"My work may be garbage but it's good garbage." Mickey Spillane
I went to work as a secretary in the computer center at Doheny Eye Institute on the UC Medical Campus. Most of it was misery. H refused to drive me to work and I was left to make do with the bus system to get from Altadena to Los Angeles. It required changing buses twice in some of the worse areas of LA and took me two hours to get there and two hours back. By car it would have twenty minutes.
It was exhausting and I had to turn my entire pay check into H. Otherwise, Sovay disappeared.
One day, I was sent across campus to drop off some records and pick up others. The rain was sleeting down and I was already tired when the day started. I came in through the only door that was not carpeted, reached the nurses station and my feet slipped out from under me in a puddle of water. I went flying and landed on my bad leg.
The result was a worker’s comp claim. My attorney was a nice man. One day, while I was meeting with him (following a very hard round of H screaming at me for hours), I broke down and told him the whole story.
He thought I was the one sending him all those faxes. But it was not me. It was H.
Once that was out, my attorney did two things for me. He was specialist in worker’s comp, and could not help on a lot of other issues, but he began helping me in other ways.
He stopped responding to H’s faxes. We arranged a system so that he would know if the fax actually came from me or not. And he helped me hide a portion of the money from the worker’s comp claim.
He also informed me of how to do the research.
H never knew that he only had half the money in his hands. I set up a mail drop and a secret bank account. When I left with my mother, I had a car waiting for me that H did not know existed.