Chapter 11 - HE KEPT GETTING UP BECAUSE HE WANTED ME TO HURT HIM
Derek asked to speak with me through counsel.
I refused twice.
The third request came with an offer.
He would provide the original Santos video, authenticate his personal voice notes, cooperate in correcting the Oakley mortgage, and identify every forged document involving my properties.
Rachel said:
“You don’t owe him conversation.”
“I know.”
“He can cooperate without you.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you considering it?”
I looked at her.
“Because I want to hear whether he still uses his mother as the subject of every sentence.”
That was apparently a good enough reason.
We spoke by video.
Derek sat in his lawyer’s office.
No expensive sweater.
No tan from Hawaii anymore.
He looked tired.
The bruise near his collarbone had turned yellow.
I looked at it.
He saw me.
“I wanted you to hit me harder.”
There was no greeting.
I sat back.
“Why?”
“Because Mom said if you injured me, we could slow everything down.”
“What does that mean?”
“Protective order. Hospital records. Say you were unstable.”
“Because I box.”
“Yes.”
“Get me removed as trustee?”
“No.”
“That was impossible.”
“I know.”
“Pressure me to settle?”
“Yes.”
“Pressure the trustee?”
“Maybe.”
“Pressure my company?”
“Yes.”
There it was.
Not a guaranteed legal master plan.
Leverage.
Noise.
Cost.
Doubt.
“What would you have said?”
“That I confronted you about moving marital assets.”
“And I attacked you.”
“Yes.”
“Would you have told police about the belt?”
He looked down.
“No.”
I laughed.
“Of course.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
I asked:
“When did you decide to keep attacking after you realized I could beat you?”
“After the first throw.”
“Why?”
“I felt humiliated.”
“That’s not all.”
“No.”
His voice dropped.
“I remembered Mom saying preserve injuries.”
“So you wanted me angry.”
“Yes.”
“You called me names.”
“Yes.”
“Grabbed my hair.”
“Yes.”
“Reached for the lamp.”
“Yes.”
“You knew I might hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“And when I didn’t?”
He looked at me.
“I hated you for it.”
That answer surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because every time you let me up, I had to choose again.”
I stared.
He continued.
“If you’d lost control, I could tell myself the marriage was toxic.”
“But I didn’t.”
“No.”
“If you’d broken my nose—”
“I could say we both crossed lines.”
“But I didn’t.”
“No.”
“If you’d choked me unconscious—”
“My lawyer would be telling a very different story.”
“But I didn’t.”
Derek closed his eyes.
“No.”
He opened them.
“You kept telling me to stop.”
The words came out almost as a confession.
“You gave me ten chances to stop.”
“More.”
“I know.”
Finally.
The subject of the sentence was him.
Not Janice.
Not insurance.
Not Miguel.
Him.
I asked:
“Why did you keep the Santos video?”
“At first, because Mom wanted it destroyed.”
“To protect yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Against her?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“Because Miguel’s wife deserved it.”
I almost ended the call.
“Do not turn yourself into a witness for the widow you lied to.”
“I’m not.”
His eyes filled.
“I didn’t give it to her.”
“Exactly.”
“I was afraid.”
“She buried her husband.”
“I know.”
“You were afraid of consequences.”
“Yes.”
That answer saved the conversation from becoming unbearable.
Derek continued.
“I’m giving it now.”
“Because you’re caught.”
“Yes.”
Another honest answer.
I hated how much honesty mattered after it was too late.
He turned over original files through counsel.
The Santos family received them in litigation.
Insurers received proper notice.
Investigators reviewed whether records or testimony had been falsified.
Nobody announced charges that afternoon.
Legal systems are slower than family betrayals.
Lawson Restoration’s carrier suspended further defense payments pending review.
That created immediate pressure.
Janice blamed Derek.
Paula sent me a screenshot of Janice’s text:
YOUR BROTHER JUST KILLED THE COMPANY.
Paula replied:
Miguel died.
Janice did not answer.
That evening, one of Lawson Restoration’s project managers called Paula.
Employees had been told the company might close within weeks.
I thought of forty-three people.
Some had probably believed Janice.
Some had lied for her.
Most had simply gone to work.
I asked Rachel whether there was any way my civil claims could be structured without destroying operating assets.
She stared at me.
“You’re asking how to preserve a company that defrauded you.”
“I’m asking about employees.”
“Different question.”
“Yes.”
She leaned back.
“We can explore repayment tied to asset sales, insurance, owner equity, or restructuring. You are not required to maximize damage.”
“I also don’t want to rescue Janice.”
“Then don’t.”
Simple.
Hard.
The next morning, Janice requested a meeting.
I refused.
Then she sent one sentence through her lawyer:
Derek is lying about who changed the safety report.
Rachel looked at me.
“You want to know?”
“Yes.”
Janice produced a copy of the original inspection report.
And a handwriting sample.
The altered wording was not Janice’s.
It had been handwritten first on a printed draft.
Then typed into the final version.
The handwritten changes belonged to Derek.
I called his lawyer.
Derek admitted it.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“You changed REMOVE FROM SERVICE to MANUAL OPERATION ACCEPTABLE.”
“Yes.”
“Why blame your mother’s login?”
“She uploaded it.”
“But you wrote it.”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell you to?”
“No.”
There was the next layer.
Janice had built the culture.
Derek had learned to act without needing instructions.
Then he added:
“But the sentence wasn’t my idea.”
I stared at the screen.
“Whose?”
Derek swallowed.
“Dad’s.”
Howard Lawson had been alive when Miguel died.
He died seven months later of a heart attack.
The respected founder.
The man Derek said had taught his wife with a belt.
May you like
And according to Derek, Howard was the person who told them exactly how to rewrite the inspection report.
The dead patriarch was still inside the room.
