My Son-in-law Punched My Daughter At Christmas Dinner. His Brother Said She Finally Needed To Shut Up. They Forgot I Was A Retired Investigator With Very Powerful Friends.
I answered: “I did. So did everyone else in this room.”
Jack turned to Marcus: “And you are?”
Marcus answered: “Derek’s brother, and I’m advising him not to say another word without a lawyer present.”
Jack said: “Smart. But here’s the thing: I don’t need him to talk. I’ve got multiple witnesses to assault. That’s enough to bring charges.”
He looked at me. “But you said you thought there was more.”
I nodded. “Call it 30 years of investigator’s instinct. Something’s not right here. The money, the behavior, the way these two are connected.”
I gestured at Derek and Marcus. “I want to know what they’re into.”
Jack’s eyes sharpened. He’d learned to trust my instincts over the years we’d worked together.
Jack said: “All right, let’s start simple. Derek Thompson, what do you do for a living?”
Derek said tightly: “I’m in sales.”
Jack asked: “What kind of sales?”
Derek answered: “Various things.”
Jack turned to Marcus: “And you, Marcus?”
Marcus answered: “Car sales.”
Jack said: “Uh-huh.”
Jack pulled out his phone and made a quiet call. I couldn’t hear what he said, but I knew he was running background checks, looking into financials, and pulling strings he’d cultivated over decades in law enforcement.
The police arrived 10 minutes later. They separated us all, taking statements.
A female officer sat with Sarah, documenting her injuries and photographing the bruising that was already blooming across her cheek and jaw. Another officer talked to Derek, who had finally shut up on Marcus’s advice.
Margaret clung to my arm. “Robert, what’s happening?”
I said simply: “Justice. Finally.”
A Legacy of Greed and Deception
But I knew this was just the beginning. As I watched Jack work, making calls and coordinating with the officers, I remembered something Derek had said on the phone: “You need to get over here.”
Who had he called? Who was coming?
The answer arrived 30 minutes later: a man in an expensive suit carrying a briefcase with the look of someone who’d done this too many times.
He announced: “I’m Richard Chen, attorney for Derek Thompson. My client will not be making any further statements.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “That was fast. Almost like you were on standby.”
Chen didn’t respond, but I saw the flicker in his eyes. Yeah, this attorney had been waiting for a call; this wasn’t his first time cleaning up Derek’s messes.
The police arrested Derek on assault charges. They read him his rights, cuffed him, and led him out of my house.
As he passed Sarah, he hissed: “You’re going to regret this.”
One of the officers immediately added intimidation of a witness to his charges. Marcus started to leave, but Jack blocked his path.
Jack said: “I’d stick around if I were you. I’ve got some questions.”
Marcus asked: “Am I being detained?”
Jack replied: “Not yet, but the night’s young.”
After the police left with Derek, Jack sat down with me in my study. Margaret was upstairs with Sarah, helping her clean up and pack a bag.
There was no way my daughter was going back to that house tonight, or ever, if I had anything to say about it.
Jack said: “Talk to me, Robert. What’s your gut telling you?”
I leaned back in my chair, thinking through everything I’d observed over the past 3 years.
I told him: “Derek doesn’t work regular hours. He’s got expensive tastes: new truck every year, designer clothes. But his supposed sales job shouldn’t cover that lifestyle.”
I added: “Sarah mentioned once that he was helping people with insurance claims.”
Jack’s expression darkened. “What kind of help?”
I explained: “She didn’t know details. He shut her down whenever she asked questions. But Jack, I know insurance fraud when I smell it. And if Derek’s running something, Marcus is in it too. Did you see that watch? That’s a $50,000 Patek Philippe on a car salesman’s salary.”
Jack said: “Exactly.”
Jack pulled out his laptop. “Let me make some calls. I’ve got a buddy at the Insurance Fraud Division. If these guys are dirty, there’ll be whispers.”
While Jack worked, I went upstairs to check on Sarah. I found her sitting on her childhood bed, holding her old teddy bear, looking about 12 years old instead of 30.
Margaret sat beside her, stroking her hair. When Sarah saw me, she said: “Dad, I’m so sorry.”
I sat down on her other side. “Honey, you have nothing to be sorry for.”
Sarah said: “I should have told you. I should have left him the first time he—”
Her voice broke. My stomach dropped.
I asked: “How many times has this happened?”
She looked down at her hands. “I stopped counting.”
Margaret made a sound like a wounded animal. I felt rage, hot and fierce, burning through my chest, but I kept my voice gentle.
I said: “Tell me everything, Sarah. From the beginning.”
And she did. It spilled out of her like poison being drained from a wound.
She told me how Derek had been charming at first, attentive and loving. She told me how the first time he grabbed her arm too hard, he’d cried and apologized and sworn it would never happen again.
She explained how it escalated slowly: a shove, a slap, and cruel words that cut deeper than any blow.
She whispered: “He said no one would believe me. He said his family had connections, that if I ever told anyone, he’d make sure I looked like the crazy one.”
She continued: “And Marcus, he was always there backing Derek up, telling me I was too sensitive, that I needed to toughen up.”
I asked: “Did Marcus ever hurt you?”
Sarah replied: “No, but he watched. Sometimes when Derek would… when things got bad, Marcus would be there. Not stopping it, just watching. It was almost worse than if he’d done it himself.”
I exchanged a look with Margaret over Sarah’s head. This was sicker than I’d thought.
Sarah said quietly: “There’s something else. I didn’t understand it, but Derek and Marcus, they had these meetings late at night in our basement.”
She explained: “Men would come over, people I’d never met. They’d talk for hours. Derek told me to stay upstairs, to never come down when they were meeting.”
I asked: “Did you ever hear what they talked about?”
Sarah answered: “Once I was on the stairs and I heard them talking about someone’s accident, about how the claim went through, about splitting the money. And then someone said something about the next one, about making sure the injuries looked real this time.”
My blood ran cold. Insurance fraud; I’d been right, but this sounded bigger than simple false claims. This sounded organized.
I went back downstairs to find Jack on his third phone call. When he hung up, his face was grim.
Jack said: “Your instincts were dead on. The Insurance Fraud Division has had their eye on a ring operating in the Portland area for the past 2 years.”
He continued: “Staged accidents, false injury claims, billing for medical treatments that never happened. They’ve suspected there was an organized group behind it, but they couldn’t get anyone to talk. Everyone involved was too scared.”
I asked: “Let me guess: Derek and Marcus Thompson are on their radar?”
Jack answered: “Right at the top of the list. They’ve been tracking a pattern of suspicious claims, all linked back to the same medical providers, the same attorneys, the same investigators. And your son-in-law’s name keeps popping up as the victim or the coordinator.”
