The Root of all Evil: Based on a true story

By Kit Eldredge

Winning the lottery seemed like free money, but somewhere along the line, you pay a price for everything you get and everything you do.

The truth is...winning the lottery thrust my family into a terrifying situation, where it seemed no one could be trusted... maybe even myself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Find Your Voice Publishing
• Release date: Nov 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798868964831

Kit Eldredge

Kit Eldredge retells this riveting story based on unbelievable true events. Kit is an entrepreneur with a 40-year career in wireless technology and more recently consulting. He is the author of Sleepwalking; Are You Living by Chance or by Choice? Kit and the love of his life, Marlene, raised their 3 children and still live in the greater Seattle area.

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The Root of all Evil

Based on a true story

The Root of all Evil

Based on a true story

Kit Eldredge

Find Your voice Publishing

The Root of all Evil

Copyright © 2023 Kit Eldredge

Visit our website at www.rootofallevil.movie

Interior and Cover design by Find Your Voice Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written

permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied

in critical articles and reviews.

The names used in this book have been changed for the purpose of anonymity.

For questions or information regarding permission for excerpts please contact

Kit Eldredge at www.rootofallevil.movie

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Ticket 9

Chapter 2: The Quest 19

Chapter 3: Perceiving the Truth 28

Chapter 4: The War Takes Shape 36

Chapter 5: United We Stand, Divided ... 46

Chapter 6: The $4 Million Misunderstanding 54

Chapter 7: The Price of Logic 65

Chapter 8: Cracks in the Fortress 74

Chapter 9: Women Are a Pain! 81

Chapter 10: Customized Truth 87

Chapter 11: The Case That Bill Built 95

Chapter 12: Lies and Videotapes 100

Chapter 13: The Root of All Evil 112

Chapter 14: Ostrich 126

Chapter 15: A Shifting of the Winds 144

Chapter 16: THE $40,000 DECISION 154

Chapter 17: On Trial 165

Chapter 18: No Friend of Yours 176

Chapter 19: Fatalities 184

Chapter 20: The Last Dance 191

I dedicate this book to Marlene, my life partner for over 45 years. Marlene is the woman that motivated me to be a better version of who I was so long ago. By simply being true to herself, Marlene provides the support I need to believe in a future beyond my own imagination.

Marlene also gave me our three amazing children, Kristina, Michael and Catherine, who are the living evidence that proves how blessed I am to have Marlene by my side… come hell or high water!

Marlene, along with our kids, has helped me to remember the lasting version of the love my parents delivered throughout my childhood, which established the foundation I needed to help me find Marlene in the first place.

Chapter 1

The Ticket

One tiny ticket changed my entire life.

That little piece of paper was my ticket to a million dollars. It nearly cost me my friends, my family … maybe even my soul.

I didn’t inherit the money. I didn’t save it. I didn’t work for it. I won the Washington State lottery, and I didn’t even buy the ticket. And yet I never worked harder or paid a higher price for any amount of money.

I once read about lotteries in a newspaper column written by a person described as the smartest woman alive. She said that lotteries were not good things because people did not earn the money they won. After winning $4 million in the lottery, I have to disagree with her. Somewhere along the line, you pay the price for everything you get and everything you do. Things aren’t always as they appear. I did earn this money, the hard way.

Winning the lottery thrust my family into the center of a terrifying situation, resulting in greed, deception, shattered dreams, and murder. As I reflect on the story, it seemed no one could be trusted. And that includes me.

It all began early Easter morning as I lay in bed, listening to the kids making a racket downstairs: They had discovered their Easter baskets. In the distance, the first bells in the churches of Seattle were beginning to toll their songs of exultation.

Marlene lay asleep beside me. I watched her as the morning sun spread its light across her face and shimmered in her pale blonde hair.

She’s so beautiful, I thought. So beautiful, but never at peace. Even while she slept, her face was marked by a familiar look of tension and strain, the result of a childhood terror bottled up inside of her.

In fifteen years of marriage, I had not been able to learn the cause of her fear. For a time, in our early years together, I had tried to set her free from her past, but soon realized that Marlene was not even aware of her secret terror. It was a part of Marlene that I learned to accept. Much later, I discovered that my wife’s inner fear caused a lack of self-confidence, a weakness that I could use to control her.

Staring at her troubled face, I remembered how we had first met. I was a cocky young salesman back then, fresh from Minnesota. I had been in trouble for most of my youth and thought that moving to Seattle would offer me a new start in life. I was determined to fit in with the business crowd in the Great Northwest. I cut my long hair, gave up writing dreary, self-centered poetry, and traded in my bellbottom jeans for a suit. I was not very polished in the beginning, but I was pleasant and polite; people liked me. It was important for people to like me. It was important that people took notice of me.

I landed a job as a salesman for Kirby vacuum cleaners. After four years of selling those machines, I was well-versed in the art of gentle persuasion. And the more machines I sold, the higher my confidence soared.

Within my first few weeks of selling vacuum cleaners, I became the top salesman in the area. The company hired Marlene as a telephone solicitor, and from the moment we met, I had the feeling she would become a very important person in my life. Not only was she beautiful, but she also had a special, intriguing quality of kindness and unwavering honesty that drew me to her. After a few days, during which we chatted quite a bit about nothing at all, I told her I’d marry her someday.

Get lost, she laughed.

I pursued Marlene with all the smooth talk I could muster. My challenge was to sell me. At first, Marlene played hard to get, but I could tell she was enjoying the thrill of the pursuit. I brought her little gifts that truly seemed to delight her — funny, plush animals, furry earmuffs and giant chocolate bars. I told her how pretty she was, though she always answered the same way: G’wan! Get real!

I soon realized I was the only man in Marlene’s life who made her feel wanted and desirable, and that it made her feel a little uncomfortable.

Though I loved her and wanted her, I quickly realized I held some kind of power over her. Despite my success as a salesman, I constantly worked to improve myself, setting ridiculous monthly sales quotas for myself. Marlene would always protest my goals, but no matter how much she objected — saying I was going to knock myself out for nothing — I always managed to convince her to stand beside me. I never let her down. Somehow, I managed to achieve my sales quotas.

Once, when I decided on the spur of the moment that we should visit an expensive restaurant, she tried to talk me out of it. My mind was made up; I convinced her to go with me.

I always convinced her that I would do whatever I said I was going to do, no matter how grandiose.

We were married about a year after we met. For our first anniversary, I surprised her by picking her up at work with her packed suitcase in my hand. I had, unbeknownst to her, arranged for her to get two days off from work. I drove her to a small airport near Seattle where we took a small, four-passenger plane to a resort in the San Juan Islands. Marlene appeared to be happy and surprised about the trip but said very little during the forty-five-minute flight. Once we landed and settled in, we had a wonderful weekend anniversary celebration, and I never thought to question her subdued demeanor on the flight.

Two days later we returned to Seattle, and when our plane touched down, Marlene turned to me and laid her hand on mine.

I had an incredible time these last two days, Kit, she said. Please, don’t take this the wrong way, but promise that you’ll never do this again. I mean, don’t ever ask me to get on a small passenger plane. I know I never told you this, but I’m petrified of flying on small planes.

To this day, Marlene remembers that journey as something splendid and special. But without her complete trust and acceptance, it could have been an utter disaster.

As time passed, I came to realize that Marlene thought of me as her Marco Polo, her Christopher Columbus, ready to step off the edge of the known world for her and take her places she’d never been and, perhaps, did not wish to go. Marlene, on the other hand, was my ardent supporter and nurturer. No matter how much I pushed myself at work, she always encouraged me and accepted me.

The phone rang, shattering my daydreams of our early days. Its shrill alarm sounded like a razzberry over the tolling of the Easter bells.

Half-awake, Marlene reached for the phone and spoke into it, as if in a trance. She screamed and rolled out of bed, landing on her feet.

You’re kidding! she shrieked. At first, a wave of fear washed over me: someone must have died. Since my mother’s unexpected death a few years earlier, I’d been jumpy over any phone call. Wow! That’s great! Marlene went on. Really great! Congratulations!

Relieved, I asked what had happened: it was great news indeed. Darla, an employee of our convenience store, had won the state lottery. Not some piddly $50 prize: $4 million.

Four million dollars.

Kit, Marlene said, as she pulled out a clean, ivory-colored blouse from her closet. The publicity for the store is going to be tremendous. Business will boom. I’ve gotta get down to the store before the reporters show up. This is so exciting! I’m so happy for Darla. She deserves it, you know. Poor woman has all those kids and that husband who isn’t worth a crap. Now she can get out of that broken-down trailer and turn her life around.

Honey, I reminded her, It’s Easter. Family day, remember? The Easter egg hunt? The kids want their mommy and I want you to be here with us today. Call Betty and ask her to take care of business, at least for a while. The world won’t go to hell if you just relax for an hour or two.

I can’t, Marlene protested. I have to handle this myself. I won’t be gone long. Promise.

I knew there was no use in arguing. Marlene liked to keep things in order; even her clothes in the closet were arranged according to color and season. Besides, the M&M Quikstop convenience store had been Marlene’s special project since her mother and stepfather built it years ago as a tax write-off. Marlene managed it for a few years, with the understanding that we would eventually buy the store.

A large part of Marlene’s self-esteem was tied up in that place, and she rarely entrusted it to another person. She worked hard to make the store a very comfortable, pleasant place; most of the customers knew the staff on a personal basis, and would often come in, buy a cup of coffee, and stand around shooting the breeze. I helped out occasionally, though I was a complete klutz at handling the cash register. Instead, I helped where needed, stocking shelves, sweeping the floor, and occasionally making the coffee or preparing the chicken. But the store was truly Marlene’s baby.

As I was trying to pin Marlene down to a time when she would be home, Kristina and Michael burst through the bedroom door and jumped on the bed, demanding to start our annual Easter egg and M&M hunt.

Not right now, Marlene said, giving them each a quick hug. Breakfast first. Take care of Daddy, guys. Mom has to go out for a while.

Marlene was not into any religious observations, but we had both agreed that, since I still upheld most of my Catholic upbringing, we would give the children that religious training. Easter was one of my best childhood memories, and it was important to me that we share the day together as a family. But other than my initial objection, I said no more about leaving the lottery-winning zoo at the store to Betty. The best I could hope for was that Marlene would be wrong about the reporters, that the story wouldn’t break the news until Monday, and that she would be back home with us in a few hours.

I made my way downstairs to the kitchen, where I began making pancakes for the kids. They were only seven and five at the time, still young enough to believe in the Easter Bunny and the magic of the holiday. I was telling them a story about a chocolate rabbit that came to life when I noticed Marlene listening from the doorway. She smiled gently at us, then walked over and kissed me.

You’re such a good daddy, she whispered.

Here’s your breakfast, I said, handing her a bagel. Now don’t forget us.

Never, she promised, then disappeared out the door.

Not thirty minutes later, the phone rang. My cheerful Good morning did not receive its usual response, even though it was Marlene. Instead, my wife’s voice was very serious.

Kit, she said, slowly and deliberately, I think we have a problem.

How so? I asked, unconcerned. Marlene tended to color everything a little darker than it actually was. Because I always managed to look at the good side of people and events, while Marlene hardly ever did, I’d made it my unspoken job to walk her across to the sunnier side of the street whenever she was in the shade. Years ago, when I was going through my own crisis at work, Marlene never saw a change in me. I handled my frustrations and disappointments with a smile as I tried to cope with the suit-and-tie world I had trapped myself into. Marlene never knew about the struggle going on inside of me as I searched for a way out of a stuffy, conservative lifestyle.

Looks like we have a problem with the lottery ticket, she said. According to Betty, the ticket was punched up wrong and the customer didn’t want it.

So?

This is serious, Kit. Betty told me that Darla took money out of the lotto cup to buy the winning ticket, Marlene said, her voice low. She seemed worried the employees might overhear her. Then she placed the ticket in the cigarette bin where we put all our store tickets. She decided to claim it for herself when she found out it was worth $4 million.

I winced as Marlene spoke. Darla was one of our most trusted employees. I couldn’t imagine her doing something dishonest. I knew a bit about the lotto cup. It was Marlene’s idea to save the nickels and dimes from gas rebates and overpayments that customers failed to claim in a special mug set aside for that purpose. With the money saved, Marlene bought a lottery ticket each Friday for the store. She had promised the employees a share of the money, should we ever win. That meant, if Darla had used money out of the spare change cup to buy the reject ticket after she knew it was a winner, she was cheating the employees out of their rightful winnings.

How does Betty know all this? I asked, switching the phone to my other ear. Maybe she’s making the whole thing up. You know how jealous people can be of another’s good fortune.

No Kit, I don’t think that’s the situation here, Marlene said, her words sounding forced. "When Darla’s husband came to pick up the ticket last night, Betty heard Darla tell him ‘Honey, I have to be honest. I bought the ticket out of the store’s change cup, so I’m going to have to share it with the other employees. I don’t know what would be fair, but we’ll have to give something to them.’

Kit, if that’s the case, the ticket belongs to the store.

Marlene’s obvious discomfort became clear; now I felt queasy, too. I knew at once I faced an inevitable decision: confront Darla with the fact that the ticket was not hers ... or just let her have it.

I didn’t know what to think. It was preposterous to think that Marlene and I had, in fact, won a $4 million lottery. Sure, I had bought lottery tickets from time to time, dreaming about winning a million dollars. But I thought that, with my and Marlene’s track record over the years, the only way we’d ever get wealthy was the old-fashioned way: we’d have to earn a lot of money. My God, I didn’t even know anyone who had ever won more than pocket change in a lottery. I never had seriously considered the possibility that I might hit it big.

I recalled the old joke about the man who wanted a new car. Please God, he prayed every night, send me a new set of wheels. Well, the guy prayed so hard and for so long that God was impressed by his persistence, and one day a new set of wheels appeared at the man’s door. But God, where’s the rest of the car?

Oh, God answered, you wanted a car? Next time, be specific.

March 26, 1989, would forever be burned into my soul.

We might have won $4 million, but we did not have the ticket. Darla had it.

That was fine if the ticket really did belong to Darla. But what if it belonged to the employees and store? Would I have to fight for the ticket? Maybe Darla would turn the ticket over to us when confronted. No ... no one would be that reasonable, not when they stood to win $4 million.

I had a sick feeling that I might be acting like a gold digger. Was I just trying to take advantage of a technicality that would make the store the rightful owner of the ticket? Maybe the money really did belong to Darla. Maybe she bought it with her own money after she saw it was the winning ticket. Or maybe she bought it with money from the store. If the employees and store had an honest claim to it, I knew I couldn’t just allow $4 million walk out the door with Darla.

As I wallowed in confusion and self-pity, Marlene’s voice broke into my reverie. Kit, Betty, and the other employees are very upset. They think Darla bought that ticket from the store’s lotto cup and that they are entitled to a share of the $4 million.

Honey, I answered, there has to be a good explanation for this.

I still didn’t believe that $4 million had any place in any of our futures. Let’s not jump to any conclusions. I’ll figure out a way to handle this. You just get home as soon as you can.

I hung up the phone and poured myself a cup of coffee. In the next room, the kids sang along to their new Peter Cottontail video, and for a moment, I envied their small, protected world, safe from the worries of money, mortgages, and careers.

I did not know why, but their singing stirred a very old memory: the memory of Judge Larson. I could almost see his stern face and still felt my own heartache when he told my parents that, in my best interest, I would be removed from their home and placed in the custody of foster parents.

Since that time, Mary, my foster mother, and I have disagreed about my parents. I still prefer to believe that I was the problem, that Judge Larson had been wrong to blame them. I believe the only thing they were guilty of was having me too late in their lives. They were more like grandparents than real parents, too tired and too old to give a young boy the discipline and attention he needed. But even when they drank, and the alcohol stole them away from me, I