My Cop Brother Stole My Car, Hit A Child, And Ran Away. Then My Parents Tried To Frame Me For It, Sa
My cop brother stole my car, hit a child, and ran away. Then my parents tried to frame me for it, saying his son can’t be raised fatherless, don’t be heartless, so I made them regret it.
All right, Reddit, this happened about a year ago and I’m still dealing with the aftermath. My family tried to throw me under the bus for a hit and run my cop brother committed, then acted shocked when I scorched the entire earth.
Buckle up, this one’s wild. I’m 29 and work as an industrial equipment inspector for manufacturing plants across the Midwest.
It is not glamorous, but it pays well and I get to travel without being gone for weeks at a time. I inspect machinery, write reports, and make sure companies aren’t violating safety regulations that could get workers killed.
It’s satisfying work, and the pay lets me live comfortably in Indianapolis. I’ve got a 2019 Honda Accord that I bought certified pre-owned 3 years ago.
It is nothing fancy, just reliable transportation with decent gas mileage since I drive about 800 miles a week for work. It has a silver exterior and black interior, and I always kept it clean because first impressions matter when you’re walking into factories to tell them their equipment is garbage.
The Accord had 28,000 miles when I bought it. It came with the extended warranty and maintenance records going back to day one.
The previous owner was some corporate guy who only drove it to the office and back. I added window tint, upgraded the floor mats, and installed a dash cam after reading too many insurance scam stories online.
That dash cam decision ended up being the smartest thing I ever did. My family situation is complicated, which is putting it mildly.
I have got two brothers and a sister. I’m the middle kid, which basically meant I was invisible growing up while everyone focused on my older brother Ryan and younger sister Jessica.
My younger brother Kevin was kind of in the same boat as me, just trying to stay out of the crossfire. Ryan’s 33, has been a cop for eight years, and is married to his high school sweetheart, Danielle.
They have got a four-year-old son named Aiden. Ryan’s the golden child, always has been.
He was the star quarterback in high school, joined the force right after college, and became the family hero. My parents worshiped the ground he walks on.
Dad was a cop for 35 years before retiring, so Ryan following in his footsteps basically made him untouchable in our family. Mom treats him like he personally invented law enforcement.
Every holiday and every family gathering, it is all about Ryan’s latest work stories or Aiden’s latest accomplishments or how proud they are of his career. Me, I’m just the son who inspects machinery.
I am not heroic enough, not interesting enough, and definitely not worth bragging about to their church friends. Kevin’s 26, works in commercial real estate, keeps his head down, and doesn’t make waves.
We’re closer than I am with Ryan or Jessica, probably because we both figured out early on that we weren’t the favorites. He has got this girlfriend named Priya who’s way too good for our family, and honestly, I think he keeps her away from family events on purpose.
Jessica’s 24, works as a dental hygienist, and she’s basically Mom 2.0 when it comes to worshiping Ryan. She treats him like some kind of superhero who can do no wrong.
Any criticism of Ryan gets you a lecture about how hard police work is and how we should be grateful for his service. Family gatherings were always awkward for me.
I would show up, make small talk, eat mediocre casserole, and leave as soon as it was socially acceptable. I stopped going to as many after I realized nobody actually cared if I was there or not.
They would spend the whole time fawning over Ryan while I sat in the corner like a potted plant. My parents still lived in the same house they bought in the 80s, this ranch-style place in a suburb north of Indianapolis.
Dad spent his entire retirement puttering around the garage and watching cop shows, living vicariously through Ryan. Mom ran the neighborhood watch and organized church bake sales, probably telling everyone about her amazing police officer son every chance she got.
I kept my distance but stayed in contact. I called Mom once a week, showed up for major holidays, and sent birthday cards—the bare minimum to not be labeled the disrespectful son.
March 15th started like any other Thursday. I had three plant inspections scheduled: one in Kokomo at 9:00 a.m., another in Marion at 1:00 p.m., and a final one in Muncie at 4:00 p.m.
It was a classic Indiana Triangle route that would put me back home by 7:00 p.m. I had mapped it out the night before, printed my inspection checklists, and had my equipment bag packed in the trunk.
I woke up at 6:00 a.m., showered, and made a protein shake and instant oatmeal, which is my typical routine. I grabbed my work bag, headed to my apartment parking lot, and immediately noticed my car was gone.
My first thought was it got stolen. I am standing there in the parking lot at 6:30 in the morning, staring at the empty spot where my Accord should be, mentally calculating how long it is going to take to file a police report and rent a car so I don’t miss my inspections.
Then I got a text from Ryan.
“Borrowed your car. Mine’s in the shop. We’ll bring it back tonight.”
No asking permission, no heads up the night before; he just took my car like it was community property. I called him immediately.
It went straight to voicemail. I texted back.
“What do you mean you borrowed it? I have work today and need my car now.”
There was no response. I called again.
It went to voicemail. I was furious but also stuck.
I needed transportation and my insurance wouldn’t cover a rental for a theft that wasn’t technically a theft since family took it. I ended up calling Kevin, who thankfully was working from home and could loan me his Nissan Altima for the day.
Kevin met me at a coffee shop halfway between our places at 7:00 a.m. looking annoyed.
“Ryan just took your car. Apparently his truck’s in the shop and he helped himself to mine.”
Kevin shook his head.
“Did he at least ask?”
I replied.
“What do you think?”
Kevin said.
“Classic Ryan. Do whatever you want, everyone else deals with it. I’m going to lose it if he put any scratches on it.”
I asked.
“Want me to call him?”
Kevin said.
“Already tried. He’s ignoring me.”
Kevin tossed me his keys.
“Don’t worry about bringing it back tonight. I’ll work from home tomorrow too if needed. But seriously, you need to set some boundaries with him.”
I said.
“Been trying that for 29 years. Hasn’t worked yet.”
I drove to my inspections in Kevin’s car, stewing the entire time. The Kokomo plant had a failing hydraulic press that nearly took off a worker’s hand last month; I wrote them up for immediate correction.
The Marion facility needed new ventilation systems in their welding department. The Muncie plant was actually in decent shape, just a routine inspection.
I finished up around 6:00 p.m. and headed back to Indianapolis. My phone had been silent all day; there were no calls from Ryan, no texts, nothing.
Then at 6:47 p.m., my phone exploded. Mom called first.
“You need to come to the house right now.”
I asked.
“What’s wrong?”
Mom said.
“Just get here now.”
She sounded panicked. I said.
“Mom, I’m an hour away. What’s going on?”
Mom said.
“Your brother needs you.”
My stomach dropped. I asked.
“Which brother?”
Mom replied.
“Ryan. There’s been an accident.”
I asked.
“Is he okay?”
Mom said.
“Just get here.”
She hung up. I immediately called Ryan.
It went to voicemail. I called Kevin; no answer.
I called Jessica; no answer. My mind was racing through possibilities.
Was Ryan hurt? Did something happen on duty?
Why was everyone being so cryptic? I pushed Kevin’s Altima to 80 mph on I-69, making the drive in 45 minutes instead of an hour.
I pulled up to my parents’ house at 7:35 p.m. to find Ryan’s police truck in the driveway along with Jessica’s Toyota and my parents’ Buick. My Honda Accord was parked on the street with visible front-end damage.
My car had a massive dent in the front bumper, the hood was crumpled on the passenger side, and the right headlight was completely shattered. I stood there staring at it, trying to process what I was seeing.
I walked up to the house and didn’t even knock; I went straight in. The entire family was in the living room—Mom, Dad, Ryan, Danielle, and Jessica—all of them looking at me like I just walked into a funeral.
I asked.
“What happened to my car?”
Ryan stood up, still in his uniform.
“We need to talk.”
I asked.
“What happened to my car?”
Dad cut in.
“Son, sit down. We have a situation.”
I said.
