he interrupted, “I called back to the office while I was out to get your social security number. You know that the first three numbers of anyone’s social security number identifies the issuing state. Your prefix is 434. That indicates that it was issued from Louisiana.”
“Louisiana? I’ve never been to Louisiana.”
“As far as you recall,” he corrected, “that doesn’t mean you couldn’t have been born there. In particular, if your mother had collected any type of federal or state aid she would have needed to get a social security number assigned to you at infancy.”
“Oh thank you, Trey. If there was any doubt in my mind before, you have now made it perfectly clear that I’m descended from pure trash.” Tears welled up, threatening to spill.
“Tylar,” he said, “that isn’t my intention at all. You know that. My only purpose in getting involved at all is to help you recover your trust money.”
