The Unlikely Felon - A Memoir of Ambition, Elder Care and Jail

Chapter 1
The Judgment

May 13, 2013

“You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem,

and smarter than you think.”

— Christopher Robin to Winnie the Pooh

We all have days in our life we remember: the birth of a child, a wedding day, a graduation, the death of a close relative, that big twenty-first birthday. Most of these memories are positive. I’ll always remember May 13, 2013, but it was not a good day. Kay and I arrived at the courthouse early for an event no one dreams could possibly happen to them: the sentencing phase of a criminal case. On this typical spring day in Colorado—with lots of sun and a slight chill in the air—the legal system would to pass judgment on us.

As we entered the courthouse, it felt like everyone was staring at us. It felt like someone had their hands around my throat and was pressing firmly—not aggressively, but enough to cause discomfort. I had felt this pressure since the day of the police search 25 months earlier.

When the county courthouse elevator opened its doors, we hurried in. With each passing floor, the pressure around my neck intensified. By the time the door opened on the fourth floor, I nearly fell to the ground trying to escape.

When Kay and I made our way around the corner to our assigned courtroom, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Friends, family, and business associates were lined up on both sides of the hallway as far as I could see. There must have been 150 to 200 people with their faces showing either concern, sympathy, or love. Some displayed all three. The group included friends from high school and some from the business ventures we had been involved in. More than I could count were from nonprofits Kay and I had helped. Almost seventy were from the children’s foundation we’d devoted eleven years of our lives to supporting.

There were numerous tight hugs and handshakes until my defense attorney, Jack, interrupted. He guided Kay and me into a small room near the courtroom entrance. Before court was called into session, he wanted us and Sharon, Kay’s defense attorney, to have a quick meeting. “It’s just the four of us, so let’s make sure one last time that you’re sure about your plea,” Jack said. He handed each of us two pieces of paper stapled together. “Here are the documents you’ll each sign.”

I said, “This is it?”

“That’s it.”

I began to read, and suddenly Kay’s lawyer became uncharacteristically emotional. With her eyes watering, Sharon blurted, “Today I celebrate thirty-five years of sobriety. Been a long road.”

“Yes, that’s great,” I said, as if her great personal achievement could somehow make my pain go away. At that moment, I didn’t give a shit about her monumental moment. Later I felt bad, but I was scared out of my mind. Just to be a smartass, I wanted to shout, “I’ve been sober for thirteen hours.” But I didn’t.

Sharon added, “I’m so sorry about today, but the guilty plea is your best move.”

“It is, but it’s hard to accept.” Asking Sharon to go with us for a drink afterward seemed inappropriate.

The documents detailed the charge—theft—and our plea. By signing them, we were agreeing in writing to the case and the judge’s upcoming decision. I held in the tears as best I could, but as usual they started to flow. Kay’s tears were coming down too as she looked at me, waiting for me to sign. She so appropriately said, “Its okay Babe. This was for our family. Gram and Gramps know the truth about all of this. Somewhere, someway, somehow they are with us today, and they know we never stole from them.” I placed the pen on the paper and signed my name, then Kay signed hers.

“I know.”

Jack said and stood up and opened the door. “It’s time.”

“Wait!” I said. “Do you mind if I say a quick prayer?”

“Of course, go ahead.”

I had found my spiritual self during the journey of the previous two years. This would be the second most intense prayer of my life—second only to the words I gave before each of my children were born. I asked—I begged—God to help us and to move the judge to leniency. “Amen.”

Jack opened the courtroom door, and we followed him in. We headed down the middle of the room, passing row after row packed on both sides with family, friends, and the media. All the people in the hallway had made their way in. There wasn’t an empty place to sit.

Bob Smith and his wife, Mary, sat directly behind the DA, along with their friend Cindy. It was a phone call from the Smiths’ lawyer that had started the legal process that now brought us into this courtroom. I glanced their way, but Bob and Mary were looking away at the opposite wall, trying not to make eye contact with me. I’m sure they had mixed feelings. We had vacationed together. We were friends. Once we had been close, and I’d known them since I was a young boy because Mary was Gramps’s daughter. Their attorney had called the police.

Kay and I and our lawyers took our places at the defendant’s table. With shaky hands, I reached for the black-and-yellow water pitcher and poured the water into a small glass, nearly spilling it all over. Members of the media were in the second row behind the DA, scribbling away in their notepads. A Denver Post writer had used the term “stolen,” to describe what Kay and I had done. We had not stolen anything. We had taken care of family members who needed care and used money we were told we could use.

It angered me to see the 9News TV reporter there. When Kay’s and my arrest was the lead story on the five o’clock news, the video showed all kinds of different logos flashing on the screen: Netflix, Frontier Airlines, Xcel Energy. They tried to characterize us as Ponzi schemers who jetted all over the country spending millions of dollars on luxury vacations while using my grandparents’ money to pay our utility and video-streaming bills. That was never the case. We had barely survived emotionally or financially during awful times when we helped family members who were sick, unable to care for themselves, and dying. One news channel used the word bilked to describe my handling of my grandparents’ estate. I never cheated or defrauded anyone. As far as I was concerned, I used my inheritance with permission to save our family.

After the judge entered, the district attorney, Kathy Cline, began her presentation. She went over the case, outlining the state’s position. She covered the use of my grandparents’ funds and which parts of the case she felt were legal and illegal.

When it was Jack’s turn on the podium, he highlighted the hours of caregiving Kay and I did, our business achievements, our community service, and the many ways we supported our family. He finished by stating, “We estimate that Mr. and Mrs. Young did more than ten thousand hours of caregiving for their Gram and Gramps.” Then he turned to the judge. “Your Honor, we ask for the minimum sentence in this case. You’ll agree these are extenuating circumstances.”

Next it was time for six people to speak on our behalf. We’d requested more than 150, including my friend Keith from college and Ben and Pat, who were fellow board members from the Denver Active 20-30 Children’s Foundation. My sister, Sadie, spoke for both me and Kay.

Keith started by describing our twenty years of friendship and told the judge he trusted me with his life. Then Ben highlighted the way Kay and I had saved a local children’s foundation from shutting down. Sadly, Pat decided not to present as he was intimidated by the media presence at the courthouse and the earlier negative media coverage of our story.

Next, Sharon called Toni, Celia, and Sadie to the podium. Toni had gone through a similar caregiving struggle with her mom and dad at the same assisted-living facility where my grandparents lived. Kay had known her for nearly twenty years. Celia was our neighbor and Kay’s best friend, who watched in horror when the police searched our home. Celia got our kids out of the house and kept them safe during the chaotic day of the police search.

All three women described Kay’s selflessness and emphasized her commitment to taking care of her mother during the last eight years of her life. In addition, Kay spent more than ten years caregiving for Gram and Gramps.

When they were finished, the judge turned to me and asked, “Mr. Young, would you like to make a statement?” I answered “yes.”

Up to this moment, our day in court had been an emotional roller coaster, but my statement was mostly my attorney Jack’s language. What I wanted to say was that this entire drama was bullshit. I wanted to explain that Kay and I had permission as my grandparents’ executors to make decisions on their behalf. We had good intentions, but when our business was stolen from us, it started a rockslide with so much momentum that we had few choices. Even though I should have made so many better choices, I wanted to defend what we had done.

Jack knew what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it—but he knew better. So, with my voice cracking, I read the statement he prepared, becoming more emotional with each word. I told the judge I made decisions to save our family and our business at the time. Some of those decisions were wrong and we were sorry for...