Lies of a Real Housewife (27 page)

That was a good one! Now it started making sense to me where the

investigators got all of their information. Ms. Hashimi was quick to object. She stated that I didn’t have any related crimes in my criminal background, but Everett Tripodis and his brother Apollo Nida on the other hand were both

on federal parole for the same
exact crimes at the time of their arrest.

Judge Evans held a stare that could pierce any soul. She was an hon-

est and fair Judge who made sure that she read between each and every line. Judge Evans did not believe I was the mastermind. She was concerned with

how much involvement I actually had in this Federal racketeering scheme.

Before Judge Evans sentenced Everett she gave him the opportunity

to speak for himself. He stood before the court and begged the Judge for his release. His excuse was because his mother was sick, and he wanted to be by her side before she passed away. I could have vomited all over the courtroom

at that point. I was noticeably sick to my stomach.

Judge Evans was reasonable, but firm. She sentenced Everett Tripo-

dis to five years right in front of me. He was escorted out of the courtroom

and I was next. I could hear my mother’s words again.

“Girl one day your mouth is going to get you in a world of trouble!”

I thought about her words because they were true. I was going back

to prison and there wasn’t any doubt in my mind. My legs were shaking uncontrollably. My bowels were weak. I was having hot flashes, and I just knew it was over for me. The thought of my children suffering anymore than they already did took the life right out of me.

My federal parole officer, Lorna Murphy, stood before the court, and

she testified on my behalf. Something she told me that she’d never done for

any parolee throughout the duration of her career.

Lorna Murphy spoke about the changes she observed in me, and

about how I had transformed from nothing into something. I was a success story. She shared the reports she had received from my
counselor, and the reports from the clinical psychologist. They all attested to the fact that I had

been completely rehabilitated.

My brother testified on my behalf, and Ms. Hashimi proved my

case. She provided the court with a letter from the Georgia D
epartment of Transportation stating that I was an excellent employee, and that I had a great future with the company. Ms. Hashimi showed the court that I was an asset, and not a liability. I had become a law abiding, taxpaying citizen. Sending me back to prison would be a waste of taxpayer’s money, and would definitely

serve as an injustice to my children.

When it was it was my turn to stand before the court, and plead my

case. I stood and focused on the judge then said, “First and foremost I want to apol
ogize to you Judge Evans and to the court as well. I take full responsibility for all my actions Judge Evans. And I want to just throw myself upon the mercy of the court. I heard Everett Tripodis say that he wanted to be by his mother’s side before she passes. Well Judge Evans, my mother did pass during my incarceration as did my grandmother, and due to certain circumstances I wasn’t at either funeral. I also gave birth to my daughter handcuffed to a bed, and I wasn’t able to be a mother to her until she was eighteen months old. Those things I would like the court to take into consideration before my sentencing. Those things are far worse than any prison sentence. I would have rather served twenty years, and come home to my mother than serve the eighteen months I served that took away everything I have ever cherished!

Thank you your honor for taking the time to hear my words.”

Judge Evans stared at me long and hard before she made her deci-

sion. Every time she opened her mouth to say something, she looked d
irectly at me, shook her head, and sat back in her chair. I knew that she was thinking intensely. But what killed me was that I had no idea what it was that she was thinking. The courtroom was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. The anticipa-

tion of what her
words would be had the entire courtroom on edge.

I was silently praying while awaiting the verdict. My fate was hang-

ing in the balance. Through the corner of my eyes, I could see my brother, head bowed and praying. Lorna Murphy was doing likewise, even Ms. Hashimi was praying on my behalf.  I felt my mother’s presence in the courtroom with me. I knew this in my heart, even though I couldn’t see her, I couldn’t hear her, but I could definitely feel her.

We were all on the same accord that day, asking God for the same

blessing, and God answered our prayers. Judge Evans sentenced me to three years supervised release. It meant that I would not have to go back on the inside. I could indeed stay on the outside with my children, but I would be on parole for the next three years.

I must have cried, and thanked God all day. It was such a lovely day! He had delivered me from the
snares of the devil once again. My life almost began to feel normal. My trial was behind me, and I didn’t have any pending charges. Shaheed was long gone out of my life. He had been sentenced to life on his murder charge. I had a career ladder job with benefits, my children were in counseling. We had our own apartment, and our own ride. I was so happy. God had finally restored my life. Thank you sweet JESUS!

Over the course of the next few months, my life was pretty aver-

age. I went to work then returne
d home, cooked, ironed, washed clothes, and cared for my children. I worked extra hard to try and build our relationship

again.

I was a normal law-abiding citizen. I went from being a hot girl who

was worried about the law, to having a job, and being a
full-time mother. No more running the streets with my cousins. No more side hustles. I wasn’t living from check to check, but it sure felt like it because there was never any money left to save. Every time I paid all the bills, the kids needed something else. If it wasn’t clothes it was shoes, if it wasn’t shoes it was food or gas for the car. There was always something to eat up whatever spare change I may

have had lying around.

By this time, I had endured so much in life that the negative came

right al
ong with the positive. In other words, I hoped for the best, but prepared for the worst. I learned to take the good with the bad. So it would pretty much take a lot to get me upset, or out of character. I kept striving to be the best I could be on my job. And with every free moment, I tried to make up for

lost time with my children.

My highest position with the Georgia Department of Transportation

was in the personnel department. I had been promoted yet again. I was now

the person that sat behind the desk during the interview process.

When I interviewed people I always looked for sincerity. If they

were sincere, honest, and up front about their past, I figured they deserved a chance. There were people just like myself who already had strikes against them, and would work ten times harder. They were driven harder by some

unknown force because they knew they had everything to lose.

My coworkers were astonished by my growth in the company. They

witnessed my hunger, and my
eagerness to survive. One glance at me and all they saw was an outer shell. They had no idea what was deep down inside of

me. They didn’t know that my job was all my children and I had.

One of my coworkers applied for the position I had just been grant-

ed. Not only did she apply for it, she had basically already claimed it. She was sadly disappointed, and she strongly disagreed with the decision to give me the position. But hey, may the best woman win. And hands down I was the

best! I was the best because I had to be.

What choice did I have with so many strikes against me? This job

was the best thing I had going, and I was going to hold on to it for dear life. I knew this particular coworker had it in for me. I saw her dirty looks, and her snares toward me were obvious. But not only just that, I even dreamed of her in my home one night. In the dream she was chasing me in my hallway. She was the size of a T- Rex. She was angry, starving, and hunting me down,

making me her prey. That sounds crazy, but let me get to the next part.

It was Mother’s Day, and I was on my way to work, listening to the Yolanda Adams morning show. I loved Yolanda Adams. Her lyrics had been inspirational to me. When my mother passed during my imprisonment, one of my fellow slav
e mates gave me a CD player and a copy of Yolanda Adams’ latest album, ‘The battle is not yours’. God knows, that song had saved my life. Her voice and her words restored my soul. If I ever get to meet her one day, I will be sure to tell her how much her lyrics meant to me. But nonetheless, everyone was calling in giving thanks for their mother, and I was obviously not only moved by the outpouring of affection, but also by the love

shown on this particular Mother’s Day.

I felt the urge to call-in and share my pain with the world. It would

be my way of letting the world know that people should never take their mothers for granted. So I did! I shared my story about how my mother died

while I was in prison, and how I wish I had done things differently. 

Wh
en I got to work that morning, my coworker, the one I dreamed

of, had heard me on the radio. So she asked, “Angela were you on the radio

this morning?”

I said, “No.” Then I walked right by her desk.

“That’s funny. I could’ve sworn that was your voice I heard. It was

someone that sounded just like you though!” She said. I left it at that and never responded.

A couple of days later, I arrived to work. And about five minutes

after my arrival, my boss called me in her office. She informed me that I was

being terminated and that there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Apparently, someone had gone online, pulled up my criminal back-

ground, and sent an anonymous letter to the commissioner of GDOT. The letter stated that I had been in prison for forgery, and that I should not be allowed to work in the personnel department with access to everyone’s per-