My Daughter’s Fiancé Tried To Put Me In A Nursing Home To Steal My House. He Didn’t Realize I’m A Retired Fbi Agent With $12m In The Bank. Who Is The Real Victim Now?
The Sister’s Appraisal
His sister Karen was worse. She appeared 2 months into the relationship, a real estate agent with hungry eyes and a smile that never reached them.
She’d walked through my house commenting on the potential of the property, the development opportunities in the neighborhood.
“Cedar Park is exploding,”
She told me once, running her hand along my kitchen counter like she was already measuring for renovations.
“This lot alone is worth half a million. Of course, for a single man your age, maintaining all this must be exhausting.”
I just nodded and offered her iced tea. The engagement happened fast, too fast. Four months of dating, then Derek proposed with a ring that probably cost more than my car.
Emily said yes with tears streaming down her face, and I hugged her and told her I was happy because that’s what fathers do. But that night, alone in my study, I made a phone call.
“Frank, it’s Tom, right? I need a favor.”
Calling in Favors
Frank Morrison had been my partner at the FBI for 15 years. We’d worked financial crimes together, brought down Ponzi schemes and money launderers and con artists who thought they were smarter than everyone else.
I’d retired 12 years ago, chosen to teach history because I wanted something quieter, something that let me be home for Emily after Martha got sick. But Frank was still connected, still knew people who knew things.
“Tom, you old dog, what’s going on?”
“My daughter’s fiancé Derek Collins says he runs a tech startup in Austin. I need you to dig.”
Frank didn’t ask why. After 30 years, he didn’t need to.
“Give me a week.”
Now, standing at the engagement party in the rooftop venue overlooking downtown Austin, I felt that napkin in my pocket and excused myself to the restroom. The lock clicked. I unfolded the napkin with steady hands.
Emily’s handwriting was shaky but clear.
“Daddy, two nights ago I heard Derek on the phone with Karen. He said, ‘You’re worth more than you look.’ He said after the wedding, ‘They’ll convince me you have dementia, get guardianship, sell the house, drain your accounts.'”
“He called me naive, said, ‘I’ll sign anything he asks because I love him.’ He laughed about it. I don’t know what to do. Everyone’s here, everything’s planned. Please help me. I’m so sorry.”
The Mask Slips
I read it three times. In the mirror I watched my reflection change. The retired teacher faded. Someone else emerged, someone I’d buried when I left the bureau, when I chose to hide everything I was to give Emily a normal life.
I thought about the offshore accounts I’d never touched, investments from my years of government consulting after retirement, the property holdings managed through a trust Emily knew nothing about. The network of former agents and prosecutors who still owed me favors.
I’d hidden all of it because I wanted my daughter to grow up without the shadow of what her father really did, without the targets that came with wealth.
I folded the napkin carefully, returned to the party, found Derek at the bar surrounded by friends laughing at his own jokes.
“There he is, my future father-in-law!”
Derek raised his glass.
“The man who raised the most wonderful woman in Texas.”
I smiled the smile I’d used in interrogation rooms, the smile that preceded confessions.
“Let’s talk about the wedding timeline,”
I said.
“I want to make sure everything is perfect for my little girl.”
Gathering the Evidence
That night after the party ended I sat in my study and began making calls. Frank first, then Jessica Reyes, a prosecutor I’d worked with on the Hartman fraud case 15 years ago, then Bob McKinnon, an investigative journalist at the Austin American Statesman who owed me for a tip that won him a Pulitzer.
“I need everything on Derek Collins and his sister Karen,”
I told each of them.
“Don’t ask why yet, just find it.”
Emily came by the next morning, nervous and pale. We sat at my kitchen table and she told me everything. How she’d been at Derek’s apartment finalizing guest lists when she went to get water and heard him on speakerphone with Karen.
“He said, ‘You’re sitting on a gold mine and don’t even know it.'”
Emily whispered, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“He said, ‘Cedar Park property values have tripled, your pension is substantial, probably hidden savings from a lifetime of being careful.’ He said, ‘After the wedding they’ll start documenting your confusion, your forgetfulness, file for guardianship, put you in a memory care facility, sell everything.'”
She was shaking.
“Karen asked, ‘What if you fight it?’ Derek laughed and said, ‘What’s he going to do? He’s a retired teacher living alone, no other family, easy case.’ He said I trust him completely, that I’ll sign anything he asks because I love him.”
A Father’s Promise
I reached across the table, took her hands.
“Why did you wait until the party to tell me?”
She broke down completely.
“I kept hoping I misheard. I kept thinking there had to be an explanation. He’s been so good to me, Daddy. I thought maybe it was a joke, maybe I misunderstood. But then at the party I saw him looking at you and I knew. I knew it was all real. I couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t let him hurt you.”
I held her while she sobbed. My brave girl. She’d chosen me over the fairy tale she’d believed in. That took more courage than she knew.
“Listen to me,”
I said firmly.
“You did exactly right. Now let me handle this.”
She pulled back wiping her eyes.
“What are you going to do?”
“What I should have done the moment I noticed him calculating the value of my house. I’m going to show Derek Collins exactly who he tried to con.”
The Rap Sheet
Over the next two weeks, the information flooded in. Frank called first. Derek Collins’ real name Derek Kowalsski, changed it 7 years ago after a fraud investigation in Florida. Never charged, but the complaints were ugly.
Targeted wealthy elderly women, romanced them, cleaned them out. Three confirmed victims, all of them ended up in care facilities after he was done. My blood ran cold. Three women, three families destroyed.
Jessica called next. He’s got 2 million in debt across six different lenders, loan applications with fabricated income statements. The IRS has a file on him just waiting for someone to push the button.
Bob delivered his folder personally, sat at my kitchen table with his recorder off, spread the documents like evidence at trial. The sister Karen is worse. Lost her real estate license in Florida for fraud, reinstated in Texas under a different married name.
She’s been sued four times by elderly clients who claim she pressured them into selling properties below market value. All cases settled with NDAs. I studied the documents: tax records, court filings, credit reports. A pattern of predation spanning a decade.
“There’s more,”
Bob said quietly.
“Three years ago Derek was engaged to a woman named Sandra Mitchell, 72 years old, wealthy widow in Palm Beach. The engagement ended suddenly 2 months later. She was declared incompetent by a Florida court. Her nephew fought it, got her examined by independent doctors. She was fine, completely fine. But by then Derek had already emptied two of her accounts. He disappeared before charges could be filed.”
I closed the folder.
“I want you to hold this story until I give the signal.”
Bob nodded.
“Whatever you need, Tom. After what you did for me on the Hartman case, I owe you.”
