Call Me Vivian E-Book

Katie Scheller

• Herausgeber: BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLC
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Seitenzahl: 438

Beschreibung

Experience the power of God's transforming love. Call Me Vivian is a true story about a woman caught in adultery. On the fast track in Corporate America, Katie became involved in an illicit love affair with her boss that newspapers reported as "sordid." Not everyone's extramarital affair makes front page news or results in a civil lawsuit and criminal charges that land a person in federal prison. But hers did. From a financially secure future to losing everything except her positive attitude, sense of humor, and faith, Katie found herself sleeping on the concrete floor in a prison cell she describes as "one step above hell." It was in this place that God did His best work! This book exposes the truth about Katie's struggle with sexual sin, the battle for her heart, and the transforming power of God's love. Through Katie's heartache, pain, and countless years of searching, you will gain a better understanding of God's wonderful gifts of grace and forgiveness. Call Me Vivian will prove all things are possible with God if you simply have the faith to believe. 

Leseprobe

BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLC

Racine, Wisconsin, USA

BroadStreetPublishing.com

Call Me Vivian

A True Love Story

Copyright © 2016 Katie Scheller

ISBN-13: ISBN: 978-1-4245-5172-9 (softcover)

ISBN-13: 978-1-4245-5173-6 (e-book)

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, IL 60189 USA. All rights reserved. Scripture verses marked KJV are from the King James Version of the Bible, which is in the public domain. Scripture quotations marked NKJV are taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Cover design by Chris Garborg at GarborgDesign.com

Typesetting by Katherine Lloyd at TheDESKonline.com

Author photo by Mike Steinbach at BachPhotography.com

Special thanks to Chad Bernhard for bringing The Vivian Foundation logo to life

Printed in the United States of America

16 17 18 19 20 5 4 3 2

Contents

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Acknowledgments

The Vivian Foundation

Dedication

For my sister Susie

“It is pleasant to see dreams come true.” (Proverbs 13:19)

I could not have done this without you!

This book is dedicated to all those

who struggle with codependency.

The security you crave can only be found in the Lord.

Introduction

As I stood on the tarmac, the cold January temperatures and brisk wind made my entire body shiver. I looked down at the red welts that had already formed on both of my wrists. The handcuffs were painfully tight, as were the chains that were wrapped securely around my waist. The heavy restraints prevented me from raising my hands more than a couple of inches.

“Scheller, stand here!” barked the US marshal as he held his clipboard, taking inventory of the nearly one hundred federal inmates who just made the seventy-five-mile one-way trip to the Tampa International Airport. Given I was surrounded by a dozen federal agents wearing bulletproof vests and carrying high-powered sharpshooting rifles, I started moving in the direction he was pointing. The metal cuffs around my ankles and short chain between my feet made walking extremely difficult, but I eventually made it to my assigned spot.

I was one of two female inmates from the Federal Correctional Complex in Coleman being airlifted to the Federal Transit Center in Oklahoma City. While I stood in my designated area, dressed in my khaki-colored elastic-waist pants, a brown short sleeved T-shirt, and blue slip-on tennis shoes, the same US marshal was diligently studying his paperwork as the damp air chilled me to the bone.

Just when I did not think it could get any worse, it did. I silently began to pray that somehow the light mist would wash away the black Sharpie marker that had just been placed on my hand. The dreaded X meant I was heading to the Grady County Jail in Chickasha, Oklahoma. Chickasha is thirty-five minutes southwest of Oklahoma City, but it might as well have been a million miles away. “Shady Grady” was the last place on earth I wanted to spend my one-year anniversary in prison.

“God, I don’t deserve this,” I prayed quietly. “The punishment just doesn’t fit the crime.” Unfortunately, the chains and shackles, armed guards, and prison-traveling clothes told a different story.

What was a nice girl like me doing in a place like this? How did something that felt so good and seemed so right twenty years earlier turn into my worst nightmare? Why did a mother and grandmother on the fast track in corporate America end up in federal prison?

Sad but true, there was only one answer to all three questions: it was a matter of my heart. And like so many women who fall in love, convinced they are going to live happily ever after, I let my heart determine the course of my life.

As I closed my eyes, just trying to escape the horror of being on Con Air, my mind drifted back to 1992, the year it all began.

1

It was a long shot and I was on cloud nine. I could not stop smiling. I had just been offered the job. To say I was thrilled was an understatement. As one of more than fifty internal applicants for the Staff Resource Planner position in the Transportation Department at SC Johnson, I knew I could do the job and I was confident the door would open for me.

As I shared the good news with my coworkers, the look of surprise and bewilderment on their faces was quite telling. Apparently, I was the only one optimistic enough to believe I would actually get the job. I chuckled as I walked past the long list of our favorite sayings that were scribbled on loose-leaf paper hanging near my workstation in research and development. My favorite was, “Work goes where it gets done,” and a close second was, “A woman would rather have beauty than brains, because a man can see better than he can think.”

My new boss was Milt Morris and I tried to find out what I could about him prior to my interview. He was in his early fifties, had been with the company for more than thirty years, and loved to play golf. I figured I probably should not mention the rumors I heard about his girlfriend who worked in customer service.

Milt seemed like a nice-enough guy, and he was willing to give me a chance for a fresh start. I had recently completed my undergraduate work in business administration and marketing, compliments of our company-sponsored degree program.

Milt and I hit it off when we met—he made me feel at ease. We laughed throughout the hour-long interview and I remember telling him something that I felt was important as he contemplated who would be the best candidate for the position. “If you like me,” I said, “then hire me. And if you don’t, that’s fine, because I’m not going to change. What you see is what you get.”

It was almost as if I had offered up a challenge to Milt, and I could see the wheels turning in his head. As strange as this sounds, I could also feel some sort of chemistry beginning to form between the two of us. There was something intriguing about Milt besides his tantalizing cologne, confident demeanor, and impeccable dress. As I would later find out, Milt found some things intriguing about me too. Apparently, it was my sailor dress and great-looking rear end that got me hired. It was true. Milt Morris could see better than he could think.

At the time I had no clue about what I was getting myself into, and neither did Milt. A successful, powerful businessman with an insatiable sexual appetite had just hired an adventurous, risk-taking young businesswoman who was looking for love. It was the perfect storm.

On October 14, 1993, I took a business trip to a regional distribution center in Dallas. But for me, it started long before that fateful day in the Lone Star State. Why do women have a knack for remembering dates like this? I imagine most life-altering moments are hidden somewhere in our psyche. This date, however, was etched into my brain, my heart, and my Franklin planner.

Over the last year, the occasional workplace flirtations between Milt and me had moved from slightly embarrassing comments to desired daily banter. The chemistry we shared had evolved from an awkward experiment to a hormonal interaction on the verge of explosion.

My suitcase was packed for my first business trip alone with Milt. Some casual clothes, two dresses, a few pairs of sexy panties, white thigh highs, and a pile of justifications for my impending actions. As we enjoyed a delicious dinner at the Marriott Quorum, my confidence began to wane. What was I thinking? Milt was sixteen years my senior and almost old enough to be my dad. Oddly enough, thoughts of my dad crossed my mind, but none of my husband.

After we had already said good night, I knocked on Milt’s door with a transparent excuse of needing help with my phone card. His need to feel needed saved this deceitful damsel in distress, and my ulterior motive was the key to bypassing any barriers that stood between us.

One look at the thigh highs and the night’s decadent events proceeded without interruption. The sex was absolutely incredible. Darkness, silence, and satisfaction filled the room. I was lying on the boss’s bed wondering what to do next, my gaze transfixed on the ceiling as my thoughts drifted: A new fringe benefit? Steamy sex with your supervisor? I smiled as I imagined that the value of that perk would be dependent on who was doing the calculating. But like most transactions, I also had a standard disclaimer: When you fall in love with me and ask me to marry you, the answer is always no.

Corporate America. A place where illicit love affairs are part of many company cultures but never talked about. Getting to know your colleagues in the biblical sense can be encouraged and even sometimes expected in many work environments. And why should that come as a surprise? We spend more time at work than we do at home.

When I was just twenty years old, the company hired me to work in the factory—a second-shift line job that got me out of the house and earning a decent wage. I worked my way up in the organization and somehow managed to earn my bachelor’s degree while working full time and raising a family. I continually challenged myself—always looking for more, that “something” that would make me feel complete and whole.

I invented and launched successful products that generated millions of dollars in revenue. I reorganized operations to save equal amounts of money. I pushed my subordinates to achieve or leave. I was the poster child for the knocked-up dropout teenager who made it big in corporate America.

As cliché as it sounds, I worked hard and sometimes I wanted to play hard too. And playing with a menagerie of men was yet another accomplishment. The one thing I made sure of was that regardless of my partner, the minute any relationship crossed the noncommittal line and even remotely resembled love, I took off running.

The truth is that I was afraid of love, so I chased after anyone I thought would provide that powerful emotion that eluded me. But the words I so desperately needed to hear—I love you—scared me to death.

So what does one do when she finds herself in bed with the boss who is now sound asleep and snoring? I failed to plan for that scenario, so I improvised. I got dressed, quietly left, and questioned what I had just done. I stood in a hot shower, allowing one type of steam to cleanse my body from a different type of steam.

Then I lay awake for a long time, all alone in my own bed. I thought about my husband and my kids, somehow validating my immoral actions. Sleep finally overtook me and I woke up the next morning wondering what would happen that day.

It was a repeat of the previous night. The sordid affair had begun. The lust-filled weekend was the escape I needed from my stressful work responsibilities and my unhappy marriage. If only I had heeded the lyrical advice of Texan and country singer Johnny Lee, because in hindsight I was definitely looking for love in all the wrong places.

Sunday night arrived and I returned home from Dallas. I was back home with my family, and the reality that was my life: my three kids and my husband, Tom. No dog. No white picket fence. But a fairly typical family and home if viewed from the street.

Tom and I had married back in 1976, meeting about a year and a half before we exchanged vows. He was a first-year teacher and an assistant track coach at my Catholic high school and a doctor’s son. He somehow convinced me to see him socially before I even graduated. The lure of a secret relationship had been a consistent stumbling block in my life.

My relationship with Tom blossomed quickly, as is typical when a teenager’s heart is involved. I spent one semester at a state university before I felt a five-hour drive was too far from the object of my infatuation. So I did what anyone would do—I dropped out of college and went to work. Before long, I was eighteen years old, engaged, and pregnant. My focus was on planning a wedding and my expanding waistline. Unfortunately, however, I failed to notice the warning signs of a love-starved marriage.

When I returned to work on Monday, the game had changed. I had a secret. And so did Milt. But the next few months were heavenly. Lunches, gifts, compliments, and, yes, many more hotel rooms. I became alive with anticipation and excitement. I was fervent about my work and absolutely thrilled with my new social life. One thing was certain: our sexual compatibility was off the charts. The passion and romance I felt every time we were intimate convinced me I had found my soul mate.

I thought I was in the driver’s seat for getting my needs met, but there was only one problem. Milt really did have a girlfriend who worked in customer service. His girlfriend was a showy number, larger than life with lots of bling and high-end taste. She had big demands and a bigger mouth. When she walked into a room, she expected everyone to notice, and most people did.

With my competitive spirit, my next challenge was to see if I could get her out of the picture. The race was on, and no doubt I was going to win. The chase was almost as much fun as the catch. I would have Milt all to myself.

Subconsciously, I strategized. I had a game plan. The aggression that I used to leave on the basketball court with the neighborhood boys now manifested itself in my adult life. Girls’ athletics were on the cusp of mainstream when I was finishing high school. Title IX was in its infancy, and sports-minded females were still presumed to be lesbians. Good competition was beginning, but the opportunities were limited. In the early 1970s, women were encouraged to burn their bras, but not really taught what to do after that. Donning a Nike sports bra and ripping off your shirt like Brandy Chastain’s victory celebration were far-fetched ideas for women in my era. But the thrill of victory and the sense of accomplishment pushed me throughout my life. Milt was another goal for me to reach and win.

I worked hard to win Milt over, and then it happened. Only six months after our first sexual escapade, and much sooner than I expected, if I expected it at all, I told Milt I loved him. I had said it! It felt so good. What a special moment it was. I was falling in love for the first time in my life and experiencing emotions I did not even know existed deep within my heart.

Initially, I worked for Milt during a three-year assignment where I was responsible for scheduling the outbound finished goods. It was a very stressful job that required late nights and long weekends, but I loved it. The job played to my strengths. I was able to fully utilize my planning and organizational skills and also leverage my outgoing personality. It was a match made in heaven.

Milt had established a partnership program with the domestic transportation carriers, and I thoroughly enjoyed the social aspect of the job. The fulfillment I was not getting at home, I received at work. We enjoyed dinners and golf, sporting events and gifts, and friendships that would last a lifetime. It was a special place to work, and I was convinced I had the best job in the company. The only problem was that I had fallen in love with my boss, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

Milt still had his girlfriend. During the years I shared my lover, I justified it because I needed Milt. I needed his touch, his kind words, his encouragement, and his company. I would be willing to patiently wait knowing that I was not necessarily his top priority but confident I would win him over in the end. The girlfriend had to know we were romantically involved, although I thought we did a pretty good job hiding it in the beginning. But then again, how could she not figure it out?

Milt’s mode of operation was generous but not overly creative. If she got an expensive watch, so did I. If she went on a shopping spree, then I did too. If she got new earrings, guess who got them too? If she got laid, then so did I. On Sunday mornings, when we should have all been in church, we took turns grocery shopping with him. Double the fun, double the expense, double the trouble? Quite frankly, I am not sure where Milt got all of his energy. How he managed to keep both of us happy, play golf at least three times a week, travel for work, and run the department was simply amazing.

A wonderful opportunity to move to the marketing department presented itself in 1996, yet I felt so conflicted. It meant I had to leave a job I loved and take a chance on fulfilling a lifelong dream by working as a marketing associate in Air Care New Products. I would also have to leave Milt. I cried as I pondered the decision, but I chose to realize my dream.

Milt and I continued our relationship, however. And he also sustained his affair with the girlfriend. For the next three years, I used every bit of my vacation to travel with him on his business trips. We went to some wonderful places throughout the country. One trip in particular, I will never forget.

Milt was at a conference in California at LaCosta Resort. He went to play golf, and when he returned we spent the rest of the day at the pool. As I removed my sunglasses and looked to my right, I could not believe who was sitting just a few chairs away: Julia Roberts. Like the Julia Roberts—you know, from Pretty Woman, which just happens to be one of my favorite movies. Ironically but appropriately, I really did not see Julia Roberts. Rather, I saw her character, Vivian, the kept woman. And somehow Milt, in spite of his age, appearance, and stature, started to look like Richard Gere.

That was how Milt treated me, and I wanted him to rescue me the way Edward Lewis rescued Vivian. In fact, I needed Milt to rescue me. I wanted to be the princess, not the prostitute. I wanted the fairy-tale ending, not to play second or third or even fourth fiddle. At that time, I somehow convinced myself—and I was absolutely positive—Milt and I were going to live happily ever after.

Following my marketing assignment, I completed a brief stint in the research and development department. The door called opportunity opened once again. Milt’s voice sounded over the phone: “Hey, I need an export manager. Are you interested?”

By this time, I had received a nice promotion in research and development, so it would be a lateral career move. I threw my name in the hat, knowing I had the inside track. In June of 1999, I accepted his offer, and, once again, we had a direct reporting relationship.

Corporate travel took us around the world as I managed the international side of the business. Whether in Denmark, Mexico, Puerto Rico, Japan, or Racine, Wisconsin, his yin complemented my yang. If his left hand might have missed something, my right hand compensated. Together, we achieved outstanding results in the boardroom as well as the bedroom. The fairy tale continued. I was being groomed for what I knew of Milt’s job, and although it was not a slam dunk, I liked my chances.

Milt and I were finally a couple. The girlfriend gave him an ultimatum, demanding a full-time commitment, and he said no. Clueless and in love, I could not see the big picture that was going on around me. I was looking at the world through rose-colored glasses, not ruby-colored ones. Did I mention that Milt was married too? Sad but true, I was still the other woman even though the girlfriend was now out of the picture.

Milt’s wife was handicapped, having suffered a stroke in 1990 prior to me meeting him. He carried a tremendous burden and a sense of guilt regarding her condition, yet he always made sure she had proper care and assistance given his work, travel, and social schedules.

I know what you are thinking: How could either one of you have done this to this poor woman? Believe me, you can justify just about anything when you are insecure, which we both were. It was almost like she was not a real person. I managed to make her part of my pretend world, part of the fairy-tale story I was living out.

Milt and I were deeply in love, and it showed. We were both longing to be touched, we both wanted to be wanted, and we were two people who used each other to boost our feelings of self-worth. It was easy to excuse our infidelities.

As Milt expanded his carrier base, I met new friends. Together, we often traveled with his business associates and their wives or girlfriends. Milt and his buddies arranged trips to Amsterdam, Hawaii, and Las Vegas. We played golf at some of the best courses in the world and stayed at the finest hotels. The gifts, winnings from gambling, romantic dinners, and lovemaking—it was incredible. I even taught Milt how to dance.

This vast, marvelous world Milt exposed me to compared only to that which I had seen on television or read about in a love story. It was a level of luxury I had never experienced before. Escargot and Dom Perignon were a far cry from the potato pancakes and powdered milk I grew up with.

I came from humble roots—my father was a teacher while my mother stayed home when we were young. We were raised with wholesome values and family-centered activities. With six children to feed, clothe, and educate, hand-me-downs were the norm for the kids, and extra part-time jobs were the norm for my dad. Yet my parents never turned away anyone—not the two neighborhood girls who lost their mother to cancer, not my cousins who needed a peaceful place to hang out, and not any other wayward souls who stumbled upon our family. To this day, their back door is open to those in need, the cookie jar and candy drawer are usually filled, and there is always room for one more porch sitter. The unconditional love they provided and modeled must have sustained me through all my years of despair and searching. In my lowest moment, I was one of the wayward souls who found refuge back in their home.

I typically knew right from wrong, but when I was with Milt I lost all control. I was like Pavlov’s dog, but instead of receiving food when the bell rang I was answering the phone, setting up our next tryst, and getting paid. At times, I did not even know who I was—I actually felt worthless. I struggled with the lies and deceit I regularly fed my family. Other days I hated myself and despised the things I had done. But my ongoing behavior showed otherwise. I could justify and excuse my indiscretions because of the financial security and love the relationship provided. Sex was still a substitute for the feelings I was afraid to express.

My marriage had failed. I let it linger much longer than I should have. Finally, I could not continue to live a lie anymore—not with my husband or with myself. I decided to take a drastic measure.

Every time I seriously contemplated leaving my husband, I would find myself making a rather large purchase to somehow justify staying together. My behavior was irrational, but it allowed me to convince myself that I could not afford to get divorced because of the exorbitant price tags of some of these items. One time I bought a new car, another time it was a player piano, and out of sheer desperation I bought a lake lot with plans to build a beautiful home on the shores of Lake Michigan.

But no matter how hard I tried to make myself feel better with all of this stuff, none of it filled the void in my soul. My husband and I talked about building the lake home, but I could no longer live the lie. I did not love Tom, and I did not want to be with him—I wanted to be with Milt. How I was behaving in my marriage was far from acceptable and so unfair to Tom. It was time for a change.

We sold the lake lot, which gave me the freedom to finally make the decision I knew I should have made years earlier. In November of 2001, I put a reservation on a condominium in a subdivision called Hidden Creek and went home to tell my husband of my decision to move forward without him. It was a difficult conversation, but my mind was made up—I wanted out. I was in love with another man, my boss of all people, and no one was going to convince me otherwise.

Over the course of the next ten months, while my condo was under construction, our marriage was strained ever further, due to the fact that I was still living at home. My husband was in denial about my decision to leave and, as a result, there was virtually no discussion about my choice to build a new house and move on with my life. There was a fair amount of stress that I carried, but most of it was due to job pressures and the demands that came with building a new home. I worked hard to be as nice as I could during this time, and I did not immediately file for divorce but decided to separate and see how things would work out. I thought it would be easier on everyone, especially our children, as they got used to the idea of Tom and me living apart.

I was excited that my new life was about to begin. In September of 2002 I moved into Hidden Creek, separated from my husband, and began the next season of my life.

I was convinced given Milt’s involvement in the construction of my condominium, approval of the interior furnishings, and willingness to provide the financial support I needed, that someday we would be together. So there I was, alone in a big, beautiful house, trying to convince myself I was happy. In essence, my new living arrangements did not change a thing in my heart. My life continued to be placed on hold, waiting for the next phone call from Milt.

It was an interesting time in my life. There were times when Milt would love to flaunt our affair and then there were other times he did not want anyone to know. Even though I was separated, Milt’s car would always have to be pulled into the garage or I would have to pick him up somewhere because we were still feeling the pressure that came from sleeping with the boss. The independence we enjoyed when I first moved into my new place was beginning to fade since many of my new neighbors were also employed at the company.

But one thing was certain: the only person Milt seemed to be deathly afraid of when it came to spending time with me was his wife. I could never figure that one out, but nonetheless if his wife said jump, then he would ask how high. If she said be home at five o’clock, then he was home at five. And Milt became incredibly nervous if he thought he would be even one minute late.

Milt was leading a double life, which was also taking a toll on him. He knew it and I knew it, and yet we accepted the situation and did nothing to change his circumstances. Clueless and in love, I convinced myself that I had the best of both worlds. I no longer had to deal with an unhappy marriage, and I did not have to put up with Milt on a full-time basis either. Life was pretty good, or at least I thought it was. In retrospect, however, it was one of the loneliest times of my life.

The affair started very innocently. I began to look outside of myself for a person who would provide me with the emotional and life stability I lacked. Unfortunately, I did not know how to have emotional intimacy in nonsexual ways. Given my confusion, when I used love and sex as a way to cope rather than a way to grow, my partner choice became skewed. I was fearful of being alone or rejected, and out of emotional desperation I chose to embrace an inappropriate relationship that made me feel special.

I did not realize that the loneliness I experienced throughout my adult life was the result of my own lack of responsiveness. I would give in to the demands of others and focus on their needs because I did not want to hurt their feelings, and, more importantly, I did not want to be alone.

Lonely people submerse themselves in as many projects as possible and keep themselves busy to hide from their pain. Although there were only twenty-four hours in a day, I worked full time, raised three children, ran the household, volunteered at sporting events, coached my daughter’s basketball team, exercised virtually every day, and went to night school for eight years. I continually challenged myself, always looking for more, that “something” that would make me feel complete. Unfortunately, I was not going to find it until I dealt with the emptiness in my heart.

In 2003 Milt decided to build a new home. He was impressed with my condo, and my designer provided input into the architectural features of his new residence. Milt’s desire was to build an upscale one-level handicap-accessible home because of his wife’s disability and her difficulty maneuvering stairs. The two-story house where he lived was in desperate need of updating, and although I was only invited to his home on a few occasions, I was surprised that a man in his position did not live more extravagantly.

Fast-forward to the twenty-first century. The home he built for his wife was not only extravagant but also over the top. Milt did not spare a dime on the design, construction, furnishings, or the accessories. The sprawling brick ranch, which sat on a quiet cul-de-sac among equally impressive homes, belonged in Architectural Digest.

During the year his home was under construction, the two of us spent virtually every day watching the progress. The house was handicap accessible, and he was so happy that his wife would have a home that would accommodate her needs. Milt and his wife met with the design firm on many occasions, and he was always anxious to share their selections with me. He was so proud of his new house, and I was happy for the two of them—this was the type of home they deserved.

The stress of building, however, along with the pressure of making final selections on a tight timetable, was driving a wedge between them. They were beginning to have some significant issues just prior to the home’s completion.

Milt told me he was contemplating leaving his wife. Her behavior was erratic, and it seemed that no matter how hard he tried to please her, she was not happy. Milt became so frustrated that he was ready to raise the white flag and throw in the towel at the same time. When I heard him say that we should build a home together, I could hardly believe my ears. Did I just hear him right? I immediately began to look for a subdivision that would meet both of our needs, and we even went so far as to have some preliminary floor plans completed.

Was this really happening? After years of waiting for him to be completely mine, was there finally going to be a change so we would be together? Given his wife had her dream home, maybe it was possible for Milt to move forward minus the guilt. He continued to give me money for our future purchases and life together.

I was in pretty good shape. Milt had bought virtually all of the furnishings for my new home and I paid for everything in cash. He gave me money for my divorce settlement and I put the cash in the bank. Every time he gambled and won, which was quite often, he shared his winnings with me. When Milt came back from a trip that I did not attend, there was a gift of jewelry. He even gave me money for a down payment on a car. The average person could have figured it out right away, but I didn’t. I was too busy being Vivian.

My divorce was finalized in January of 2004, just prior to Milt and his wife moving into their new home. It was a dwelling they both loved but a residence they would only enjoy for a short period of time given there were some significant changes about to take place.

I knew better than to give Milt an ultimatum, but I was finally free. The two of us talked about marriage, but there were only empty words that I somehow heard as promises. There were no commitments—in fact, there never would be.

When you are having an affair, you get all of the good stuff and none of the bad. But eventually you start to question whether or not you would really want to wake up with this person every morning. Then you question if he is being honest with you and whether or not you can trust him. You think you will become his top priority, but that never happens. So you continue to sit at home waiting for your phone to ring. When he finally does find the time for you, it’s on his schedule, not yours. This was no way to live, but for close to twenty years this was my life.

Something big was indeed on the horizon and the roles would soon be reversed. It would be Milt that needed me to rescue him. But I had yet to realize that Milt would never be climbing up the fire escape with a bouquet of roses like Edward Lewis. Rather, I would be trying to escape a decade-long nightmare that I was plunged into as a result of our relationship and his unrelenting control over me.

2

It was October 18, 2004. I was scheduled to take a business trip to a regional distribution center in Dallas, Texas. Does this sound familiar? This is where it all started, and this was where it was going to end. My suitcase was once again packed for a trip with my boss, but any plans we had of sleeping together that night were going to have to be scrapped.

That morning, prior to leaving for the airport, the two of us had a meeting with the vice president of worldwide sourcing and procurement to share the presentation I was going to be giving at a global conference the following week. As I was sharing my international plan, Milt was suddenly pulled out of the meeting. I figured it was because that was the day the upper management team received their bonus payments. I finished my presentation, and it was obvious we were done as the vice president and I were engaged in small talk.

Within minutes, I was led into a conference room and greeted by the senior vice president of human resources and a private investigator from the company’s law firm. I was given a letter and told I was being placed on administrative leave with pay because I was suspected of violating company policy. They also told me that my office was being searched, Milt Morris had been fired, and there was a lawsuit filed against him.

If I had been smart, I would have kept my mouth shut and left; however, I did not feel that was an option given both individuals began to question me. Not too long after that, a postal inspector joined the meeting and, when he threatened to send me to jail like Martha Stewart, I had had enough. I thought, What in the world is going on? Why would the post office want to search my office? And what is happening with Milt?

I signed a statement the private investigator had written on my behalf, and they let me go after two hours of questioning. I was escorted to my car and told to turn over my company credit card, parking tag, and office keys, and leave the premises. It would be the last time I drove out of our manufacturing facility. In reality, however, not only was it the perfect storm, but it was also the beginning of my worst nightmare.

After being pummeled with a blizzard of questions about my personal life, as well as what I knew about supplier gifts and Milt’s mode of operation, I was experiencing my own personal whiteout. I was scared, confused, and in absolutely the worst place I could possibly be. Afraid I would be fired, I lied about accepting gifts from suppliers, yet for some reason I admitted to the affair that I had been having with Milt. My title quickly changed from the US import/export services and compliance manager to the woman caught in adultery. I was in trouble, my job was in jeopardy, and I did not know what to do.

Milt was scheduled to retire in fewer than three months, and his boss had told me just a few days earlier that the management succession and development team had selected me to replace Milt as director of transportation. Why would the company fire a guy who had worked for them for forty-three years, managed the transportation department for well over a decade, and was routinely told he was doing an excellent job? And why did Milt’s boss tell me that I was getting a promotion when in actuality I was being placed on administrative leave? It did not make sense.

I was determined to find out what was going on; someone had to know. So I made a few phone calls to see if anyone had any clue as to what was transpiring, and the only information I could glean was that there was yellow crime-scene tape outside our offices. A short time later I received a phone call from Milt, letting me know he got fired. I pleaded with him to tell me something I did not already know. I was at a loss for words and so was Milt.

I chose to head over to a friend’s house and did not hear back from Milt until the following day. When he finally did call, he told me he had retained a lawyer. I was more than familiar with his attorney’s name: Gerry Boyle. This was big time. Boyle was nationally recognized, and I had seen this guy on television many times before. Milt told me Gerry wanted to see me. Why would some celebrity lawyer want to see me? “Milt, what in the world is going on?” I asked. “Why do I need to meet with Gerry Boyle?”

“Well, given the gifts I have given you and because of our relationship,” Milt said, “Gerry thought it would be best for you to have legal representation.” Great. Just great. Boyle proceeded to set up a meeting for me with an attorney named Mike Penkwitz.

That same day, the senior vice president of human resources called to cancel a meeting she had set up the previous day. I had been expecting to meet with her and an attorney who was hired by SC Johnson as part of their investigation. I questioned whether or not my attorney could attend, and she replied that company policy prohibited me from having legal counsel present. I felt as if I was being backed into a corner with no place to go. And, unfortunately, it was going to get a lot worse before it got better.

Up to this point I had been threatened to be sent to jail like Martha Stewart, I was pretty sure I was going to be fired for violating company policy for accepting supplier gifts, and even if I wanted to cooperate I could not have legal representation present. Not only was I backed into a corner, but I was also between a rock and a hard place. Given my no-win situation and based on the advice of Mr. Boyle, I had a letter delivered to the company stating that I would not comment until I knew the status of my employment.

The next day I met with Mike Penkwitz at the Wisconsin Club and was told that until we knew what was going on, I was done talking. We were going to have to be patient and wait to see what developed. In the meantime, however, it was suggested that I get a tax attorney because of the gifts Milt had showered upon me. Within a few days I had spent $25,000 to retain two lawyers. The million-dollar question remained unanswered, however: what did they know that they were not telling me?

During the next four weeks, the game of cat and mouse continued. It was like a championship chess match as each side contemplated their next move. My diet mainly consisted of McDonald’s breakfast burritos, Diet Coke, and sleeping pills. I had lost seven pounds because of the stress of all that was going on, and for the first time in my life I was feeling really depressed.

The legal baton had been passed to my tax attorney, a gentleman by the name of Michael Cohn. This would be the first time I met him. Michael’s office was located in downtown Milwaukee, across from the federal courthouse, and his workplace setting was very formal. In many ways it reminded me of a doctor’s office, which is probably where I really needed to be in that moment. I sat in the waiting room before being greeted by Michael and led down a long hallway into a conference room that overlooked Lake Michigan.

Michael began the meeting by explaining why I needed his services. He then asked me how much money Milt had given me over the course of our relationship. A subpoena would be necessary to accurately answer that question, so until I could review my financial documents I only guessed. As I would later find out, my estimate was not even close. Apparently that happens in these types of cases.

Michael then wanted to know where Milt got his money. I told him that it all came from gambling. He insisted that Milt could not have possibly made that much money gambling, yet I argued he did. I explained that Milt would play cards every Wednesday night, and on the way home he would call me to tell me how much money he had won or lost. He also gambled on golf courses and would frequent casinos. When he won, he gave me money.

Regardless of how hard my attorneys tried to help me see the truth, I could not see any faults in Milt. And, unfortunately for me, modern-day research supported the view that the blindness of love is not just a figurative manner. Love officially renders you stupid. “There is none so blind as those who will not see.”1 Matthew Henry’s quote was almost as relevant as one from William Shakespeare—“Love is blind.”

According to a study by the University College London published in NeuroImage in June of 2004, scientists have shown that there is a degree of truth in the old adage that love is blind. They have found that feelings of love lead to a suppression of activity in the areas of the brain controlling critical thought. It seems that once we get close to a person, the brain decides that the need to assess their character and personality is reduced. Professor Robin Dunbar, an evolutionary psychologist at the University of Oxford, argues that the rational parts of the human brain shut down when experiencing love.2 I spent so much time with Milt and I was so blinded by love that I might as well have had a lobotomy. As hard as I tried to look at the situation objectively, I could not see the truth.

In the midst of the uncertainty of what was happening with SC Johnson, I was blessed with a gift from heaven—my third grandchild. Colin was born, and my son Mike and his wife, Kelly, had their hands full as they now had three boys all under the age of four.

Colin would eventually become my inspiration—the little boy who taught me what life is all about and how we cannot take one day for granted. His circumstances provided the motivation and fueled my desire for a faith-based life. Unfortunately, Colin would have to endure some arduous times for his grandma to learn this valuable lesson.

With love and great anticipation, I headed to Green Bay to meet my newest grandson. No day is better than the day you get to hold your child or grandchild for the very first time. We were so blessed, and I had to keep this in the forefront of my mind, thanking God for this miracle. The other distracting things going on in my life did not matter in that moment. The stress of my job situation was nowhere to be found on this special day.

I returned to Racine only to be summoned back to Green Bay three days later. Colin was back in the hospital with complications. Our six-pound, fifteen-ounce bundle of joy was in the neonatal intensive care unit at Bellin Hospital. Colin had an IV and was undergoing a septic workup when I arrived. He was so sick, continually vomiting, and the concern on all of our faces was evident. I tried to put a positive spin on the situation, but that was easier said than done. You never think about how delicate life is until you find yourself in a situation wondering if your grandson will survive.

Through God’s grace, additional medical intervention, and some much-needed nutrition, Colin was sent home a week later. The doctors never determined exactly why he was not gaining weight, but at the time it did not seem to matter. He was healthy and he was home. We were grateful for his stability.

Just five days after rejoicing and celebrating Colin’s recovery, I was fired from my job. But it would take me years to understand that this was a blessing in disguise.

I would be less than honest if I did not tell you that the next few months were terribly stressful. Although I was collecting unemployment, I needed to find a job because my expenses were far greater than the income the state of Wisconsin was providing. I went into survival mode and determined the best thing to do was to sell my condominium and everything in it.

In spite of my upheaval, I found many reasons to be thankful during this period of time. I had the opportunity to visit my kids and grandkids and share special time with my family. One of the only things I initially regretted about losing my job was the guilt I felt for always putting the company first. I missed quite a bit while my children were growing up due to my increasing job responsibilities as well as the time commitment that was necessary to generate the results the company required. It was time I could never get back, and I was so angry at myself because of it. Here I was, working for a family company, and I sacrificed time with my very own family to climb the corporate ladder.

It was something that I could not change, but I vowed that it would never happen again. There was a reason my tax attorney, Michael Cohn, told me to go read the book of Ecclesiastes:

I came to hate all my hard work here on earth, for I must leave to others everything I have earned. And who can tell whether my successors will be wise or foolish? Yet they will control everything I have gained by my skill and hard work under the sun. How meaningless! So I gave up in despair, questioning the value of all my hard work in this world. (Ecclesiastes 2:18–20)

As I readied my home for sale and pounded the pavement looking for work, news of the lawsuit filed in Racine County Circuit Court was beginning to hit the newspapers. The suit accused Milt of engaging in racketeering and accepting bribes. Well, at least I had something I could ask my attorney: “What is racketeering?” In case you are wondering, racketeering is obtaining or extorting money illegally or carrying on illegal business activities.

The civil lawsuit accused Milt of paying inflated shipping rates and paying for services not rendered. The company claimed money had been exchanging hands during card games and that carriers paid for travel and jewelry, though they did not name the carriers involved. It was not until January of 2005 that the transportation companies were finally named in the lawsuit. They were businesses owned by two of Milt’s best friends.

I sold my home in Wisconsin and began looking for a home in Florida. Florida bankruptcy laws would protect my primary residence, which, given my situation, seemed like a good idea. I was lucky to make a nice profit on my condominium, and the new owners bought most of my furniture and accessories. The sale allowed me to look for a house in the $300,000 price range. In the meantime, Milt and his wife purchased a home in Tampa, and it should not come as a surprise that is where I decided to relocate.

After leaving the airport, I drove to the north side of Tampa into a neighborhood called Tampa Palms. As I wondered how I would go about looking for a home, I saw a sign for a real estate company and headed in their direction. Meeting an agent at the door, I told her I was new to the area and interested in buying a condo or townhome, preferably on a golf course with nice amenities and a large garden tub.

We quickly realized I could not get on a golf course in my price range, but she was confident she had something that might work. We drove to a new development called Palma Vista, and I immediately knew this was exactly what I wanted. The townhomes backed up to a nature preserve; there were two swimming pools, a clubhouse, and a fitness center; and you could tell the builder was top notch. After looking at the four models, I quickly settled on the one that had the master bedroom downstairs, turned to the agent, and told her I wanted to buy this particular unit.

She looked at me in total amazement, as this may have been the easiest commission check she would ever earn. I had been in Tampa for fewer than two hours, looked at one place, and decided to buy it. We proceeded to put an offer in that day.

The real estate market was booming in February of 2005, and the same week I bought my unit the developer sold six other town-homes. Two days after finalizing my paperwork, the price of each floor plan increased by $50,000. God was nice enough to steer me in the direction of this development and help me be decisive. Let’s just say that God had me right where he wanted me.

During this same time period, I continued to look for work. One Sunday as I was reading the employment section of the Milwaukee Journal, a particular ad caught my eye. A company called Lamplight Farms was looking for a customer service manager. The job description was a perfect match for my skill set and experience.

There was only one problem: I had just signed a contract on a new townhome in Tampa, which would be completed in early April. I thought, What the heck. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I had to apply for two jobs each week in order to maintain my unemployment benefits—this was one of the two jobs I selected.