Chapter 5 - WHAT HER FATHER BOUGHT
David agreed to meet only after Officer Nguyen told his attorney that investigators were preparing search-warrant applications for his phone and online accounts.
The meeting took place in a conference room at the Kent County prosecutor’s office.
Emma sat beside me.
Thomas waited outside with a victim advocate. He had offered to stay away entirely, but Emma asked him to come.
David entered with his attorney.
He looked ten years older than he had in our driveway.
“I never wanted this,” he said.
Emma’s expression did not change.
“What did you want?”
“I wanted to know whether your mother was telling the truth about your expenses.”
“Ask me.”
“I did.”
“No. You asked whether I still lived with Mom. You asked how many classes I had. You never told me my answer would decide whether you kept helping me.”
David looked toward me.
I said nothing.
His attorney reminded him to answer carefully.
David ignored the warning.
“My company collapsed. I had employees suing me for unpaid wages. The IRS froze one account. I was going to lose everything.”
“So you watched me sleep?”
“No.”
“You gave him the camera.”
“I believed it was pointed at the stairs.”
“You installed it.”
“I forgot what it showed.”
Emma leaned forward.
“When I told you a man was following me, why didn’t you stop him?”
David pressed his palms against the table.
“Richard said you had noticed him because he was bad at surveillance. He promised to be more careful.”
“You told him to be better at stalking me.”
“I did not understand what it had become.”
“The picture showed you.”
His face tightened.
“Yes.”
“And you still didn’t tell us.”
“He threatened me.”
“What could be worse than what he was doing to me?”
The answer came slowly.
David had hidden more than bankruptcy assets.
He had transferred business equipment to a company created in his brother’s name. He believed admitting that he paid an unlicensed investigator would expose the financial fraud and leave him facing criminal charges.
He chose silence because he hoped Richard would become bored.
Instead, Richard began leaving gifts.
Then he attached the tracker.
“You knew about that too,” I said.
David looked at his attorney.
The attorney closed his eyes briefly.
Richard sent David a photograph of the device after placing it.
David replied:
REMOVE IT. THIS IS OVER.
Richard wrote:
IT ENDS WHEN SHE TALKS TO ME.
David deleted the conversation.
“He was no longer working for you,” Emma said.
“No.”
“But he thought you couldn’t report him.”
“Yes.”
“Because you were guilty too.”
David nodded.
The room remained quiet.
For years, Emma had believed her father’s greatest flaw was his pride. She had defended him after the divorce, explaining that he needed time, that he was bad at apologies, that losing the business had frightened him.
Now she understood that his pride had become a place where other people could hide.
Officer Nguyen placed a consent form on the table.
David could surrender his phone, passwords, payment records, and full communications voluntarily.
Or investigators would continue through warrants.
Cooperation would not erase his actions.
It could help them move faster against Richard.
David looked at Emma.
“If I sign, I may be charged.”
She did not comfort him.
“If you don’t, he keeps getting time.”
David stared at the form.
“What happens to us?”
Emma’s voice remained steady.
“There is no us until this is over.”
He signed.
Investigators took his phone.
Before the meeting ended, Emma asked one final question.
“Did you ever think I was lying about school?”
David looked down.
“No.”
“Then why did you hire him?”
His eyes filled for the first time.
“Because believing you were dishonest felt better than admitting I couldn’t afford to keep my promise.”
That was the truth beneath the tuition agreement.
Richard had been hired to find evidence.
David had hired him because shame needed evidence more than facts did.
As we left the building, Officer Nguyen received a call from the digital-forensics unit.
David’s phone contained a recent message Richard had sent from a new number.
The message included a photograph of our front porch.
It had been taken that morning.
May you like
Beneath it, Richard had written:
THE BIKERS HAVE TO SLEEP SOMETIME.
