Chapter 7

Chapter 7

After weeks of trying to find a job in St. George with no luck, Chad expanded his search to Northern Utah.  He found a job working for a pool company in Lehi, UT. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something. Learning a new trade and earning about what Chad made 15 years ago was humbling, but at this point, we were extremely grateful.  We knew Chad’s employer was paying him top dollar for the work he was doing. After a few weeks, we were able to rent a place of our own. It was in a planned unit development.  The houses were almost identical and the yards were small.  Even after being there for months, I still had to count the streets and the houses to find mine—three streets down and four houses in on the right.  After living in a trailer for so long, this place seemed like the Taj Mahal.

     Laura called and said there was some mail for Chad and me at her house. I had our mail forwarded to her house after we came back to Utah. There was quite a pile. I suppose it took a while for the mail to catch up to us because of all the moving around. Most of it was junk. One letter was from an attorney. Thinking it was an advertisement, I threw it in the garbage unopened, but as I went through the mail, there were more letters from attorneys.  I opened the letters and they said the same thing—there was an arrest warrant for Chad and me.  Some letters even quoted a price to represent us--$2,000 per person. “This can’t be right. There must be some kind of mistake,” I thought as I picked up the phone to call one of the attorneys. 

The attorney assured me that this was no mistake. He confirmed all my personal information and informed me that the charges were for workers compensation insurance fraud—a 3^rd degree felony. When I denied knowing anything about what he was talking about, he said it was public information, and I could look it up myself. He said we should meet as soon as possible because if I were pulled over for any traffic violation, I would be taken directly to jail. I told him I’d have to get back to him. In a stupor of thought I hung up the phone and sat in silence. This was just not happening.

My mind was racing. I tried to think what on earth this was about. We had so many people work for us through the years, and unfortunately there were several injuries. Someone fell off a roof, someone nailed their foot to the floor, someone got a wood chip stuck in their eye… but which, if any, could be a fraudulent workers comp claim.  Then it came to me, I remembered exactly who this was about. “Jerry,” I muttered.  I was sick just thinking about it. Jerry was a neighbor who was out of work.  Chad paid him to do some odd jobs around the house to help him out. Then Chad had him help out on a few construction jobs. It was only meant to be until Jerry finished his training as a fireman.

We should have been suspicious when Jerry told us he was suing his former employer for wrongful discharge. He said his boss “had it in for him.”  Jerry seemed like such a nice guy—we believed him.  He offered to help when we started the snowmobile rental business. He was helpful and knowledgeable with computers and was willing to help with anything.  He ran the computers, helped with the rentals, and was comfortable in many situations at work; almost a little too comfortable. When Jerry started making decisions without consulting us, Chad set up passwords on the computer limiting Jerry’s access. Jerry was upset and resentful. He claimed it made his job difficult.   

Things became more stressful when Jerry claimed to be injured on the job. There was some controversy over the date of injury which Chad and Jerry disagreed on. This was crucial because Jerry was claiming that he was injured just days before our workers compensation policy went into effect on February 1st. There was about a one week period where our construction company policy lapsed and the new policy for the rental business started. Jerry did not officially report the injury until months after he claimed it happened, so the exact date was never recorded. Chad was positive Jerry mentioned something about hurting his wrist the end of December or the first of January. He said he knew it was not January 27^th as Jerry was claiming. It wasn’t until late March when Jerry said he wanted to see a doctor for his injury that the date became an issue.    

I had been handling Chad’s office work since he started his construction business a year after we were married.  I did the payroll, the accounts receivable and payable, the bank reconciliations, the quarterlies taxes and the insurance.  I was in the office finishing up some paperwork and getting ready to run out the door to take my daughter to her doctor’s appointment when Jerry approached me.  He pressed me to fill out the workers compensation form right then.  He said he would have to cancel his MRI appointment if the form was not filled out and faxed by 2:00. 

 Annoyed and feeling rushed, I asked Chad and Jerry what date to put on the form. After a little heated debate between the two of them, Chad relented and said in a flippant tone as he left the room, “Put whatever date Jerry feels good about.”  I looked at Jerry. He paused trying to decide what to do, and then in a frustrated tone he said, “February 2^nd.” I didn’t know when or even if Jerry was injured, but I knew he wasn’t injured in February. I told myself Jerry was perpetrating the lie as I signed the form and faxed it to the hospital.   

It had been almost a year ago since I signed that form.  Now I was still trying to recall the details because I desperately needed to resolve within my heart what I was guilty of. I knew that I was not blameless, but certainly, I did not recklessly and intentionally defraud the insurance company as the charges read. I should have never let Jerry, or anyone else for that matter, push me into something that I was uncomfortable with. I was always letting people push me. I should have refused to put my name on something I knew was not right.

Chad and I retrieved our old records from storage to try to piece together what was going on. Chad and I searched though the invoice dates and delivery schedules. If Jerry had injured himself while unloading a snowmobile as he claimed, there would be a paper trail. Each delivery was documented on a calendar and billed with an invoice. Sure enough, there was no record of any deliveries being made on January 27^th, nor were there any deliveries made that weekend at all. Jerry said he had it noted in his Franklin planner. He seemed so sure about that date, but Chad also seemed so sure that that was not the date. He was confident that it was much sooner than that. I didn’t know what to think. Why was Jerry so adamant about that date—the date before our insurance was in effect? The question gnawed at me because it just didn’t make sense. All of his bills would have been paid for through our other insurance policy, and he would have been compensated for any time off work or disability if he was injured when Chad claimed he was. What would Jerry have to gain?

It wasn’t until we met with an attorney that things started to fit into place. As we discussed with our attorney what had happened, he knew exactly what was going on.  He explained that Jerry would receive better compensation through a state funded agency which covered uninsured employees if the employer went bankrupt. Chad recalled how Jerry’s attitude was more positive when he mentioned the possibility of bankruptcy. Jerry seemed almost pleased with our declining financial situation.  It seemed so strange at the time because Jerry was supposedly our neighbor and friend. During the time Jerry was seeing the doctor, he was constantly on the internet researching his options. He mentioned that he would be O.K. if we claimed bankruptcy because of this state funded program he found out about. Ironically, he forgot to mention that it paid much better benefits than our insurance. Our loss was his gain and no one the wiser.

Even with this new insight, our attorney advised Chad to plead guilty to the charges. He explained that it could take years to resolve with no guarantee of a favorable outcome. He also guessed that because Jerry was not being charged, the insurance company had worked a deal with him to testify against us. Furthermore, a trial would be long and arduous because the insurance company had attorneys working for them with no concern of costs or time. He therefore suggested Chad do what is called a plea and abeyance—meaning Chad would plead guilty and they would let him go with the stipulation he would stay out of trouble for a year. Then after a year he could file an order for expungement which would clear his record completely. In exchange for the guilty plea, our attorney would stipulate the insurance company drop all charges on me. He assured us this was the best solution given our current emotional and financial state.

He then explained what we needed to do next.  We must voluntarily turn ourselves in and then be released through a bond agency that keeps track of individuals who are a low risk for fleeing before their court date. He gave us the phone number to a bond agency and suggested we begin there.  We decided to start the process early the next day.

We left the house at 9:00a.m. After dropping Danielle off at school, we took Jared to my sister’s house and headed straight to the bond agency in downtown Salt Lake City. I felt embarrassed when I approached the lady at the desk.  She has us fill out a few forms with our personal information.  A half an hour later we met with Robert who was to keep track of us. He told us to report to him every week and not to leave the area.  He was very cordial and treated us with respect.  They processed our forms, gave us some letters, and sent us to the court house to turn ourselves in. Robert said it would only take a few hours and we would be released to go home. It all sounded so easy.

When we arrived at the courthouse, we gave them the papers from the bond agency and informed them that we were there to voluntarily turn ourselves in. They told us to have a seat and wait. The room was large and cold. There were long rows of chairs back to back like you would see in a train station. There were several officers in uniform on the other side of the check-in window.  I wasn’t sure, but I figured we were the only ones there to turn ourselves in. There were about twenty or so individuals who were waiting to visit someone in jail. The first half hour went by with ease. It was interesting watching people come and go. I browsed through an old magazine.  After an hour, I was restless and impatient. I approached the desk to see if they would help us soon.  The man behind the class window shuffled through some paperwork and assured me they hadn’t forgotten about us and would get to us when they could. Another half an hour passed and more people came and went, but we just sat there. I kept looking at the black clock on the wall. I was really beginning to get antsy.  Two hours passed since our arrival. Who knew it would be so difficult to turn yourself in?

Finally, they called my name, “Sally Stockner”. I was met by a female officer at the metal detector. I was expecting a quick interview and probably some forms to be filled out; however, I was not emotionally prepared for what was about to take place.  After passing through the metal detector which stood like a portal into another strange and alien world, the officer took me into a small room not much larger than a bathroom and closed the door behind her. The room was empty and there were no windows.  Her voice was business-like as she rattled off her commands, “Turn around and face the wall.  Put your hands on the wall, and spread your legs.” I was in shock.  I had only heard those words in the movies. I didn’t need to be searched; I wasn’t a criminal. Was I? What was going on here! Hesitantly and without saying a word I slowly turned and faced the wall and did as she ordered. My heart was no longer calm and fear surged through my veins as I put my hands on the cold wall and spread my legs. From behind me the officer started patting both her hands up each leg. I was panicked as she continued patting me in places that left me feeling violated and appalled. She knew her job well and did it professionally without any evidence of emotion. I could tell this wasn’t her first time. The metal handcuff clicked as she placed it on my right hand and tightened it to fit my small wrist.  She then guided my hand behind my back where she cuffed it to my other wrist. I was desperately trying control my emotions as I felt my throat tighten and my eyes began to burn. If she had any idea what I was going through, she didn’t show it. She just continued in a robotic fashion.  

The Officer took me by the left elbow and escorted me from the room.  As I left the room, I looked over my shoulder to see if I could see Chad.  His eyes widened and he leaned forward when he saw me.  He was surprised to see me handcuffed. He could see the confusion and panic in my face. The protector in him wanted to rescue me but he couldn’t. As I looked away, I was angry for a brief moment. I blamed him for what was happening. His work had always taken precedence over most everything in our lives. Our vacations were planned around his work, and most of our money was spent in the name of business--new trucks, tools and anything that Chad could excuse as a business expense. Trucks, trailers, and construction material cluttered our yard. Computers, office equipment, and paperwork were strewn throughout the house. My projects and aspirations always took a back seat to his work.

Fear and panic returned as the officer continued leading me down the narrow hallway.  The walls were pale grey and sterile. The floor was concrete. It already felt like prison.  Tears began welling in my eyes again as we reached a large heavy metal door with a small window laced with wires. I was terrified.  Where were we going, and what was happening?  As we passed through the door, I silently pleaded, “Heavenly Father, Please help me.” I didn’t know exactly I was looking for, but I needed Him.  I needed His love and His reassurance.  A calm feeling immediately permeated my entire body. The racing of my heart slowed and my throat relaxed. I no longer felt out of control and like crying hysterically. I took a deep breath and found myself wondering what I was to learn from this. “This is quite an experience,” I thought.  Not a pleasant one, but an interesting one. I was no longer concerned about me and what I was going through.  I wondered about the officer who was at my side. We chatted briefly as we headed down a cement walkway that appeared to the beading to the basement. 

We rounded a corner and arrived at a small concrete room. A concrete bench ran along three walls of the room.  The officer lowered me to the bench and handcuffed me to a metal pole that was attached six inches from the wall. I couldn’t sit up straight; it was extremely uncomfortable. The metal pole was cold and the cuffs began to dig into my wrists. The only sound was the slight hum of the florescent lights that dimly lit the room.    

The silence was broken as a young boy, not much older than 18, was escorted into the room. I felt very out of place in my tailored brown jacket, white shirt, jeans, and leather boots. It wasn’t so much my clothes that misplaced me but my naivety.  “Hi,” I said in a subdued voice. “Hi,” he nodded in reply. “What are you in for?”  He too noticed how out uncomfortable I felt.  He was casually dressed in a tee-shirt and jeans. His appearance was neat and his hair was short and well groomed. He looked like a kid who just made a few mistakes—not like someone who was hardened. I appreciated his kind attempt to ease the tension but was unsure how to answer. “Insurance fraud,” I responded hesitantly.  It sounded so awful coming out of my mouth. I wanted to explain, but as the words tumbled from my mouth I realized how incredulous it sounded like words from a “B” rated movie. “I’m innocent” It made me feel all the more like a criminal—they’re all innocent.  

Fortunately, the conversation was cut short as the female officer returned. She removed the handcuffs, and escorted me to another officer behind a window.  He instructed me to empty everything from my pockets and remove all my jewelry. I placed the few dollars I had in my pocket in the dish in front of me along with my necklace, earrings, and wedding ring. The female officer then searched me again. I was better prepared this time, but it was still unpleasant.  After the search, she opened a heavy metal door and instructed me to wait in the “holding room” until my name was called.

The room was large and open with two separate seating areas.  Both seating areas could accommodate 20 people.  They were in a rectangular shape facing a long counter. I immediately glanced around the crowded room in search of Chad hoping to find him amongst the sea of unfamiliar faces. My strength was waning and I desperately wanted to have him by my side, but he was not there. As my eyes studied my new surroundings, I noticed the clock on the wall.  It read 3:30 p.m. I needed to call my sister and let her know what was going on. Danielle would be getting out of school soon, and It had been 7 hours since I left Jared with her. I had no idea how much longer I would be detained.

I headed straight for the phone inside one of the seating areas. It was a pay phone, but for obvious reasons, no money was required to make a call. I felt very anxious as I dialed the number and waited for her to answer. When she answered, I briefly explained what was going on. The words coming out of my mouth sounded so foreign and the whole ordeal seemed like one bad nightmare that just kept getting worse with each passing hour. Hearing her voice almost made my cry, but she was calm and reassuring which brought me some relief and gave me new courage. She said she would take care of the kids and not to worry. We didn’t talk long as there was others waiting to use the phone. After hanging up, I found a place to sit where I could keep my eyes on the door where Chad would be entering.

I casually visited with a lady sitting next to me. I could hear the distress in her voice as she told me she was there for possession of narcotics—her boyfriend had left in her car. She was innocent, of course, even though this wasn’t her first time in jail for drug charges. After a bit, she got up to wonder around the room. I visited with a few other people who were near me. Ironically, the few people I did chat with were in there for drug related charges, and not their first time either. Was I the only rookie? I spotted an elderly man with a walker. Pedophile was my first thought. There were so many different people—young, old, male, and female. Some looked rough, but most looked like common people I saw every day at the store, the movie, or the park.  I felt sad for those around me. They were just a little lost. They had feelings and families and didn’t want to be here either. I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t like them—that I wasn’t a criminal, but was I that much different?  

My heart lifted as Chad came through the door. I stood and headed in his direction. Any animosity I had felt toward him or his work had long since dispersed. I was just glad to see him and he was glad to see me. 

The clock on the wall seemed to move at a snail’s pace. Around 6:00 P.M. they fed us dinner on hard green plastic trays that resembled something you would imagine in a school cafeteria, and the barely edible food also reminded me of the school cafeteria. I could not imagine why they needed to keep us here this long. Patience is a virtue, but it’s not my virtue. I approached the front desk twice to see if they had somehow forgotten us, but the answer was the same both times, “No, we’ll get to you as soon as we can.” It was just before 9:00 pm when my name was finally called from the long desk that spanned the front of the room. I abruptly stood as if I had just won the lottery. I made myself walk and not run toward the counter. It wouldn’t be long now before I would be out of here and on my way home.

After checking in at the desk, I was taken into another room where I would at last be booked and released. It was just like in the movies. I stood against a plain wall facing forward. “Look at the camera,” came the order from the male officer standing behind the large black mounted camera. Out of habit, I smiled, “Click.” I was asked to turn sideways for another picture and then the other side.  Next, the officer took my finger and rolled it across a black ink pad and then onto the paper that was placed on the table in front of me. I was then escorted by a uniformed officer to a large door. He unlocked it and I passed through alone. Ahead of me was the door that led outside, but there was one more stop before I could leave. Off to the right was an officer behind a window. The officer asked for my name and then passed a large envelope under the window through a metal tray. The envelope contained my money and my jewelry. He then slipped me a form to sign for my belongings.  As I was passing the paper back to him, Chad entered.  I waited as he collected his stuff. I was surprised at the feeling I had when I saw the car keys fall from the envelope—we could leave. When we opened the door and the cool fresh air hit me, I felt something I had never felt before.  I felt freedom.

 The next step would be the trial. The thought of pleading guilty was unsettling to Chad. He did not believe he was guilty. Even though our attorney thought it was the best option, Chad struggled.  Pleading guilty would mark him as a convicted felon for at least a year, but fighting it wasn’t an option. We did not have the money or the strength. The attorney said it could easily run $50K or more and could take several years.

A month later, Chad stood before the judge. With his arms at his side, his hands tightened in a fist as the judge read the charges and requested his plea. Chad’s posture was stiff and his eyes looked downward for just a moment to gain the courage to say what he felt like was a lie. He lifted his head and solemnly replied, “Guilty.” At that moment he looked as if he had been defeated—as if he had lost the battle. My heart ached because I knew how hard this was for him, but at the same time, I saw him in a whole new light. I had renewed respect and admiration for him. He was never afraid to fight, but not fighting took more strength and courage. To me, he had won.

The next year passed by without any major mishaps. Chad’s criminal record was expunged. The kids made a lot of friends in the neighborhood. Our short little pit stop on our way to St. George lasted nearly 18 months—much longer than anticipated. But now, it was time to continue.  As much as I liked Lehi, it was not where I ultimately wanted to be. Chad found a framing job in St. George, and we loaded our stuff headed out of town.

With the past behind us and the future before us, we headed south. Once devastated by the thought that things would never be the same again, I was now determined to never let things be the same again. I had spent so much time and money on things that were of little value, and which were so easily taken from me.   I had to lose it all, including my freedom, to learn what God wanted me to learn. I had to be brought to my knees—literally. He was tearing me down, taking everything, so that I could see—see what I couldn’t see in my comfortable little world. See what was really important in life.