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My In-Laws Threw My Belongings Away, Until My Billionaire Father Arrived With Three Lawyers... — Transcript

by Mocked & Blessed · 4,212 words · 662 segments · language en · Watch on YouTube

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0:00Your things are out with the trash,
0:02where they belong, my mother-in-law
0:04said, without looking up from her
0:05coffee.
0:07Honestly, Joelle, you should thank us.
0:09We did you a favor.
0:10I stood in the kitchen doorway, rain
0:13dripping off my coat, my overnight bag
0:15still on my shoulder.
0:17Where is my mother's cello?
0:19Sharon Ostrander smiled the way people
0:21smile when they think God is on their
0:23side. A woman who lies for a week
0:26doesn't get to keep keepsakes. Ryan
0:28agreed.
0:29I looked at my husband. He stared into
0:31his cereal like it was going to save
0:33him.
0:34That was the moment I stopped being
0:36sorry. I walked out into the rain, sat
0:39in my car, and typed one sentence to a
0:41number I hadn't texted in nine years.
0:44Before I tell you what happened next, I
0:46need to tell you something ugly because
0:48this story doesn't work if I let you
0:50think I was only a victim.
0:52I lied to my husband for six years. On
0:55our second date, Ryan asked about my
0:57family. I was 25, tired and sick of
1:01being introduced as somebody's daughter.
1:03So I said my mom passed when I was 19
1:05and my dad's gone too.
1:07Half of that was true. My mother, Anne,
1:10a cellist with the Cleveland Orchestra's
1:12second chair and the kindest person I've
1:14ever known, died of cancer when I was
1:1619. My father was not gone. My father
1:19was August Danforth, the founder of
1:22Danforth Meridian, a real estate empire
1:24with his face on the side of buildings
1:26in four states. I hadn't spoken to him
1:29since I was 22. When I was a girl, he
1:32promised my mother he'd never touch
1:34Ferris Row, the old mill neighborhood
1:36where her best friend Mrs. Olsson lived.
1:3940 families, row houses with porches and
1:42tomato gardens.
1:43Two years after mom's funeral, he
1:45bulldozed all of it for a luxury
1:47development. He sent lawyers with
1:49envelopes and he called it fair market
1:52value.
1:53I stood in front of Mrs. Olsson's house
1:55and watched it fall and I told him I'd
1:57never use his name or his money again.
2:00I kept that promise. I changed my last
2:02name back to my mother's, Danforth being
2:04his,
2:05and I taught middle school music in a
2:06small Ohio town called Cairo.
2:09Then I met Ryan, a sweet, steady man who
2:12ran the register at his family's
2:13lumberyard and made me laugh in a way
2:15I'd forgotten I could.
2:17When he asked, I couldn't bring myself
2:19to say the word billionaire and watch
2:21his face change. So I said the other
2:23word,
2:24dead.
2:25I told myself it was a clean start. It
2:27was a coward's lie, and every year it
2:30grew another layer until I couldn't dig
2:32my way back out of it.
2:34And here is the part that still makes my
2:36stomach turn. Ryan's parents paid for
2:38our wedding out of the lumberyard
2:40savings, $31,000
2:43they didn't have. Sharon cried and said,
2:45a girl with no family deserves a proper
2:48day.
2:49I let her. I could have covered it with
2:50one phone call. I took their sacrifice
2:53and said thank you with a straight face.
2:56So when I say I wasn't innocent, I mean
2:58it. I was a liar with a good reason and
3:01a bad conscience. Eight days before the
3:03dumpster, a man named Marcus Feld called
3:06me. He was my father's lawyer, and I
3:08remembered him from Christmas parties
3:10when I was little, a tall man who always
3:13had butterscotch candies in his pocket.
3:15Joel, your father had a heart attack.
3:17It's a quadruple bypass. He's asking for
3:20you. I wouldn't call if the doctors
3:22weren't being honest with me about the
3:23odds. I didn't tell Ryan. I told him I
3:26had a music educators conference in
3:28Chicago, packed a bag, and drove 4 hours
3:31with my hands shaking on the wheel.
3:34My father looked small. That's what I
3:36can't forget. The man who once filled
3:38every room he entered was lying in a
3:40hospital bed with gray stubble and an IV
3:43in his arm.
3:44I'd prepared 9 years of speeches.
3:47None of them came out. He opened his
3:49eyes and whispered, Annie's girl.
3:52I stayed 6 days. We didn't fix anything.
3:55He didn't say sorry for Ferris Bueller,
3:57and I didn't say I forgave him.
3:59But on the 4th night, I fell asleep in
4:00the chair, and when I woke up, he was
4:03holding my hand. And I let him.
4:05What I didn't know was that Ryan's
4:07sister, Kristen, had been going through
4:09my phone for weeks. She was 29, devout,
4:12and sure that honesty was the only thing
4:15separating good people from bad ones.
4:17She'd seen texts from a contact saved as
4:19Dad. She knew my father was supposedly
4:21dead, so she showed Sharon. Sharon
4:24didn't ask me anything. She called Ryan
4:27at work and said, your wife has been
4:29lying to this family, maybe about more
4:32than her father, maybe about everything.
4:35And my husband, the man who'd promised
4:37me in front of a hundred people that he
4:39would stand beside me, didn't call.
4:42He didn't text. He never once said,
4:44Joelle, explain this to me.
4:47He let his mother clean out our bedroom.
4:50When I came home, the rain had turned
4:52the front lawn to mud, and our bedroom
4:54closet stood open and empty.
4:56My clothes, my books, my mother's
4:59handwritten song journals, the patchwork
5:01quilt she made when I was six, her cello
5:04in its battered case,
5:06all of it was gone.
5:08In the kitchen, Sharon told me about the
5:09dumpster which she'd rented for a home
5:11cleanup and conveniently filled.
5:14Rollins Waste picked it up at 7:00 this
5:16morning. It's gone to the county
5:17transfer station.
5:19I took a breath.
5:20I did lie. I told you my father was
5:22dead, and he isn't. I'm sorry for that.
5:25I mean it. But nothing I did gives you
5:27the right to touch my mother's things.
5:30Oh, spare me, Sharon said. You've been
5:32living in my house, eating my food,
5:34taking my son's name, and your whole
5:36life is a story you made up.
5:38It's my name, I said. I kept my
5:41mother's.
5:42Ryan?
5:43She said it like a command.
5:45My husband finally raised his eyes.
5:48Jo, you lied about your dad. Your dad.
5:51What else is there?
5:53Where were you when they carried out her
5:55cello?
5:56He swallowed.
5:58I was holding the door.
6:00Six years.
6:01Four words.
6:02I was holding the door. I picked up my
6:05keys. Sharon called after me, don't
6:08bother coming back with excuses.
6:10I didn't answer.
6:11In the doorway of the mud room, my
6:13father-in-law Merle stood with his cap
6:15in his hands, looking at the floor. He'd
6:17said nothing the entire time. His
6:20silence was louder than hers.
6:22In the car, I typed to a number I'd
6:24never deleted.
6:26They threw mom's things away.
6:28I didn't write please come. I didn't
6:30write I need you. I just wanted somebody
6:33on earth to know. The typing dots
6:35appeared, disappeared, appeared again.
6:38Then, where is it now? I stared at the
6:41screen.
6:42County transfer station, probably
6:44compacted by tonight. It's fine, don't
6:46do anything.
6:48Three minutes later.
6:49Joey, don't hang up on me again.
6:52He called. I let it ring four times and
6:54picked up. His voice was thin from the
6:57surgery, but under it was the old steel.
7:00Tell me exactly what they did, slowly. I
7:03told him. I don't know why. When I
7:05finished, he was quiet for so long I
7:08thought the call had dropped.
7:09I'm sending the plane, he said.
7:12You just had open heart surgery. I've
7:14also had nine years to think about what
7:16kind of man lets his daughter handle
7:18this alone. Drive to the transfer
7:20station, don't leave.
7:22The Beaver Creek County transfer station
7:24is a gray warehouse surrounded by chain
7:26link and mountains of trash that rise
7:28like hills in the dusk. A man in a
7:30reflective vest stopped me at the gate.
7:33Ma'am, no private access, liability
7:35rules. If you lost something, you can
7:37fill out a form and we'll review it in
7:38five to seven business days. It's my
7:41mother's cello, I said, and my voice
7:43cracked in the middle of the word. She
7:45died. It's all I have. I'm sorry. I
7:49really am, but the loads from this
7:51morning are being compacted and loaded
7:53onto trucks tonight. I sat in the car
7:56and watched the sun go down behind a
7:58wall of garbage, and I cried the way you
8:00do when you've stopped pretending to be
8:02strong.
8:03At 8:40, headlights swept across the
8:06gravel. Three black SUVs rolled to the
8:08gate in a line, and the doors opened one
8:11by one.
8:12First out was Marcus Feld, gray haired
8:15now, a briefcase in each hand. Then a
8:18sharp, tiny woman in a navy suit who
8:20introduced herself as Lynn Aldis,
8:22environmental and property law.
8:24Then a broad shouldered man named Tom
8:26Sprague, who looked like he ate
8:28litigators for breakfast. And last, very
8:31slowly, helped by a driver, my father.
8:35He wore a camel coat over a hospital
8:37pale face, and he walked with one hand
8:39pressed against his chest. He stopped 3
8:41ft from me.
8:43For the first time in my life, August
8:44Danforth looked unsure of himself.
8:47Hello, Joey, he said.
8:49Nobody had called me that since the day
8:51I told him I was done with him.
8:53You shouldn't be out of the hospital, I
8:54said.
8:55I signed myself out. It's more of a
8:57suggestion than a rule.
8:59I almost laughed. Then he looked at the
9:02gate, the vest, the mountains of trash,
9:05and the old steel came back into his
9:06face.
9:07Lynn, go.
9:09I'd assumed the lawyers meant
9:10destruction. I'd read about my father's
9:12methods for years. Buy the debt, wait
9:15for the default, send the envelope.
9:17I stood there bracing for it.
9:19Instead, Lynn Aldis walked to the
9:21station manager's trailer with a folder
9:23and a phone pressed to her ear. Within
9:2520 minutes, she'd gotten the county
9:27solid waste director on the line, a man
9:29who sounded like he'd been pulled out of
9:31dinner.
9:32Within 40, she had a signed emergency
9:34access agreement that let us search a
9:36designated section of that morning's
9:38intake under supervision, with the
9:40compactors halted until midnight.
9:43Ohio recognizes conversion of personal
9:45property, Tom Sprague told me quietly
9:47while the gate rolled open. What your in
9:49laws did, discarding irreplaceable items
9:51belonging to you without consent, is
9:53actionable. I can have a complaint
9:55drafted by morning if you want it.
9:57Not yet, I said. I just want my mother's
10:00things.
10:01My father turned to me.
10:03I could buy the lumberyard by Friday,
10:04you know. The debt on it, the building,
10:06the land. Marcus found the paperwork on
10:08the way here. It's 4 months behind on
10:11I felt every muscle in my body go still.
10:14I could make this very simple, he said.
10:16They'd never bother you again.
10:18That's what you said about Ferris Row.
10:21He flinched. I'd met him, too.
10:23Dad, if you do that, you aren't helping
10:25me. You're doing the one thing you know
10:27how to do, and I'll hate it, and I'll
10:29hate you again, and I'll be right. I
10:32held his eyes. Help me find our cello.
10:34That's all. Not the lawyers, not the
10:36money. Help me dig. For a long moment,
10:39he said nothing. Then to Marcus, cancel
10:42the call to the bank.
10:44At 10 that night, under borrowed
10:46floodlights, I climbed into the back of
10:48a mountain of trash with a flashlight
10:50and a pair of work gloves from the
10:51station. I wasn't alone. Two operators
10:54from the station worked a small loader.
10:57Lynn Aldis in her good navy suit wore a
10:59hard hat and a borrowed pair of rubber
11:01boots two sizes too big. Tom Sprague had
11:04given up his jacket and was dragging a
11:05tarp.
11:06Marcus Feld, a 70-year-old attorney with
11:09a bad hip, was pulling black bags apart
11:11with his bare hands.
11:14And my father, against every medical
11:16instruction he'd been given, stood at
11:18the bottom of the pile in his $4,000
11:20coat and called out, Joey, left side,
11:23the big gray bag.
11:25Billions of dollars, and he knelt in
11:28garbage in the dark because I asked him
11:30to.
11:31We found the quilt first, at 11:40. It
11:34had been stuffed in a contractor bag
11:36with half a rotting couch cushion,
11:38stained with something dark and wet, but
11:40whole.
11:41I held it up in the light, and there it
11:44was, the crooked yellow star my mother
11:46had stitched on the corner because she
11:48said every kid should have one that's a
11:50little off.
11:51I sat down in the trash and cried into
11:54it.
11:55My father knelt beside me. He didn't
11:57speak.
11:58After a while, and a voice I'd never
12:00heard from him, he said,
12:02she made me one just like it, you know,
12:04the year we got married.
12:06It was the ugliest thing I ever owned.
12:08I kept it until I moved into the tower,
12:10and Helen, my second assistant, put it
12:12in storage because it didn't match the
12:14office.
12:15Where is it?
12:16I don't know. His face crumpled. I've
12:19been wondering that for nine years.
12:22Then a voice behind us said, Joelle.
12:25My sister-in-law stood at the edge of
12:27the floodlights in a coat thrown over
12:29her pajamas. Her hair flat on one side,
12:32her eyes swollen. In her arms she held a
12:34dented tin box.
12:36I got to my feet. The lawyers went
12:38quiet.
12:39I told Sharon about your phone, Kristen
12:42said before I could say anything.
12:44I'm the reason she looked. I thought I
12:46was protecting my brother. I thought if
12:49she's lying about her father, she's
12:51lying about everything. And God wants us
12:53to be people who tell the truth.
12:55You went through my phone.
12:57I know.
12:58She breathed in.
13:00But this morning when the truck was in
13:01the driveway, I watched my mother stand
13:04there and say good riddance and smile.
13:07And I realized she didn't care if you
13:09were lying. She never wanted you in the
13:11family. She wanted a reason.
13:14Kristen's voice broke.
13:15I've been judging everyone my whole life
13:18by whether they told the truth. And I
13:19never once asked what I'd do with it
13:21after I had it.
13:23She held out the tin box.
13:25This was sitting by the curb when the
13:26truck came.
13:27I thought nobody would notice if I took
13:29it.
13:30It's your mother's music box. Mrs.
13:32Olson's name is engraved on the bottom.
13:35My hands shook as I took it. I opened
13:37the lid and the little tune started. The
13:40same four notes mom hummed when she
13:42stirred soup.
13:43It was Mrs. Olson's wedding gift to her
13:45from Ferris Burow.
13:47I stood there with the music box in one
13:48hand and the quilt in the other. And I
13:51didn't hug her. I wasn't ready to. But I
13:54said
13:55thank you.
13:56I'll tell anyone what happened, Kristen
13:58said, under oath if I have to. I'm not
14:01asking you to forgive me. I just don't
14:03want to be the person who stood by.
14:06Behind me, my father said softly,
14:08that took more courage than most of the
14:10men I've hired.
14:12At 1:10 in the morning, the loader
14:13operator shouted. It was jammed under a
14:16flattened refrigerator door. The hard
14:18black case cracked down one side like a
14:21split lip.
14:22Three of us dragged it out together. My
14:24hands were shaking so badly that Tom
14:26Spreg had to help me undo the latches.
14:29The cello was inside. The neck had
14:31broken at the joint and the scroll hung
14:33by a few strings. A long crack ran
14:36across the top plate. It was a wreck.
14:39But it was whole. Every piece was there.
14:42A luthier could repair it and the wood
14:44still smelled like her studio. Resin and
14:47old rosin and a little bit of lavender.
14:50I put my forehead against the wood.
14:52Nobody said a word. The compactors
14:54stayed silent. The floodlights hummed
14:57and somewhere a night bird started up.
14:59At the top of the pile, my father said
15:01hoarsely, Annie would have laughed at
15:03us. A billionaire and three lawyers
15:06digging through garbage.
15:07She would have said you looked
15:08ridiculous, I said. And I was crying and
15:12laughing at the same time.
15:14She'd have been right.
15:16I didn't sleep. At 8:00 a.m., I drove
15:18back to the Ostrander farmhouse with the
15:20cello in my backseat, my father's SUV
15:23behind me, and the lawyers in a third. I
15:25asked them to wait in the driveway. My
15:27father started to object, then stopped.
15:30This is yours, he said.
15:32Sharon was at the kitchen table when I
15:34walked in. And for the first time since
15:36I'd known her, she looked afraid.
15:39She had seen the three black SUVs. She
15:42had seen a man in a camel coat step out
15:44of one of them. And I knew she had
15:47searched his face online because her
15:49phone was face up beside her coffee.
15:52Joelle, she said, and her voice was
15:54syrup. Honey, why didn't you tell us you
15:57were a Danforth?
15:58I'd rehearsed a hundred things to say.
16:01That sentence made every one of them
16:02unnecessary.
16:04Yesterday, I said, I was a liar from
16:06nowhere. Today, I'm a Danforth. Which
16:09one did you throw away?
16:11She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
16:14We were only worried, she tried. A
16:16mother has to protect her family.
16:18If we'd known who you really were, of
16:20course we would have.
16:22That's the point, Sharon. You'd have
16:24been kinder to my father's last name
16:26than to me.
16:27Ryan came down the stairs, unshaven,
16:29red-eyed. He stopped when he saw me.
16:32Joe, I didn't sleep. I called you nine
16:35times.
16:36I turned my phone off.
16:38I should have called you before, he
16:39said, before the dumpster. I should have
16:42said no.
16:43Yes.
16:44I was scared. Mom said you'd been
16:46cheating or worse, and I didn't know who
16:48you were, and I didn't want to be the
16:49fool.
16:51You were the fool, I said, not cruelly,
16:53just not the way you thought.
16:55I lied about my dad, Ryan. I'll own that
16:57for the rest of my life.
16:59But you didn't want to know me. You
17:01wanted me to be easy.
17:02The second I wasn't, you held the door.
17:05He started to cry. I didn't.
17:08I'm not here to fight, I said.
17:10I'm here to tell you what happens next.
17:13I put my wedding ring on the kitchen
17:14table. It made a small sound against the
17:17wood.
17:18I'm filing for divorce. I'm not asking
17:20for anything, not the house, not the
17:22lumberyard, not a cent.
17:25Sharon's mouth fell open.
17:27You're not going to sue us?
17:29My lawyer wants me to. Tom Sprague is
17:32out in the driveway with the complaint
17:33already drafted. He says it's a strong
17:35case. I looked at her. I could take
17:38everything you have for what you did to
17:40my mother's things. You'd lose the yard,
17:42and my father could finish the job in a
17:44week. Sharon went white.
17:47I'm not going to, I said, because if I
17:50do, I'm a Danforth in every way that
17:52matters. I'd be exactly what you called
17:55me, a woman who throws her weight
17:57around. And my mother wouldn't recognize
17:59me.
18:00I turned to Merle, who had come in and
18:02was holding the door frame.
18:04Mr. Ostrander, I owe you something. I
18:06took an envelope from my coat. It was
18:08the wedding money, $31,000 in a
18:11cashier's check I'd had Marcus drop at
18:136:00 that morning.
18:15I let you spend this on a wedding when I
18:16could have paid for it myself. That was
18:18wrong. It was never yours to for me.
18:22Mel looked at the check for a long time.
18:24When he spoke, his voice was rough.
18:27I knew something was adding up, Joelle.
18:29I saw it in how you held a fork, how you
18:32never asked what anything cost.
18:34I didn't ask because I didn't want to
18:36know.
18:37And yesterday, when they took your
18:38things, I didn't say a word. That's on
18:40me.
18:41Thank you for saying it.
18:43Take your check back. I won't hold a
18:45woman's apology against her.
18:47It isn't an apology, I said gently. It's
18:50a repayment. The apology was the first
18:52part.
18:53He took it. His hands trembled.
18:56At the door, I turned back to Sharon.
18:58You'll get a letter from the court about
19:00the divorce. There'll be no other
19:01lawsuit, no foreclosure, no revenge.
19:04I want you to know that's not because
19:06you didn't deserve it. It's because I'm
19:08not going to spend my life being angry
19:10at you.
19:11I carried my mother's cello out the
19:13front door and nobody stopped me.
19:15Ryan caught me at the car. He put one
19:17hand on the door and said, Is there any
19:19chance?
19:20I looked at him, the kind eyes, the soft
19:23voice, the man I'd loved for six years.
19:26Maybe in some other life, I said.
19:28But in this one, you were the person who
19:30was supposed to stand next to me. And
19:32you weren't.
19:33You can be sorry and still be too late.
19:36He nodded. He took his hand off the
19:38door.
19:39On Monday, I walked into the principal's
19:40office at Carroll Middle School and told
19:42her the whole truth about my father, my
19:44name, and my lie before anyone else
19:46could
19:47Sharon had already sent an email
19:49suggesting I was dishonest and unfit to
19:51teach children.
19:53The principal let me finish. Then she
19:54said,
19:55Joelle, nine years of choir concerts and
19:58not one parent complaint. I think we'll
20:00be all right. I cried in her office and
20:02she handed me a tissue and a plate of
20:04cookies.
20:05I live in a one-bedroom apartment above
20:07a music shop on Main Street.
20:09The divorce was final in April. It was
20:12quiet and civil and Ryan sent a letter.
20:14I haven't opened it yet. It's in a
20:16drawer next to the music box.
20:18Maybe someday.
20:20My mother's cello is back on its stand
20:22by the window.
20:23A luthier in Cleveland spent three
20:25months fixing the neck. She says it
20:27plays better than before, and I think
20:29she's right.
20:30I play it badly, but I play it every
20:32night.
20:34My father and I have dinner on Sundays.
20:36It isn't easy. He still calls too much
20:39and tries to pay for things, and I still
20:41push back.
20:42Last month, he offered me a position on
20:44the Danforth board, and I told him no.
20:46And he said, I figured, and smiled.
20:49But there's one thing I did ask of him.
20:51I told him that if he wanted any place
20:53in my life, he'd have to answer for
20:55Ferris Roe.
20:56He listened. Then he went and found
20:59every one of the 40 families. Some had
21:01moved across the country, and some had
21:03passed away.
21:04He sat in their living rooms, in their
21:06kitchens, and listened to what he'd
21:08done.
21:09I wasn't there, and I don't know
21:10everything they said to him.
21:12But in September, a new housing
21:14cooperative broke ground on a site two
21:16miles from the old neighborhood. 40
21:18homes, run by a board of former Ferris
21:21Roe residents, with a porch on every
21:23house and a tomato garden out back.
21:25Mrs. Olsen's daughter cut the ribbon. My
21:28father's name isn't on the sign. I asked
21:30him to leave it off, and for once, he
21:32did.
21:33Kristin writes me every few weeks. She's
21:35moved out of her mother's house and
21:36works at a nonprofit in Columbus now.
21:39I've written back twice.
21:40We aren't friends yet.
21:42But last week, she mailed me a
21:44photograph she'd found of my mother
21:45holding me at six years old in front of
21:47the crooked star quilt.
21:49And on the back, she wrote, I kept this
21:50safe.
21:52I pinned it above the cello. I haven't
21:54heard from Sharon. I don't expect to.
21:56Merrill sends a Christmas card every
21:58year with one line in careful
22:00handwriting.
22:01Thinking of you.
22:03Not holding the door anymore.
22:05I always write back.
22:07I'm not triumphant, and I want to be
22:09honest about that. I lost a husband, a
22:12home, and a family I'd loved even when
22:14they didn't love me back.
22:16I lost the person I used to be who
22:18thought a small lie was a safe place to
22:20hide.
22:21But I got my mother's music back.
22:23I got a father who's learning slowly how
22:26to be sorry. And I got to stand in a
22:28mud-soaked kitchen and walk away without
22:30needing anyone to pay.
22:32Sometimes that's the strongest ending
22:34there is.
22:36is loud and wins one night. Dignity is
22:39quiet and lasts a lifetime. The people
22:42who hurt you will always want you to
22:44become like them. Refusing is the most
22:46powerful thing you can do. And an honest
22:49apology, even a late one, is worth more
22:52than any amount of money.
22:53If you've ever had someone throw away
22:55something that mattered to you or you've
22:57had to tell the truth about a mistake
22:59you made, tell me in the comments.
23:01Which would you have chosen, the lawsuit
23:03or the walk? Hit subscribe and the bell
23:05so you don't miss the next story. I'll
23:07see you in the next one.

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