Till Heist Do Us Part

By Jeanne Callahan and Michael Harvey

Jeanne Trantel’s life was perfect—or so it seemed. She had it all: a loving husband who worked on Wall Street, two beautiful, healthy sons, and a dream home in the affl uent Long Island community where she grew up, surrounded by friends and family. But then, with one phone call, the life she knew and loved came crashing down around her.

“Your husband,” the caller said, “is in custody for a series of bank robberies that have occurred all over Nassau County.”

Jeanne would soon discover that her husband, Stephen, was living a lie. He was no longer the Wall Street trader that Jeanne, his family, and his friends all thought him to be. Instead of heading to Wall Street each morning as he claimed, Stephen was robbing banks.

In Till Heist Do Us Part, Jeanne chronicles the human toll of this ripped-from-the- headlines true story. Consumed by anger and humiliation and faced with mounting debt and piles of unpaid bills, Jeanne entered what she describes as the “darkest time” in her life. But Jeanne’s story is not a tragedy; it is a story of hope and redemption, of faith, love, and the power of forgiveness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665564120

Jeanne Callahan

With heart-wrenching candor, Jeanne describes how, with the generosity of friends and family and the unconditional love of her two boys, she was able to put the broken pieces of her life back together, in the end discovering that from tragedy can come Disguised Blessings. Jeanne Trantel works as a real estate agent and massage therapist. She lives in Rockville Centre, New York, with her two wonderful sons.

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© 2022 Jeanne Callahan and Michael Harvey. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  07/06/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-6413-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-6412-0 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Cover Design: Amelia Harvey

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or

links contained in this book may have changed since publication and

may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those

of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher,

and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Chapter 1     Just About Perfect

Chapter 2     Soul Mates

Chapter 3     Loss

Chapter 4     Unraveling

Chapter 5     Closing In

Chapter 6     The Wrong Man

Chapter 7     Slow Awakening

Chapter 8     Confession

Chapter 9     Betrayal

Chapter 10   Picking Up The Pieces

Chapter 11   Starting Over

Chapter 12   Released and Onward

Chapter 13   Reflections

Chapter 14   And Now

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I thank my two sons for teaching me unconditional love, my parents for all their love and support and all my friends and family. I’d also like to thank Diana Risse for all her help, Carol Caughey for her excellent advice, thank you Ravi for all your prayers, Amelia Harvey for her cover design and for my co-writer Michael Harvey for all his dedication and believing in this story.

INTRODUCTION

It was a typical summer week in New York. With the school year finally behind them, play was the primary occupation of the children. The heat and humidity of the day meant water hoses and community pools were in great use and for those fortunate enough, the shore was another alternative. Nightfall brought the cooler temperatures and the fireflies, their nighttime jig only halted by the occasional thunderstorm, or the glass jars the children would put them in.

This was Long Island. The largest island in the contiguous United States, and the most populated. The western end is home to two of New York City’s five boroughs, Brooklyn and Queens. As you move eastward, you pass through many commuter towns where, Monday through Friday, mass transit is the norm for hundreds of thousands of workers. Even farther east took one to the luxury beachfront communities of the rich and famous, and eventually the sparsely populated eastern end, more known for agriculture and recreation. Though summers in New York are hot and muggy, there is something about the Long Island breezes that make it bearable. And if you are actually strolling along the shore, the salt smell and the humidity are quite pleasant.

The 2003 4th of July weekend on Long Island was celebrated with flags, parades, barbecues, fireworks and good cheer. While the events of 9/11 were a raw wound in the minds of those who lived here (and lost friends and loved ones), the recovery had begun. In Rockville Centre it was no different. Flags dotted the streets and hailed pleasantries filled the air. Children ran about the parks and playgrounds; joyous in the hodgepodge of games they participated in. This scene played out in all the small towns of the area.

Not far from Rockville Centre was the town of Merrick. Merrick was a typical bedroom community on Long Island with the restaurants, stores, offices, and financial institutions one would expect. Fleet Bank was one of those institutions. It was a nondescript building surrounded by a row of stores with a string of dark green dumpsters to the rear. A line of deciduous trees in their full summer dress surrounded the empty back lot. Unless you were a customer, you probably would not have even noticed it. But to one particular person, this bank was very special indeed. Yes, this part of Long Island was a fine place to live … if you could afford it. And the events that were to follow here would have rippling repercussions for an unwitting family and an unsuspecting bride.

CHAPTER ONE

JUST ABOUT PERFECT

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I love you.

I love you, too.

These were declarations Stephen and I made nearly every day, to each other and to our two little boys, Kyle and Carter. As a fraternal twin, I was always used to someone by my side, even in the womb. I couldn’t imagine ever being alone. With Stephen, my husband, I thought I had found the perfect mate. He took care of me and our children in ways I was eternally grateful for. I never had worry with Stephen, not in any big way. We were a family.

I was living the American Dream. The stage was set, and I thought I had the perfect life. I had always wanted a family and could not wait to be a mother. There I was. I had a loving husband and two beautiful, healthy sons. Everything seemed to be taken care of. My biggest worries were what to make for dinner and teaching my two young boys the lessons that would hopefully make them great men.

After nine years of marriage, Stephen and I had finally been able to afford the perfect house for our family. We packed up our belongings from our starter home in Long Beach, New York, and moved into our dream home in idyllic Rockville Centre, New York. Although we were mourning the recent death of a beloved family member, Stephen’s mother, we were hopeful about the future. It seemed as if things could only get better for us.

We got the house! Stephen said, smiling broadly.

Really? I can’t wait to tell the boys.

Rockville Centre is an affluent village on the south shore of Long Island, in Nassau County, east of New York City. Originally a Native American community, it was eventually homesteaded by Dutch and English settlers and through the first century of America’s national independence began to grow and prosper. The arrival of the railroad in 1867 cemented Rockville Centre as a bedroom community of New York City.

Today, pretty tree-lined blocks decorate its streets, where the median income for a household is well over hundreds of thousands of dollars. I had grown up in this place and was eager to return, charmed by the prospect of living close to my childhood friends and family again. I looked forward to a life of barbecues and dinner parties. Many of my girlfriends who still lived in Rockville Centre had children around the same age as mine and I was thrilled for them to grow up together as we had, going to the same schools we had gone to, having play dates and birthday parties. I wanted my children to experience the peaceful childhood that I’d had in Rockville, sheltered from the harsher aspects of life. Here, children could often be seen playing on the sidewalk and parents did not worry. When you add in the over 150 acres of parks and easy accessibility to the beach, this place was heaven. It was home.

Poverty was not something one saw much of in Rockville. Nor did one see a lot of crime. Only thirty-five minutes from New York City, many of its residents, like my husband Stephen, worked on Wall Street. Because of its proximity to the businesses of Manhattan and the ease with which one could take the Long Island Railroad into the city, it was a popular place to live amongst affluent businessmen and their families. For us, it was the perfect setting to raise a family. Although Rockville Centre is a community close to the energy, opportunities, and excitement of Manhattan, it still has a small-town, friendly feel, and almost everyone knows their neighbors.

Our new house was a modest three-bedroom colonial on a beautiful street of medium-sized houses with well-maintained front lawns. I was grateful to have a large backyard for the boys to play in and a large, airy kitchen for cooking. The house also had a garage, a large, finished basement and a big attic. Stephen and I were both thrilled at the prospect of making renovations and really making the house suit our family’s needs. We discussed paint colors and curtains. We wondered how the boys would adjust to having their own rooms. I could hardly believe my good fortune as I unpacked boxes of dishes and clothes. I placed each framed photo with care.

It was a relief not to have worry any longer about being landlords. Our starter home in Long Beach had been a split level and we rented out the lower half. After Carter, our second child, was born, we knew that it was time to move. Although our house was a block away from the beach and we enjoyed going there frequently, two bedrooms was simply not big enough. We knew that the boys would eventually want their own rooms. Also, we were tired of sharing the space with the tenants downstairs. It was time for a bigger house, the house we would stay in until we grew old. The joy of having our own space without having to deal with tenants below outweighed the stress of a bigger mortgage payment. Besides, Stephen assured me that we could afford it. We both wanted the best for our children and this house, in Rockville Centre, where we had always wanted to settle, was the best. The boys ran from room to room, shouting and laughing. I was looking forward to hearing that sound for a long time.

Stephen had grown up in Massapequa, Long Island, only a few towns away. We both had active lives with family and friends surrounding us. My father, an attorney, lived in Rockville, and Stephen’s father, a retired NYPD police officer, lived there as well.

Our backgrounds were similar, as were the values we had been brought up with. Stephen and I looked forward to passing those values on to our sons. We had both been raised Catholic and were fairly traditional. I had a happy childhood; Stephen told me that he had a happy childhood as well. My family had been slightly more well-to-do than his, but neither of us had ever wanted for anything. Both of our mothers were very involved in the raising of the children and both of our fathers were hard-working and successful. Both of us remained close to our families, speaking with family members several times a week. Since we both had loved living on Long Island as children, we were thrilled to return as adults with children of our own. Our dream had become a reality.

I came from an upper middle-class household with attentive parents who made sure I was well taken care of. Like most of the people in the area, my parents owned their own home. We were able to go on family vacations every year. I never had to think or worry about money in a serious way. My mother, a children’s librarian, took several years off from work to be home, only going back to work when my brothers and I started school. I grew up waterskiing, playing tennis, and hiking in the woods with my family.

I was always Daddy’s little girl; the only girl among three children. My brothers protected me as well. My friends loved coming over to my house. Sometimes my father would take me and a group of my friends to Coney Island for the day. Located on the southwest tip of Brooklyn, this little NYC gem is famous for its amusement park (the largest in America up until WWII) and its 4th of July Hot Dog Eating Contest. We loved the rides, especially the rickety wooden Cyclone rollercoaster and eating those delicious Nathan hot dogs. I remember laughing a lot as a child. My twin brother, Richard, and I were very close and spent a lot of time together. I don’t remember ever feeling lonely.

Although I never wanted for anything, my parents were careful not to spoil us. My father made sure that we understood how privileged we were. He pushed for me and my brothers to learn the value of a dollar by working. And although I never thought much about money, I did like the independence that having money gave me. I enjoyed not having to ask my parents for cash when I wanted to go to the movies or buy a pair of shoes. I liked being able to afford gas for my car. In high school, I worked at a greeting card store. I remember standing at the register, flipping through Get Well wishes and Birthday cards for hours. To this day, I still remember some of the sayings in those cards. In time, I also delivered papers and worked at a bagel shop. Though I may have put on a few pounds at the bagel shop, it was worth it for the satisfaction of earning my own paycheck.

My mother took me to the bank so that I could open my own bank account. Because I made my own money, I was never particularly frivolous. Like many teenage girls, I enjoyed shopping at the mall, and browsing through clothing and music stores, but I was always aware of wanting to save.

Having my own money was important to me and my parents encouraged this independent streak in me. Yet even though I was independent, I was not particularly rebellious. I