“He was into some bad stuff,” the manager said, glancing around nervously. “Always had people coming around looking for him. Rough-looking people, if you know what I mean.”
“What kind of people?”
“The kind that break kneecaps when you owe them money.”
Marcus felt another piece of the puzzle click into place. Derek Morrison wasn’t just a gambling addict—he was a gambling addict who’d gotten in over his head with dangerous people. The kind of people who might suggest creative solutions for paying off debts, like framing a conveniently deployed Marine’s wife for embezzlement.
As the sun set over Tallahassee, Marcus sat in his car outside Derek’s former apartment, making a list of his next moves. He needed to find Derek Morrison. He needed to prove that Derek had forged Sarah’s signatures and planted evidence. And he needed to do it all before his military leave expired, when he’d face a choice between his duty to the Corps and his duty to his wife.
For the first time since landing in Jacksonville, Marcus allowed himself to imagine walking into Lowell Correctional Institution, not as a visitor, but as the man who’d come to take his innocent wife home. But first, he had a thief to catch.
The Florida Department of Law Enforcement office in Tallahassee occupied a nondescript building on Capitol Circle, designed to blend into the bureaucratic landscape of the state capital. Marcus had called ahead, using his military credentials and the magic words “fraud investigation” to secure a meeting with Detective Linda Vasquez, a financial crime specialist who’d worked Derek Morrison’s cases before—not for embezzlement, but for check-kiting and credit card fraud.
Detective Vasquez was a compact woman in her 40s, with skeptical eyes and the tired demeanor of someone who’d heard every sob story and excuse imaginable. Her office walls were decorated with commendations and a photo of her shaking hands with the governor, but Marcus noticed the stack of case files threatening to topple off her desk.
“Sergeant Rivera, I appreciate your service, but I’ve got to tell you, your wife’s case was pretty cut and dried. The evidence was overwhelming.”
Marcus had prepared for this resistance. He spread Derek Morrison’s financial records across her desk, along with the timeline he’d constructed showing the correlation between Derek’s cash deposits and the thefts from Dr. Morrison’s clinic.
“Detective, Derek Morrison claimed his cash deposits came from a construction company lottery pool that never existed. He had gambling debts to people who break legs for late payments, and he had daily access to documents bearing my wife’s fingerprints and signatures.”
Vasquez studied the papers, her expression shifting from polite skepticism to professional interest. “These cash deposits—they’re for odd amounts. Gamblers usually pay in round numbers, five hundred, a thousand. But these are like $723, $438. What does that suggest?”
“That they’re not payoff amounts. They’re deposit amounts. Someone was taking specific sums from somewhere and depositing them incrementally to avoid suspicion.”
She looked up at Marcus. “The amounts stolen from the clinic. Do you have those figures?”
Marcus pulled out another sheet. “The stolen amounts: $723, $1,445, $438, $892. All matching Derek’s deposits when adjusted for the cash he’d kept for personal expenses.”
“This is good work, Sergeant. But it’s still circumstantial. Derek could claim he was involved, but that Sarah was the mastermind. Without physical evidence linking him to the forgeries, we’re looking at he-said, she-said.”
“What would constitute physical evidence?”
Vasquez leaned back in her chair. “Original documents with his prints, video evidence, a confession, or…” She paused, studying Marcus carefully. “Someone who witnessed him committing the crimes.”
“You think there might be a witness?”
“Derek Morrison isn’t exactly a criminal mastermind. He’s been arrested three times for minor fraud, always working with accomplices. Gamblers like Derek don’t operate alone—they’re too disorganized, too desperate. If he framed your wife, someone helped him.”
Marcus felt his pulse quicken. “Who would help him?”
“Someone who benefited from your wife taking the fall. Someone who knew she’d stay quiet to protect her deployed husband. Someone who…” Vasquez stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening. “What’s Dr. Morrison’s nephew’s relationship with the clinic’s insurance company?”
The question hit Marcus like a tactical revelation. He’d been thinking about Derek as an individual actor, but what if the embezzlement was more complex? What if someone had needed Sarah to be convicted to cover a larger fraud scheme?
“I need to make some calls,” Marcus said.
Driving back toward Jacksonville, Marcus worked his phone like a battlefield communication system. First, he called Dr. Morrison. “Doctor, I need you to check something. After Sarah’s conviction, did you file an insurance claim for the stolen money?”
“Of course. The insurance company paid out $43,000, minus the deductible. It helped keep the clinic afloat during the investigation.”
“Who handled the insurance paperwork?”
A long pause. “Derek did. He said he wanted to help me through the difficult time.”
The second call was to Patricia, asking her to pull out Sarah’s personal financial records from the boxes of legal documents. “Marcus, what am I looking for?”
“Credit card applications, loan applications, anything with Sarah’s signature that predates my deployment.”
The third call was to his old squad leader, Staff Sergeant Mike Kowalski, now working private security in Tampa. “Mike, I need a favor. I need someone who can run surveillance on a target who’s probably hiding from loan sharks.”
“This about your wife? Word gets around, Marcus. Half the battalion knows what happened.”
“She’s innocent, Mike, but I need to prove it. Where do you need me?”
Marcus checked his GPS. He was still an hour from Jacksonville, but Derek Morrison’s trail was getting warmer. “I’m not sure yet, but when I find him, I’ll need backup. This guy’s dangerous, and he’s got nothing left to lose.”
By the time Marcus reached Patricia’s apartment, she had Sarah’s financial records spread across the kitchen table like a forensic accountant’s investigation. The contrast was stark. Sarah’s actual financial life was the picture of military spouse frugality—careful budgeting, automatic savings deposits, minimal credit card usage paid off monthly. But the fraudulent accounts told a different story: applications submitted online with Sarah’s social security number and personal information, but routed to addresses she’d never lived at.
The pattern was sophisticated, requiring inside knowledge of Sarah’s background, employment history, and personal details. “Derek had access to Sarah’s employment file,” Marcus realized. “He could have gotten everything he needed to open accounts in her name.”
Patricia looked up from the documents. “Marcus, there’s something else. The dates on these applications—they start three months before the first theft, right after Derek started working construction, when his gambling debts would have been escalating.”
Marcus’s phone rang. It was Detective Vasquez. “Sergeant Rivera, I’ve got news. We ran Derek Morrison’s name through our database again, cross-referenced with known associates. He’s got a connection to a document forger in Miami who specializes in financial fraud. Guy named Carlos Mendez, currently on parole for identity theft.”
“Is Mendez talking?”
“He might if he thinks it’ll keep him out of prison. Derek’s been staying at a motel in Hialeah, paying cash, but he missed his parole check-in yesterday. Miami-Dade is looking for him now.”
Marcus felt the familiar sensation of a mission coming together, all the pieces of intelligence converging on a target. Derek Morrison was in Miami, probably desperate and running out of money. Desperate people made mistakes, and Marcus was trained to exploit those mistakes.
“Detective, I need to ask you something. If we can get Derek to confess, if we can prove he framed Sarah, how quickly can her conviction be overturned?”
“With new evidence of actual innocence, the state attorney could move for dismissal within days. Your wife could be home by next week.”
For the first time in 72 hours, Marcus allowed himself to believe that Sarah might actually come home. But first, he had to find Derek Morrison and convince him that telling the truth was preferable to running forever.