Chapter 19

Sometimes, my buddy Tim would say, “Let’s go home. Maybe tomorrow we will wake up smarter.” In keeping with his philosophy, I gave myself a one-day break and woke up smarter. Our minds are so amazing at regenerating, rejuvenating, and giving us just what we need with only a little rest. It’s like hiking in a desert. You hike for miles and are thirsty and tired. You wonder why you ever ventured down this path in the first place. You knew from the beginning it was a bad idea. Then, finally, you sit down, and it starts to rain.

I woke up the next morning, thankful I’d watched four episodes of “American Greed,” because the only three letters on my mind were “FBI.” While I couldn’t get justice for what Travis did to me, he could be brought down for bank fraud and me and Eddie Carter had information regarding the evidence.

Excited to embark on my new project, “Operation Al Capone,” I rose from bed and headed straight to my computer. I was no attorney and hadn’t a clue what I was getting into, but I also knew I’d regret it if I didn’t. Travis may not be charged with rape, but he could be tried for fraud, also a class A felony, punishable by up to thirty years in prison. Some people would have trouble not seeing him stand for the crime against me, but I had no problem with this. If the punishment is the same, it matters not the charge.

I turned on my computer and went to the FBI website. Their web page was surprisingly easy to navigate. The intended audience was for the general public and its information was written at a fifth-grade reading level. After only a few minutes of perusing the website, I learned I could report the bribery between Eddie Carter and Travis plus the fraud to the Indianapolis regional office. The photograph of the regional manager seemed stern but trustworthy. I don’t know who wrote the information on their website, but I had to commend them. After quickly reading the information on their site regarding what types of crimes they investigated and how to report it, I had the confidence I needed to proceed. My plan wasn’t failsafe and, I was a bit fearful of retaliation. I was playing with the big dogs but countered that with the fact that these were merely big dogs playing in a small pond.

Those interested in reporting crimes were provided different email addresses according to the type of crime. I had two crimes to report, bribery and fraud, both of which were expected to be reported via two different email addresses. I needed to link the two crimes, so opted for the fraud report line. It took me two hours to craft the email.

Good afternoon,

I have two crimes to report. The first regards the acceptance of $10,000 from Travis Trammel to Judge Edward Carter, Whiteford County Superior Court Judge. The purpose of this transaction was to prevent Mr. Travis’ sister from incarceration because of prescription fraud. The transaction took place approximately two months ago and was likely made in cash on the Whiteford County Municipal Golf Course on or about the 18^th hole. I am not a member of the opposing political party and have never personally met this individual, but I make full disclosure that I have a vested interest in seeing that Mr. Travis’ is rightfully made to pay for his transgressions.

This leads me to the second crime. Approximately six years ago, Mr. Travis’ was made president of several limited liability companies by his father, now deceased. The purpose of each of those companies was to purchase commercial buildings and default on the loans or file bankruptcy. Bankruptcy was filed for most of the LLCs, except for those that were established to manage profitable buildings. I can provide all details for the methods by which Mr. Travis’ Trammel and his father managed to accomplish this and keep the money from the loans that were never repaid. Mr. Bob Trammel, the father is now deceased. Some of the money was spent, but most of it is buried under the concrete which supports the hot tub in Mr. Travis Trammel’s home. He also holds a great deal of cash and guns in his safe located in his bedroom. He keeps a loaded handgun in the nightstand closest to the bedroom door.

While I can understand that the FBI certainly cannot bring jackhammers and a backhoe to an upstanding citizen’s home and begin ripping up his concrete floor based on this email, I am prepared to meet with you and provide you details of each business, most of which can be found on the Indiana Secretary of State’s website. I am not prepared, however, to be a material witness for the prosecution. I am a victim of domestic violence perpetrated by Mr. Trammel and I fear for my safety.

This leads me to my unorthodox request. The only other party outside of Travis’ mother who knows the location of the money “earned” from defrauding most all the local banks in this community is Judge Edward Carter. I propose that you would first present evidence to Judge Carter disclosing your knowledge of the bribery. In exchange for his disclosure of the location of the money (approximately $2 million) being hidden by Mr. Trammel, you will grant him immunity. You can be certain, then, that the Honorable Judge Carter will likely not continue in the upcoming elections or may just decide to retire from the bench. Then, I believe you will have enough evidence to merit a search warrant on Mr. Trammel.

Thank you for your time and attention regarding these two matters. While, as stated previously, I fear for my safety should it be disclosed I reported this, I leave you my name, trusting you also have a vested interest in my security. Chloe Loucks – 765-555-5512.

I edited the email for an hour and debated removing the sordid details regarding Travis’ transgressions against me. The agents would surely question my motives as part of their investigation, so in the end, decided that the information regarding his nasty deed would remain. I had no idea what would happen next but hoped they would respond before I returned to work.

The following days progressed slowly as I waited for an email reply or phone call. The only activity I chose to do was go to the therapist. Because I was on FMLA, I couldn’t ignore her. She was the sole determinant of my fate as she was the person who would sign my return-to-work papers. I wondered if this was what it was like to be on probation.

I arrived at my appointment promptly at the agreed time to avoid sitting in the waiting room any longer than possible. It was an uncomfortable feeling listening to the clinic door opening and hoping the person entering would not be an acquaintance. Sheila, prompt as ever, invited me into her office just as I sat down to wait for her. We sat and looked at each other pleasant for a couple of seconds, a trait I noticed she always employed. I’d have to remember to do the same when I began meetings with professors. It put me at ease. I was indeed learning from this woman.

I promised myself as I had the last visit to try and be truthful. I felt this pull to tell her what I thought she wanted to hear. I wanted to please her. I wondered if that was what co-dependency was like. I then remembered the $100 check I would write at the end of the session and felt a strength rise within me. This was my session. I was paying her, so I could talk about whatever I wanted. I wondered if this was what a prostitute’s customers felt like as they embarked on an evening of carnal delight. I never understood how a man could have sex with a complete stranger knowing she had no interest in him. In this hour, I was paying for someone’s support and undivided attention. The exchange on my end was the same. I gave money. The only difference between Sheila and a prostitute was that a prostitute gave her body and Sheila gave her mind. Rape could certainly change a person’s perspective.

This mindless banter went on for some time before she delved into the more difficult questions. Again, I liked her tactic and made another mental note to employ this with my loony professors.

I decided it wasn’t a lie to continue to keep the fact that he had driven by a secret. I hadn’t “heard” from him. I’d only seen his car. Telling her would have been of no benefit. We exchange more banter when she finally deems me ready to re-enter society.

Me: Yes. I’m looking forward to it. But, Sheila, I have to admit, this hasn’t been easy. I’m lonely.

Sheila: Yes. But you’ve made good choices, Chloe. Be proud of yourself for that. At some point, you’ll be ready to date again.

My heart rate rose, and I took a deep breath. I couldn’t imagine having dinner in the confines of another man’s house, having a man step foot inside my safe haven, or even getting in a man’s car. She saw the fear well up out of me.

Sheila: Some day, Chloe, you’ll find companionship as long as you keep moving forward with making good choices.

So that was today’s theme, I thought to myself – good choices. That was what I’d take away with me. I found that when I went into these sessions, I kept in the back of my mind I was paying a lot of money and needed some tidbit of advice to help me change my behavior. I wasn’t leaving this office giving myself permission to date, but I would try to make good choices.

Me: The thought of riding in a car with a man or being alone with a man is terrifying, Sheila.

Sheila: When you begin to date, who says you need to be alone with him? Women drive separately to meet a man in a café or coffee shop regularly. Have you thought of that?

Relief flowed through me like a warm breeze. I saw my future and it wasn’t bleak. It was still a mystery, but a mysterious hope that enabled me to keep going more positively than I had the day before.

Again, my heart was racing, and I could feel my facing going flush. I pictured facing Travis again in the copy room. We couldn’t repeat history with the baggage behind us. I pictured myself fainting at the site of him. Despite the cruel treatment, nothing could erase his beauty. He was ugly inside but still damn gorgeous on the outside. I knew firsthand how love, beauty and evil could dwell within the same person. The beauty lured and the evil destroyed.

I immediately thought of Tim. I couldn’t work without him. If I moved, he had to move as well. Our department would never approve such a request.

Me: If I can’t, I can keep my door closed, at least for a while. It’s a large building and he has no reason to walk down the hall where I work. Sheila, I think I can do this. It I can’t, we’ll just move to Plan B.

I didn’t tell her a lie, but I didn’t tell her Plan B was hoping and praying the FBI would contact me before I returned to work. While I wasn’t misconstruing information to her, some things were just meant to remain confidential.

Sheila: Okay, then. We’ll sign off on the paperwork for you to return to work. As we discussed last week, we’ll also ensure that you can take off any time you feel the need. Can you check back in with me, say, in a month?

That was a lie. I was done with Sheila. I liked her, but she was too expensive. I’d fine some cheaper method to boost me up and keep me going.