Coworker Pretended to Help Fix My Dad's Car, Then Used His cam to Frame Us for Theft and Got My...

Co-worker pretended to help fix my dad's car, then used his cam to frame us for theft and got my dad fired. So, we set up hidden cameras to catch him stealing, and now he's in jail. Hi Reddit, I'm a 27M who's been dealing with a really tricky situation at work, and I need some outside perspective.

I spend a lot of time reading stories on here about people who suddenly changed their behavior, and it's got me questioning everything. The thing is, I've got this coworker who's been causing problems, and his recent change in attitude has me seriously confused. I keep wondering if people can actually change that quickly or if there's always something else going on beneath the surface.

I should probably start with some background about my family. My parents came to the US from Mexico right before I was born. They were both working on getting their citizenship while raising me, doing everything by the book.

My dad got his citizenship first, and my mom was nearly there too. She was actually just weeks away from her final citizenship interview when everything changed. A drunk driver ran a red light one night, and just like that, my mom was gone.

I was too young to really remember her, but my dad made sure I knew everything about her. He kept all her citizenship paperwork in a box, and sometimes I catch him looking through it, especially on hard days. School was pretty rough for me growing up; word got around about my family situation, and some parents in our neighborhood had really messed up ideas about immigration.

They'd tell their kids that my parents were criminals for having me before getting their citizenship, which makes zero sense, but try explaining that to a bunch of grade schoolers. These kids would corner me at recess, calling my parents "illegals" and saying my mom deserved what happened to her. I ended up in the principal's office at least once a week for fighting.

My teachers tried to be understanding, but there's only so many times you can let a kid off for throwing punches before it becomes a problem. The worst part was seeing my dad's face every time he had to leave work to pick me up after a fight. He never got mad, though; he just looked tired.

My dad basically gave up any chance of a personal life to take care of me. He was working at a warehouse during the day and doing janitorial work at night, sometimes not getting home until 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning. We didn't have any family here to help out, so most of his second paycheck went straight to babysitters.

I'd stay up late some nights pretending to be asleep when he got home, and I'd hear him in the kitchen making my lunch for the next day. He'd pack himself just a small sandwich, if anything at all. Sometimes he'd skip meals entirely, saying he wasn't hungry, but I knew he was just making sure there was enough food for me.

When other kids complained about their parents not buying them the latest toys or video games, I just couldn't relate. All I could think about was my dad barely sleeping, just trying to keep a roof over our heads. Everything changed when I was 8 years old, and it all started because my dad couldn't ignore someone who needed help.

He was dragging himself home after another double shift when he spotted this guy pulled over on the side of the road. Even though he was exhausted, my dad still pulled over to help. That guy turned out to be Barry, and his car just needed a jump start.

While they were waiting for Barry's battery to charge up, they got talking and realized they had way more in common than they expected. Barry was raising his son, Ryan, alone after losing his wife to cancer, and Ryan was dealing with the same kind of crap at school that I was, except in his case, it was because they were Black. It hit my dad pretty hard hearing about another single father going through similar struggles.

Barry would bring Ryan over to hang out with me, and suddenly I had someone who actually understood what I was going through at school. While we played video games or watched cartoons, our dads would be out in the driveway, heads buried under the hood of whatever car needed fixing. By then, my dad had gotten pretty good at fixing things around the house out of necessity; we couldn't afford to call repairmen, so he learned everything from YouTube videos.

Barry picked up on how naturally my dad took to car repair, and one day he made an offer: he owned this auto shop in town and wanted my dad to come work for him. The pay wasn't anything crazy, but it meant my dad could finally quit his second job. I started seeing him at dinnertime instead of just catching glimpses of him between shifts.

Sometimes I'd even wake up to find him actually sleeping in his bed instead of passed out on the couch still in his work clothes. I started hanging around the shop after school, picking up little things here and there about cars while Ryan was buried in his criminal justice textbooks and dreaming about law school. I was learning how to change oil and replace spark plugs.

My dad would come home and find me watching car repair videos online, taking notes, and asking him questions about everything I'd learned. By the time I finished high school, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. Ryan took a job at Target to help pay for his college tuition, but I went straight to work at Barry's shop.

Some of my teachers were disappointed; they thought I was wasting my potential by not going to college, but honestly. . .

Working alongside my dad at the shop felt more right than any classroom ever had. A few years into working at the shop, I met Tracy at a friend's birthday party. She was three years older than me and worked as a dental hygienist.

We clicked right away, and after dating for a while, we started talking about moving in together. By then, I'd saved up enough from the shop to make it happen. Packing up my room at Dad's house was harder than I expected, not because of the distance—since I'd still see him every day at work—but because it felt like the end of an era.

The night before I moved out, Dad and I stayed up late just talking about Mom, about all the tough years when he was working two jobs, and about how far we'd come. He tried to act cool about me moving out, but I caught him getting a little misty-eyed when he helped me load the last box into my car. Everything at the shop was going great until Barry hired Lance last year.

Remember that coworker I mentioned earlier who's got me questioning everything? That Lance. From day one, it was clear he had a problem with me and my dad being Mexican.

His truck was plastered with those political stickers that tell you everything you need to know about a person, and he made no effort to hide his views. The first morning he walked in and saw us working on a customer's car, he just stood there shaking his head before making some comment about us stealing jobs from real Americans. I wanted to say something back, but my dad just gave me that look he used to give me in school when I'd get in fights—the one that said it wasn't worth it.

About a month after Lance started, tools began disappearing from the shop. At first, it was just small stuff: a socket here, an impact driver there—the kind of things that could easily get misplaced in a busy garage. But then an entire set of right grip wrenches vanished overnight.

These weren't exactly top-dollar tools, but in our line of work, every tool matters. Barry was furious. He called everyone into the garage one morning, even the front desk staff who barely set foot near the tools, and gave this whole speech about trust and responsibility.

He made it clear that if anyone knew anything, anything, they needed to speak up. Since my dad and I worked closest to Lance, we started noticing patterns between when tools would disappear and when Lance was around them last. We tried to keep an eye on him without being obvious about it, but Lance caught on pretty quick.

Every time he noticed us watching, he'd throw out some racist comment about Mexicans swimming across borders or make jokes about us being lazy while we spied on him instead of working. After weeks of this, my dad finally went to Barry about our suspicions. My dad's not the type to complain or cause trouble; he always taught me to keep my head down and let my work speak for itself.

So when he actually spoke up about Lance, Barry took it seriously, but without concrete proof, all Barry could do was warn Lance that he'd be fired if anything else went missing. The tool disappearances stopped after that conversation, which pretty much confirmed what we already knew about who was behind it. That warning from Barry sent Lance over the edge.

He cornered my dad in the parking lot that evening, getting right in his face about how we were trying to steal jobs from hardworking white men like him. After that, Lance turned into a complete nightmare to work with. He'd have these random outbursts while working on cars, throwing tools around and damaging vehicles in the process.

One time he got so angry, he put a huge dent in a customer's door with a wrench. It was like watching a grown man throw toddler tantrums, except these tantrums were costing the shop money and putting our safety at risk. One of our regular customers, this older lady who'd been coming to us for years, happened to walk in during one of Lance's meltdowns.

She watched him slam tools around and kick a toolbox while my dad was trying to finish up work on her car. Barry managed to smooth things over with her, but you could tell he was at his limit with Lance. He pulled Lance into his office and told him straight up that one more outburst, and he'd be out of a job.

Instead of taking the warning seriously, Lance decided to blame my dad, since it was his customer who complained. That evening in the parking lot, Lance got in our faces and told us we were going to pay for almost getting him fired. But then something weird happened.

The next week, Lance was like a completely different person. He wasn't exactly friendly, but all the aggressive behavior just stopped: no more racist comments, no more throwing tools, nothing. My dad and I kept looking at each other across the garage, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Then one evening, as we were closing up shop, my dad's car wouldn't start. The alternator had been going bad for a while, but money was tight, and Dad kept putting off replacing it. We all knew it was just a matter of time before it died completely.

I was about to offer my dad a ride home when Lance pulled his truck around. Instead of leaving like he usually did, he parked right in front of my dad's car. Given everything that had happened, I started planning how I'd handle things if this turned into another confrontation.

But instead of starting trouble, Lance stepped out of his truck and asked about the alternator. Anyone who'd been In the shop lately, I could tell that’s what was wrong: the car had been making that distinctive whining noise for weeks. What shocked us was when Lance actually offered to fix it.

He told my dad to just set out some tools by the car while he went to use the bathroom and make a quick phone call. My dad and I shared a look, both thinking the same thing: was this some kind of trap? But Lance seemed genuinely willing to help, so my dad went ahead and gathered the tools from the garage.

When Lance came back out, my dad tried to work out payment details, offering to compensate him for the time and parts, but Lance just waved him off, saying he owed us for how he'd been acting lately and wanted to make things right. He promised to have the car running by morning. I wanted to believe he was trying to change, but after months of dealing with his racist comments and violent outbursts, it was hard to trust this sudden transformation.

I drove my dad home that night, and we spent most of the ride debating whether we'd made a huge mistake leaving the car with Lance. The only thing that gave us any comfort was that Lance had refused payment. Usually, when someone's trying to scam you, they want money up front.

When we pulled into the shop the next morning, my dad's car was right where we'd left it, and sure enough, it started up perfectly. Lance had replaced the entire alternator overnight. My dad tried again to pay him for the parts at least, but Lance insisted it was on the house.

He kept saying he wanted to make amends for his past behavior. The whole thing left me feeling uneasy. Either Lance had had some kind of miraculous change of heart, or he was up to something.

After everything we'd been through with him, I couldn't help but suspect it was the latter. It's been a full day since Lance fixed my dad's car, and he's still acting like a completely different person: no racist comments, no angry outbursts, just normal workplace conversation and even a few friendly nods in our direction. After nearly a year of dealing with his hatred and abuse, this sudden change is giving me whiplash.

Maybe Barry's threat to fire him finally made him realize he needed to change, or maybe fixing my dad's car was his way of showing he wanted to make things right. But something about this whole situation just doesn't sit right with me. I'd really appreciate some outside perspective on this.

Have any of you experienced someone changing this dramatically this quickly? **Update One:** Hey Reddit, I need to update you on my situation with Lance, and it's not good news. Remember how I was asking if people could really change that quickly?

Well, I got my answer, and I feel like an idiot for even considering that Lance might have turned over a new leaf. A few days after Lance fixed my dad's car, Barry discovered more missing tools from the shop. This time, it was just some crossforce wrenches—not even a complete set and definitely not as expensive as the tools that went missing before.

They were so basic that none of us even noticed they were gone at first. But when Barry found out, he was absolutely livid. What happened next was weird.

Instead of gathering everyone like he did last time, Barry went straight for Lance. We all kind of nodded to each other, thinking finally Lance was about to get what was coming to him. But when Barry called Lance into his office, Lance didn't look worried at all.

He just got up with his calm smile and followed Barry like they were going to have a friendly chat. I’ve worked with Lance long enough to know that when he looks that satisfied with himself, something bad is about to happen. After some time, Lance came out of Barry's office with this smug look on his face.

Then Barry appeared, looking like someone had just punched him in the stomach, and called my dad into his office. I wanted to go with him, but I knew this was between them. My dad told me everything that happened when he came out.

Barry started the conversation by asking my dad if he was having money problems. He brought up how Dad had been putting off fixing the alternator, trying to make it sound like my father was desperate for cash. My dad explained that he just tries to get the most life out of parts before replacing them—something Barry should have known after 15 years of friendship.

But Barry wasn't buying it. He got really quiet, looked my dad straight in the eye, and asked if there was anything he wanted to confess. The way my dad described it, it was like Barry was giving him one last chance to come clean about something.

When my dad said he had nothing to confess, Barry pulled out his phone and showed him some security footage. The video showed my dad going into the garage that night Lance offered to fix his car, grabbing some tools, and walking out with them. Then it showed me picking him up and us driving away.

The whole thing looked terrible, like we'd stolen the tools and made a getaway together. That's when everything clicked. He'd been recording the whole thing, probably planning to use it against us from the moment he offered to help.

When my dad asked where the footage came from, Barry explained that Lance had captured it all on his truck's dash cam. Lance had planned this from the start; he'd probably been watching my dad's struggle with that alternator for weeks, just waiting for the perfect moment. And because I gave my dad a ride home that night, Lance managed to.

. . "make me look complicit in the whole thing.

The dash cam footage made it look like we were working together to steal from the shop. My dad tried desperately to explain the truth to Barry—how Lance had specifically told him to get those tools, how this was all a setup—but Barry wasn't hearing it. According to the footage, Lance was inside the building when my dad took the tools, so how could he have told my dad to get them?

To make things worse, Barry pointed out that my dad's been fixing cars for over a decade; why would he suddenly need Lance's help with something as basic as an alternator? Everything that made Lance's offer seem suspicious to us at first was now being used against my dad. To top it all off, Lance had apparently gone to Barry, acting all concerned, saying he'd noticed the tools were missing but wanted to give my dad a chance to return them before reporting anything.

He played the whole thing perfectly, making himself look like the good guy while destroying my dad's reputation. In the end, Barry had no choice but to fire my dad. The only reason I still have my job is because my dad, even while watching his whole life fall apart, made sure to tell Barry that I had nothing to do with any of it.

Before I left that day, Barry pulled me aside and warned me to watch my every move from now on. He said I should treat every moment at work like I've got a target on my back: document everything I do, take pictures of tools before and after I use them, and never work alone if I can help it. The whole conversation made me feel sick.

This was the same shop where I'd practically grown up, where I used to come after school to watch my dad work, and now it felt like hostile territory. I used to think Lance was just another racist hothead who couldn't control his temper, but this whole thing showed me how wrong I was. Update to: Hey Reddit, I need to give you all another update, and things aren't getting any better.

It's been about a month since my dad got fired, and while Lance hasn't tried anything new at work—no missing tools, no obvious setups—he's definitely showing his true colors again. He's dropped the nice guy act completely, probably because he knows I'm not stupid enough to fall for it twice. Instead, he's just settled into being openly cruel.

Every morning when I come in, Lance has some new comment about my dad: 'How's your old man enjoying his free time? ' or 'Must be nice to sleep in every day! ' The other day, he even had the nerve to ask if Dad was learning Spanish again since he had so much spare time now.

He says it all with his smug little smile, like he's so proud of himself for destroying a man's career. I keep thinking about how my dad spent 15 years building his reputation at this shop, working his way up from nothing, just for Lance to tear it all down in one night because he couldn't stand the idea of Mexicans being successful. The worst part is watching Lance walk around the shop like he owns the place now, knowing there's nothing I can do about it without risking my own job.

Every time he makes another comment about my dad, I have to grip whatever tool I'm holding a little tighter just to keep myself from doing something I'll regret. Some days, I catch myself gripping my wrench a little too tightly when Lance walks by, imagining all the ways I could wipe that smug smile off his face. It's exactly like being back in middle school, listening to those kids talk trash about my parents being illegals, and while I'm stuck at work trying not to commit assault with a socket wrench, my dad's whole life is falling apart.

Turns out that the alternator Lance installed was some cheap piece of junk from a salvage yard; it died after just a few weeks. Now Dad's car is having all kinds of other problems too. He's been calling different shops for quotes, but everything's way more expensive than what he can afford right now.

Then last week, just when we thought things couldn't get worse, they did. The car repairs ate up most of his savings, and he came up short on rent. My dad, who's never missed a payment on anything in his life, had to go beg his landlord for more time.

It's killing me to watch him go through this. The man worked two jobs for years just to keep a roof over my head, and now he can't even pay his own rent. Lance didn't just take his job; he took his dignity too.

My dad tried everything to work something out with his landlord. He offered to pay extra next month, suggested doing maintenance work around the property to make up the difference—anything to buy himself some time—but they wouldn't budge, just slapped him with a 10-day notice like he hadn't been a perfect tenant for the past 8 years. Tracy offered to pick up some work so I could help my dad more.

She managed to land a serving job at this local restaurant, but by then it was already too late. Last weekend, I helped my dad pack up everything he owns into boxes and move it all into our spare room. The man who worked his fingers to the bone to give me a good life is now sleeping on his son's futon.

The job search has been a nightmare. My dad's been going door-to-door at every garage and repair shop in town, but nobody will touch him. His situation is almost impossible.

The only real job reference he has is Barry. " Everything before the shop was cash under-the-table work. When he first came to America, we thought maybe Barry would at least give him a neutral reference, considering their 15 years of friendship.

But no, he's been telling everyone who calls that my dad's a thief. Yesterday, Dad came home from another failed interview, and I overheard him in his room crying. The last time I heard my father cry was at my mom's funeral.

I even tried reaching out to Ryan, hoping he could talk some sense into his dad; after all, our families have known each other for almost 20 years. But when Ryan confronted Barry about blacklisting my dad from every auto shop in town, Barry just got even more upset. He kept saying how this hurt more because my dad was like family, like somehow that made the betrayal worse.

I wanted to scream that there was no betrayal, that Lance had set the whole thing up, but what's the point? Barry made his choice about who to believe. Every night, my dad comes home looking more defeated than the day before.

This morning, I found him at the kitchen table at 5:00 a. m. , searching through job listings for under-the-table work, the kind of jobs he used to do before he got his citizenship.

He looked so ashamed when I walked in, like I'd caught him doing something wrong. "I never wanted to work like this again," he told me. "I thought once I became a citizen, I was done having to hide in the shadows.

" He worked so hard to build a legitimate life here—to prove all those racist parents from my childhood wrong. Speaking of Lance, he's practically glowing these days. Every time he sees how much this is killing me, his smile gets a little wider.

Some days, I have to leave the garage when he's around because my hands start shaking with rage. I love working on cars; it's the only thing I've ever wanted to do. But I'm seriously thinking about finding another job.

The thought of quitting makes me sick to my stomach, but if I have to keep watching Lance strut around the shop like he wants something, I'm going to end up doing something that lands me in jail. And then, who would take care of my dad? Update number three: I finally got a lead on clearing my dad's name, but it started in the worst possible way.

I was on the phone with Tracy during my lunch break, talking about maybe looking for another job since I couldn't stand working with Lance anymore. Tracy reminded me how hard it had been for her to find work and told me to hold on to what I had. When I hung up, I turned around to find Lance standing there with this weird look on his face, the same look he had right before he set my dad up.

Sure enough, tools started disappearing again within days, but this time Lance went for bigger stuff—an entire floor jack, an expensive blowtorch—things you definitely couldn't just misplace. These weren't small wrenches anymore; we're talking hundreds of dollars' worth of equipment. When Barry noticed, he called me into his office immediately.

He still thought my dad and I had been working together to steal from the shop, and he made it clear that if anything else went missing, I'd be joining my dad in the unemployment line. I decided to turn Lance's game around on him. I started watching his every move in the shop, making note of when and where he went with tools.

I also started working slower than usual, making sure I always had a reason to stay late. Even Barry noticed how long I was taking with basic jobs. Before he left each night, he'd do a quick inventory and remind me that my job was on the line if anything disappeared on my watch.

I just nodded and told him I understood. I waited until I was sure the building was empty, then went into Barry's office. I went through his filing cabinet.

One wrong move and I'd be proving Lance right about me being a thief, but I had to know the truth about Lance's background. When I found his employee file, I quickly took photos of all his previous jobs and references with my phone. Then I called Barry and put on my best sick voice, telling him I'd been feeling awful all day, which explained why I'd been working so slowly, and asked if he could cover my weekend shift.

The whole time, I felt sick to my stomach lying to Barry after everything that had happened. But I kept reminding myself this was the only way to expose Lance's lies. I spent my day off playing detective, calling every place listed on Lance's application.

His last job was at this salvage yard across town. When I called, pretending to be job hunting, the owner, Dale, sounded desperate for help and told me to come in right away. I drove over there, but as soon as I walked in and explained the real reason for my visit, I knew I'd made the right call.

The moment I mentioned Lance's name, Dale's whole face changed. Turns out, Lance had worked there alright, right up until Dale caught him stealing parts and tools. After firing Lance, Dale did some digging and discovered that every single reference on Lance's application was fake.

When I showed Dale the photos from Lance's current application, he started laughing. The phone number Lance had listed for the salvage yard went to his mother's cell phone. The Dale who gave Lance a glowing reference when Barry called?

That was Papa Lance, pretending to be his former boss. The guy had literally gotten his parents to pose as his references. Dale pulled out Lance's old application and showed me the same fake numbers.

I basically begged Dale to call Barry and explain everything. Dale agreed right away; I think he felt partly responsible for not warning other shops about Lance after catching him. When he called, Barry verified it was really the Salvage Yard's number, but I could tell he wasn't completely convinced.

The dash cam footage of my dad still had him doubting everything, plus he wasn't too happy about me sneaking around and lying to get the day off to investigate Lance. I get it; from his perspective, I probably looked just as untrustworthy as my dad at this point. Even with Dale backing up our story, Barry said he needed hard evidence before he could even think about bringing my dad back.

The good news is that Dale offered my dad a job at the salvage yard until we could prove his innocence. At least Dad wouldn't have to keep looking for under-the-table work, but the best part was what Dale said as I was leaving: that if they'd had security cameras in the shop, they might have caught Lance's theft pattern sooner. That's when it hit me.

I called Ryan as soon as I got home and told him my plan. He's studying criminal law now, so he knows exactly what kind of evidence we need to prove Lance has been setting us up. I don't want to say too much about what we're planning; knowing Lance, he probably reads these Reddit posts looking for mentions of his name.

But let's just say we're about to give Lance a taste of his own medicine. I'll update once we've put our plan into action. Update number four, Reddit: I'm back with an update sooner than expected, and I think we finally got Lance!

After my last post, I went straight to the electronic store and bought every small security camera they had in stock. The clerk probably thought I was paranoid, but I wasn't taking any chances this time. I got to the shop before sunrise the next morning and set up the cameras everywhere—under workbenches, behind toolboxes, anywhere that would give us a clear view of the whole garage.

Then I put my acting skills to the test. When Lance arrived, I made sure he saw me storming into Barry's office looking upset. I was actually just telling Barry about the cameras, but to Lance, it probably looked like I was getting chewed out again about the missing tools.

Around lunchtime, I pulled out the big performance. I called Ryan on speakerphone, knowing Lance would be lurking nearby, trying to eavesdrop. Ryan and I had planned this part out carefully.

I did my best to sound desperate and scared, telling him how his dad was threatening to fire me if anything else went missing—begging him to talk to Barry for me. Ryan played his part perfectly, telling me there was nothing he could do to help. When I hung up, I caught Lance pretending to organize his toolbox nearby, barely hiding a smirk.

He took the bait exactly like we hoped he would. The next day was business as usual. I worked on cars, organized my tools; by closing time, nothing had happened, and I started worrying that maybe Lance had figured out what we were up to.

But the following morning, I knew we had him. Lance always took his break right after me, but this time he waited an extra hour. The moment I saw him checking his watch and looking around the garage, I knew he was about to make his move.

Sure enough, after Lance went on his break, our hydraulic impact wrench mysteriously vanished, along with a slim jim from the lockout kit. I had to fight to keep the smile off my face as I went to tell Barry. I didn't tell him exactly what Lance was planning to do with that slim jim, but Barry got the picture.

He just nodded and said he'd follow my lead when the time came. Lance came back from his extended break, putting on the performance of his life. He started making a big show of looking for the impact wrench, getting more and more upset as he searched.

Finally, he stormed into Barry's office like he just discovered the crime. When they came out together, I could see Barry was struggling not to laugh as he laid into me about the missing tools. His was almost as bad as Lance's, but Lance was too excited about his plan working to notice how fake it all seemed.

Barry started yelling about checking everyone's cars, and we all marched out to the parking lot. The moment we got to my car, I knew Lance had taken the bait. He'd used the slim jim to break in and plant the evidence, just like we thought he would.

He couldn't even wait more than a day after overhearing my phone call with Ryan before making his move. When Barry discovered a blanket in my back seat covering not just the missing impact wrench but all the other tools that had disappeared over the past few weeks, I thought Lance was going to burst from pride. Lance was so confident he'd won that he actually held out his hand for me to shake, smirking as he said, "I guess this is goodbye.

" The look on his face when Barry told us both to come back to the office was priceless, but the real satisfaction came when Barry told me to grab the cameras. That's when Lance's smug smile finally cracked. The footage was beautiful—crystal clear from multiple angles.

We had Lance on camera stealing the impact wrench and slim jim. We had him breaking into my car; we even caught him planting all the other stolen tools under the blanket. The best part was when Lance, watching himself get exposed on camera, actually muttered, "Why didn't I think to plant.

. . " Cameras!

When I set up, his dad, Barry's, head snapped up so fast I thought he might hurt himself in trying to cover his tracks. Lance had just confessed to framing my father, too. After Lance's confession and the camera footage, everything happened pretty fast.

Barry called the police right there in the office, and they took Lance away in handcuffs. As they were leading him out, Barry shouted after them that Dale from the salvage yard would be more than happy to testify about Lance's history of theft. Watching Lance get pushed into that police car was probably the most satisfying moment of my life.

Dad was back at work the next morning, and Barry even gave him a raise. I think Barry felt guilty about believing Lance's lies so easily and was worried my dad might sue for wrongful termination, which he never would, but Barry didn't need to know that. Dale was disappointed to lose my dad as an employee so quickly, but he told us both that we'd always have a spot at the salvage yard if we needed it.

It meant a lot knowing that at least one employer in town had seen through Lance's lies from the start. Dad's still living with me and Tracy for now. He could probably move back to his old place, but he doesn't want to rent from people who wouldn't give him a break when he needed one.

I don't blame him. Besides, having him around has been nice; it reminds me of when I was a kid, except now I'm the one making sure he eats enough. The other day, I caught him in the kitchen at midnight, making lunches for all three of us to take to work the next day.

Some things never change. After everything Lance put us through, seeing my dad back at work, joking with customers, and actually sleeping through the night again—that's all I really wanted.