When I pull up to Mick's storage unit, he's already there, leaning against his truck with a coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He's been using it to store his furniture, shipped here from South Carolina base housing a week ago. I'm glad he's here, because I can use the moral support through this, and even more so, that he brought the printed files he pulled from the state database.
"It's all inside," he says, flicking the cigarette and grinding it under his boot. "You ready for this?"
I grunt, but there's no time like the present. Olivia's lawyer bought us some time by filing that continuance, but we still have to amass enough evidence against Derek to bring him down permanently. It isn't good enough to save Olivia. We have to take him out so he can't do this to other women ever again.
He rolls the door up, and I follow him inside where his entire life is stowed away while he looks for a rental while living in a hotel. Mick pulls three folders from a box on the top of a stack alongthe wall and sets them on a kitchen table, spreading them out side by side.
"What's this?" I grumble, glowering at the files. It's easy to slip back into my grumpy demeanor when I’m not around Olivia, and even easier still when the topic of discussion is Derek Bennett.
"Derek has a pattern," Mick says, tapping the first folder. "This isn't just about Olivia and it isn't just about Frasure's ex-wife. I found at least four cases where he represented fathers in custody disputes and used the same playbook every time—anonymous complaints, medication records, pressure campaigns against the mothers until the courts ruled in his clients’ favor."
It's worse than I thought. I assumed it was a one-off with Frasure that Derek had gotten lucky with. If he's been doing this with others, there's a massive problem.
I lean over the table and open the first folder. The bar reprimands are on top—Derek was flagged twice by the state review board for what they called "aggressive and ethically questionable tactics" in custody proceedings. Both reprimands came years apart, which means he got warned, ignored it, and kept going. And it might also mean that he's been getting away with it for a long time.
"Look at the language," Mick says, pulling a page from the second folder and setting it next to the first. "This is from the Frasure case, the one where your buddy's ex-wife filed a complaint against Derek. He argued that she should be declared mentally unfit to parent. The phrase he used was 'emotionally unstable and unable to provide a safe environment.'"
Mick's deadpan doesn't quite match my anger, but he understands where I'm coming from. Trying to pin this monster down has been too difficult. With this information, I might even be able to get him disbarred.
I stare at the words on the page, growing angrier by the second. They're identical, word for word, to the language in the motion Derek filed against Olivia.
"He didn't even change the script," I mumble, shaking my head. This guy is an idiot. How did he ever pass law school? And how do the judges involved not see this pattern?
"He didn't have to. It worked." Mick opens the third folder and lays out two more cases, both involving women Derek targeted on behalf of his clients. One was a teacher in Dayton whose ex-husband hired Derek to get full custody. Derek filed anonymous complaints with her school district claiming she was medically unfit to be around children. The other was a nurse in Springfield whose medication history was pulled and submitted to the court without her knowledge. Both women lost custody.
"Fuck's sake," I breathe, cramming a hand through my hair. He's been doing this to women for years, and he thinks he's going to get away with it.
I read through case after case, watching the same pattern repeat itself with different names and different cities but the exact same tactics. Derek built a career on destroying women in custody fights, and he perfected his method long before he ever turned it on Olivia. The sad part is, he hurt her so badly first before she left him and now he's trying to take her kid.
The fourth folder holds correspondence from the Frasure case—emails between Derek and Frasure where Derek coached him onwhat to say, when to file, how to time the CPS calls for maximum impact. One email lays out a step-by-step plan for discrediting the ex-wife's mental health, including specific phrases to use and specific agencies to contact. It's despicable that one of my brothers in arms would do something like this, but I guess when a man is desperate enough, he'll do anything.
"Frasure know you have these?" I ask Mick.
"Reilly reached out to him. He won't get involved—he got his kids and that's all he cares about. But he didn't ask for the files to be hidden, either." Mick leans against the table and crosses his arms. "We don't need Frasure to testify. The documents speak for themselves. All of this is verifiable. Mr. Kessler can show the judge that Derek has a documented history of running exactly this operation."
I stack the folders and tuck them under my arm as I straighten and suck in a breath to force the tension out of my chest. "This is everything we need."
"It's more than enough," Mick says. "Just make sure the lawyer gets it all before the hearing."
I shake his hand and walk out to my truck. Mick pulls the door down behind me and locks it, and I get in and set the folders on the passenger seat and sit there for a second. That bastard has been running this scheme against helpless women and I worked for him. I took his money and helped him do it again. The fact that I didn't know doesn't make it weigh any less.
I pull out of the lot and drive through the south end of town, past the hardware store and into our small neighborhood. The entire time, I'm stewing on this. We finally have a way to take himdown for good and I can't wait for that trial. He doesn't stand a chance now.
When I get home, I park in Olivia's driveway, not mine, and I walk right up to her front door to knock. When she answers, her hair is mussed and her eyes look tired. But she invites me in.
"More paperwork?" she asks, stepping aside.
"Different paperwork." I walk past her into the kitchen and set the folders on the table. "You’re not going to believe this shit, Liv. That man was doing this to women even when you were married to him. He's a snake."
She sits down across from me and pulls the first folder toward her, opening it carefully. I sit down and watch her read, letting her take it at her own pace. She moves through the custody paperwork quickly, flipping past the standard filings, and slows down when she hits the bar reprimands. Her eyes flick up at me and display shock and anger—far from her smiley sunshine attitude.
"He was reprimanded for this before? And they let him keep practicing?"
"Twice. Both times, the board gave him a warning and he kept going." I can't believe it either. It's not right. He had to have paid someone off.
She shakes her head and turns to the custody case files. She reads slower now, her eyes tracking each paragraph, and I watch the color drain from her face as she reaches the section about the Frasure case. She stops on the page where Derek argued for a mental fitness evaluation and reads the phrase I already know is there.
"Emotionally unstable and unable to provide a safe environment?" she asks quietly, reading it off the page. "That's what he's saying about me. Word for word."
