The Return of Alex Sutherland

Dear Alex. It’s time for payback.

Alex Sutherland stood motionless, barely breathing and steeling herself against the kitchen table as she read the interloper’s scribblings in her small black Moleskine notebook.

You don’t know me. But we share the same past.

Two weeks earlier Alex sat in her favorite overstuffed chair, legs tucked beneath her, reviewing the list of felon-friendly companies in her little black book. Her master’s degree in education—earned before her criminal record—gave her a leg up over other criminals seeking employment at name-brand companies. Still, many corporations won’t hire anyone with a shady background, despite claims of “equal opportunity.” Most distressing to Alex, though, was that with a criminal record she would never be able to do the job she truly loved: teaching.

“Amazon, check!” Alex thought to herself as she placed a green tick next to the tech giant’s name to signify that she had sent off a resume for an entry-level warehouse position. “Amazon plans to open a large warehouse near Houston later this year, so they’ll likely be lenient with initial hires to get up to speed,” Alex deduced.

“FedEx. Need to send one there,” she muttered to herself. “As long as I don’t apply for any customer-facing positions, I might have a chance.”

Alex was about half-way down her list when her niece called. Alex’s brother, who lived in her hometown of Milwaukee, had just died unexpectedly of a heart attack. Stunned, Alex grabbed her purse, keys, and coat, hurriedly tossed the notebook into her jacket pocket, and ran out the door to make the eighteen-and-half-hour drive from Galveston, Texas, to Milwaukee. Although she had no in-country travel restrictions as a criminal, she often encountered TSA delays at the airport, and she wasn’t emotionally up for the hassle right now.

My name is Sam Adler.

Armed robbery, auto theft, assault, embezzlement, and burglary were among Alex’s recorded transgressions over the past 12 years.

I live in Milwaukee.

But she committed none of those crimes.

I’m about to go to the police and report what I know about you.

Each time she was arrested, she would deny having committed the crimes. The police never believed her. But, then again, don’t all criminals deny guilt?

I’m going to tell them everything.

Years ago, after exhaustive attempts to convince authorities that she was an upstanding citizen, Alex resigned herself to being branded a criminal.

What she never got used to, though, was hiring managers who wouldn’t even listen to her explanations, and just dismissed her out of hand. Getting a job—any job--is difficult as a criminal. Had it not been for a decent inheritance from her dad’s estate, she wouldn’t have been able to hang on financially this long. But that inheritance would run out soon, and she needed a job. Fast.

Back home three days after her brother’s funeral, she resumed yet another job search. Alex reached into her coat pocket for her little black book of prospective companies.

It wasn’t there.

It would be another two days until she was reunited with the notebook.

But before I do, it’s time for payback.

“Payback? What is he talking about?” Alex wondered aloud.

The journal was returned via messenger this morning. Alex silently thanked herself for having the foresight to fill out the In Case of Loss information on the flyleaf. But now, reading menacing locutions in her trusty notebook, Alex was unnerved.

I’m not writing these words to threaten you.

“What else would you call it?” Alex muttered.

But when I saw your name—Alex Sutherland--in the flyleaf of this notebook, I immediately recognized it. It’s been my name for the past 12 years.

“Wait. What?” Alex blurted. I thought he said his name was Sam Adler.”

Do you remember September, 2008? More specifically, September 29th of that year?

Alex gasped. “Why is he bringing up that date? How does he know?” Alex felt a chill run up her spine.

It’s the day the stock market crashed 777.68%. I lost everything in that crash. I was broke, deeply in debt, and desperate. I was also, at the time, the sole support for my elderly parents.

Alex gave a heavy sigh. “That’s not why I remember that day.”

That fateful day, as I sat in my office processing insurance claims for storm damage from Hurricane Ike, I came upon your claim. I ran your Social Security number—it was our standard practice before paying out large claims. You had a good credit rating and a good employment history.

“No. Don’t tell me,” Alex whispered as she began to connect the dots. “It can’t be.”

In a moment of desperation, I stole your identity—and the $16,000 in your bank account. (I’m sorry!)

“You bastard! You didn’t steal my identity. You stole my life. You stole my career. You stole my good name. And all you have to say is ‘Sorry?!’ Alex screamed at the notebook. “I’ve spent the last decade just trying to survive financially because of you!”

I used the money to make back mortgage payments, pay off some other debts, and help my elderly parents.

“Ask me if I care,” Alex fumed.

A few months later, I was fired from my job. The economy was in the tank and jobs were hard to come by.

“Don’t tell me about how hard jobs are to come by, douche bag!” Alex thought.

Desperate for money, I turned to crime for a quick payout.

After the first hit—robbing a convenience store—it was like a drug and I couldn’t stop. I went on a multi-year crime spree using your name.

“Oh, I know all about the crime sprees you were on as me,” Alex seethed.

Last week I found your notebook lying on the sidewalk outside a coffee shop on Downer Avenue in Milwaukee. When I saw my—er, your—name, I was flabbergasted. Not really knowing what else to do in the moment, I went into the café, sat down with a latte, and began reading the entries in your little black book of job prospects for criminals.

Alex remembered stopping at the Stone Creek Coffee Shop on her way home from the funeral. The notebook must have fallen out of her jacket pocket.

You’ve been on the run from the law as a “known” criminal. I’ve been on the run from my conscience.

Paging through your notebook, where the gravity of what I had done to your life became real, I knew I could no longer continue the charade. And now, with the responsibility of caring for my parents no longer an issue, I have no reason not to come clean.

I know I’ll never be able to repay the emotional pain, the damage to your name, and the financial struggles you went through. But I want to pay back the money I stole from you. That $16,000 would be worth about $19,000 in today’s dollars. I rounded up to an even $20,000—the amount of the enclosed check.

“Check?! I don’t see a check,” Alex said aloud as she fanned the pages of the small notebook, looking for the check. Finding nothing, she landed back on the words of her alter ego.

By the time your notebook makes it back home to you in Houston, I will have turned myself in to the police and confessed to stealing your identity in 2008, and committing all of the crimes in your name between then and now. I’m also including a signed confession here.

It may be 12 years too late, but I am finally returning the “good” Alex Sutherland to its rightful owner.

Alex took a long, deep breath, gently placed the notebook on the table, and walked to the kitchen counter where the opened messenger packet lay. Could it be that, after all of these years of being branded a criminal by police, looked at as a lowlife by hiring managers, she could actually clear her name? Prove that she was the upstanding citizen she had claimed she was all along? Actually have hiring managers believe her when she would tell them she didn’t commit the crimes in her record? Maybe even become a teacher?

She picked up the packet and peered inside. There, at the bottom, was a cashier’s check for $20,000, paper-clipped to a signed confession.

Tears of relief streamed down Alex’s face. She glanced at the memo line on the check:

The Return of Alex Sutherland