My Son Tried To Declare Me Senile To Steal My Business. I Just Served Him A Pot Roast And An Eviction Notice. Was I Too Harsh?

The Hidden Witness

The private investigator was a former Houston PD detective named Marcus Webb. He installed hidden cameras throughout my house—legal in Texas as long as there was no audio.

I watched the footage every night in Patricia’s office, sick to my stomach. I saw Derek and Crystal in my living room, going through my papers when they thought I was asleep.

I saw Crystal photographing my medication bottles. I watched Derek practicing concerned expressions in the bathroom mirror, rehearsing what he’d say to the judge.

He’d practiced saying, “My father has become confused, Your Honor. Forgetful. We’re worried about his ability to manage his affairs.”

Vanessa visited on day ten. She brought homemade cookies—my favorite recipe that Margaret used to make.

She sat in my kitchen and asked about my health, my sleep, and whether I’d been feeling confused lately.

I said, “I feel fine, sweetheart. Sharp as ever.”

Her smile flickered as she replied, “Of course you do, Daddy. I’m just checking. You know how I worry.”

She left an hour later. I found her in the security footage from earlier that day, meeting with Derek and Crystal in a coffee shop three miles from my house.

They’d hugged like conspirators. Vanessa had handed Derek an envelope.

Inside, I later learned, was the name of a psychiatrist who was known to provide favorable evaluations in guardianship cases. Patricia told me five thousand dollars was his usual fee.

The Corporate Audit

On day 14, I walked into Morrison Auto Group’s main location and called an all-staff meeting. Derek stood beside me, that proud smile plastered on his face, expecting me to announce my retirement and hand him the keys to the kingdom.

Instead, I introduced Marcus Webb.

I said, “This is our new head of security. He’ll be conducting a comprehensive audit of all financial operations. Full transparency, full cooperation required.”

I added, “Anyone who has concerns about any irregularities should report directly to him.”

I watched Derek’s face change. Just for a second, the mask slipped, and fear flashed in his eyes before he recovered.

He said, “Great idea, Dad. Always good to stay on top of things.”

That night, Derek didn’t come home until midnight. I heard him and Crystal arguing in the guest house.

Her voice was shrill as she said, “He knows something. We need to move faster.”

His voice sounded desperate as he replied, “I’m handling it. Just trust me.”

The Pot Roast Announcement

On day 17, I called a family dinner. Vanessa drove in from Austin, where she lived in a condo I’d helped her purchase.

Derek and Crystal joined us at the dining room table—the same table where we’d celebrated Thanksgivings, birthdays, and Margaret’s life. I served pot roast—Margaret’s recipe, the last meal she’d cooked before the cancer took her.

Once everyone had food on their plates, I said, “I have an announcement.”

Vanessa’s fork paused halfway to her mouth, and Derek’s jaw tightened. I continued, “I’ve made some changes to my estate plan. I’ve created an irrevocable trust to protect my business interests.”

He explained, “All 12 Morrison auto locations are now under its management. Additionally, I’ve updated my will.”

I looked at each of them in turn. My son who’d stolen nearly $400,000 from me.

My daughter-in-law who’d never worked a day since marrying into my family. My daughter who’d helped them plot to have me declared incompetent.

I explained, “The business will pass to the trust upon my death. A portion of the proceeds will fund scholarships for automotive technician training programs. The house will be sold with proceeds going to the Margaret Morrison Memorial Foundation for cancer research.”

Derek’s voice was strangled as he asked, “Dad, what are you talking about?”

I replied, “I’m talking about the $370,000 you stole from me, Derek. I’m talking about the fake vendors, the inflated invoices, the phantom repairs.”

I continued, “I’m talking about the guardianship attorneys you’ve been consulting, the psychiatrist Vanessa recommended. The plan to have me declared mentally incompetent so you could take everything.”

The Quiet Exit

The table went silent. Crystal’s face drained of color, and Vanessa’s hands trembled.

Derek opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again.

He said, “Dad, I don’t know what you think you heard, but—”

I interrupted, “I have security footage, Derek. I have forensic accounting reports. I have sworn statements from witnesses. Patricia Okonquo has prepared criminal referrals for the District Attorney’s office.”

I added, “The only reason I haven’t already filed them is because your mother would have wanted me to give you a chance to leave quietly.”

Crystal stood abruptly.

She said, “This is insane! You can’t—”

I replied, “I can and I have. You and Derek have 30 days to vacate my property. Vanessa, you’re no longer welcome in my home.”

I warned them, “If any of you contact me, harass me, or attempt any further schemes against me, I will pursue criminal charges to the fullest extent of the law.”

Derek slammed his fist on the table.

He yelled, “This is my inheritance! I’ve worked for that company for 15 years!”

I replied, “You’ve worked for that company for 15 years while stealing from it. While plotting to steal everything else while rehearsing how to convince a judge that your own father is senile.”

I stood and said, “Dinner is over. 30 days.”

Thirty Days of War

The next 30 days were war. On day 18, Derek cornered me in the garage.

His voice shifted between threatening and pleading.

He said, “You can’t do this to family. We can work something out. Just tear up the trust paperwork and we’ll forget this happened.”

I walked past him without responding. On day 20, Crystal tried a different approach—tears, apologies, and a trembling confession.

She claimed it had all been Derek’s idea, that she’d been afraid of him, and that she was really a victim here. She’d been rehearsing; I could tell the delivery was almost convincing.

I handed her the 30-day notice and closed the door. On day 22, Vanessa called, not to apologize, but to threaten.

She said, “If you do this, Daddy, you’ll never see your grandchildren again.”

I replied, “I don’t have grandchildren, Vanessa. You have two dogs and a cactus garden. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

She hung up. On day 24, I came home to find Dr. Patterson in my living room.

Derek and Crystal had arranged an ambush.

Derek explained with false concern, “A cognitive evaluation. Just to make sure everyone’s on the same page about your mental state.”

I said calmly, “Dr. Patterson, I assume you’re aware that ambush evaluations have no legal standing. I also assume you’re aware that I have security footage of my son paying you $5,000 in cash last week.”

The doctor left without another word.

Derek’s face twisted with rage as he said, “You’re destroying this family!”

I replied, “No, son. You did that all by yourself.”

The Final Gambit

On day 27, my daughter-in-law tried one last gambit. She walked into my office unannounced, wearing considerably less clothing than appropriate for a Tuesday afternoon.

She moved closer and said, “I’m sure we can work something out, Harold. You must get lonely in this big house all by yourself.”

I didn’t look up from my computer.

I said, “Crystal, you have three days to get out of my house. If you touch me, I’ll add sexual harassment to the criminal referral.”