CHAPTER ONE

 

                          GONE

 

 

Sitting at the desk behind my open laptop in front of the freshly

painted, sunny, pastel walls, the sound of a pressure washer

hummed outside and the smell of new leather drifted in from the

garage bay adjacent to me. It was September 17, 2018, around 10

a.m. on a Monday. I was taking a short break from training our

very first manager, Norman, who was ten years or so my senior. I

spent a few hours helping him become acquainted with our

business, and his new role as he was just getting started. Running

a company had been a lot of work for my husband and me. 

Twenty years earlier, we started an auto detailing business, doing

everything from washing, waxing, polishing, and steam cleaning

to window tinting, graphics, and leather repair. We were so good

at “details” that we ended up with clients who had us work on

their boats, RVs, and even airplanes! Finally, two decades of

determination and good decisions later, we were stepping up in a

new direction and taking some of the burden of management off 

our shoulders.

 

 

As I gave Norman time to practice what he’d been taught, I

opened my computer to do a routine check of our bank accounts.

I scanned over the list of transactions and everything looked

good. I would reconcile it all later, but for now, this quick glance

sufficed. Nothing out of the ordinary, we were in the black;

always a good thing. Next, I did a spot check of the other

accounts we shared with each of our three adult children. All of

them (ages 24, 21, and 20) were still living with us, even though

the two boys were currently away from home, and all of their

bank accounts still had my name on them. Preston, our oldest

child, was studying at a health and wellness center in north

Alabama, five hours away, while Luke, our youngest, had just

taken a new job in California aft er a long internship specializing

in musculoskeletal health.

 

 

I randomly clicked one of the children’s bank accounts to do a

quick inspection and make sure everything looked good. We had

recently been victims of fraud, with a major purchase being made

from my account by someone transferring money from my son’s

account to mine, since they were all linked. Another time,

fraudulent charges were made on my daughter Victoria’s account,

so I was vigilant in watching for anything suspicious.

 

 

Scanning my daughter’s account, I immediately saw something

strange. The dollar amounts were small and there were three, but

what it was for, had me questioning. I grabbed my cell and called

her, knowing she would be going to work soon, if she hadn’t left

already. No answer. She would often ignore my calls, which

frustrated me, but she barely responded to anything I’d say in

person, much less over the line, so I texted her:

 

 

Victoria, I think there may be more fraudulent charges on your

account. You need to check on it!

 

 

I had been advised by the bank that criminals always try small

charges first to see if they will go through (and are likely

something you won’t notice), then they hit you with the big ones,

as had been the case with the fraudulent activity on my account.

 

 

The three charges that had me questioning were from Uber.

Victoria wouldn’t have any reason to take an Uber anywhere. She

has a car, unless it was broken down. But why not just ask us to

help with it, or to drive her to work?

 

 

I waited. No answer. I looked at my watch. She should be leaving

for work any minute. Victoria was a fitness trainer at our local

gym where we all had memberships just minutes from our home.

I was sure she was supposed to be there at 10:30 a.m. It only

takes four minutes to get to her job from here. Here, at our

business. It was also our home. We had the good fortune to work

from home. It wasn’t what I had planned or dreamed of, but

neither were other parts of my life. Things don’t always turn out

how you’ve planned, but I was grateful that we had a business

that allowed us the ability to raise our family where we could

provide a good living for them, as well as keep a close eye on

them, where we could be there for them when they needed us.

 

 

Myself, I was a latchkey kid, where I came home to an empty

house, and took care of myself and my younger brother until my

mom came home from work. Th at was not unlike most kids

whose parents were divorced. My stepfather abandoned us and

left my mother to raise our family all on her own, performing the

role of both mother and father. So, she had to abandon being the

stay-at-home mom that she was for the first thirteen years of my

life. It was all she ever wanted to be, and it had to be given up for

our survival.

 

 

So, I was grateful my kids didn’t have to do that. They had not

one, but both parents at home, when they came in from school,

every single day of their lives. Fortunate and rare. That was one

of the pros, and there were cons, like living at work and not being

able to truly separate from it. Not having a “normal” home in a

neighborhood where the kids could play and make friends down

the street. But it came with the territory, and you can’t have it all.

Victoria certainly had made it known that she disapproved. “It’s

so embarrassing,” she commented one day. “When I get off the

bus in front of the house and people are like, ‘You live at a

business?” “Well, it has given you nice things. And we’re able to

be home with you when you get home from school,” I responded.

“That’s important.” And it was a nice home with a four car garage

that we ran the business from. Our kids also had built-in jobs

when they got older. When they were little, we paid them for

every tire they shined and when they became teenagers, they

worked with us in the shop to pay for their first cars, us matching

each dollar they put towards the purchase. We taught them a

strong work ethic and all enjoyed working together.

 

 

With still no answer, I decided to just walk inside the house and

tell her. I got up from my desk and walked out of the garage

passing by her “It’s Green O’clock” colored Ford Mustang. She

wanted a Mustang since she was nine years old because it had the

“horsey” on the front. Victoria had a thing for horses, and all

animals, growing up. Recently, she had her car painted that color

and won first place in a car show competition. Since her father

was a car guy, and we own a car business, we had one of our

business partners do the paint job, which she paid for. It was her

idea to go to the show to celebrate her twenty-first birthday, as

she and her dad enjoyed going to them together.

 

 

She’s still here, I thought, as I walked past the car, and past my

husband, quickly telling him what I had learned as I made my

way up the steps to the front of the house. I went inside to her

room, calling her name. She wasn’t there. I went through the

house and outside into the backyard. Victoria was nowhere. It was

10:30 a.m.... time for her to be at work.

 

 

I walked back out to the front of the house where her dad had

started her car. “It’s working fi ne,” he said as he pulled it over to

the other side of the house. Her car was here, but she wasn’t. Why

would she take an Uber when her car was working fine? And why

wouldn’t she have asked us if she needed help? Again, the

questions were running through my head, trying to make sense of

it. Our daughter didn’t go anywhere but to work and back home.

She didn’t socialize much and wasn’t the outgoing type. She was

a homebody like me. She mostly stayed in her room all the time.

It had been that way all growing up. Even now after high school,

she was quiet and reserved and stayed to herself.

 

 

“She’s not here. Why would she take an Uber to work if her car is

here and working?” I asked my husband. I was really confused

now. “Where would she take an Uber? I’m going to her work to

see if she’s there,” I told him. “Where else could she be? I’ll let

you know what I find out,” I said walking to my car.

 

 

He nodded, also puzzled and concerned.

 

 

I drove a short distance to the traffic light and took a right. Being

a personal trainer was Victoria’s dream job. Both she and her

younger brother, Luke, worked there together. He had gotten the

job first and when he left for his internship, she became the

trainer and used her knowledge of nutrition to help the people she

trained.

 

 

We were proud of her. Victoria loved this job. She loved

fitness and nutrition. Here she was able to do both, and she was

making a difference in people’s lives. Best of all, it was also

helping her. She was overcoming being shy and introverted and

really seemed to enjoy it even though talking to people was hard

for her. Victoria was growing as a person, and it was good. Very

good. She had been there for almost a year now,  and we often

told her how positive it was for her.

 

 

As I turned into the parking lot of the gym, I began to calm

myself. I mean, she was at work. Why was I worried? Why was I

so worked up? She would be there. Maybe she just made a friend,

and they wanted to ride to work together. That would be

wonderful! She didn’t have any close friends. I knew I would be

relieved once I saw her inside, I just had to find out why she had

not driven her working car there. I opened the door and walked

inside.