My Daughter Sent Me To Prison For 22 Months Because Of Her Husband’s Scheme. The Day I’m Released…

Tom leaned closer.

“Listen to me carefully. You need a better lawyer and you need someone who can do real forensic work. But since you can’t afford that, you need to become your own investigator. I can teach you what to look for.”

For the next 18 months, Tom taught me everything he knew. He taught me how to trace money through shell corporations and how to identify digital forgeries.

He showed me how to spot patterns in fraudulent documentation. We spent hours in the prison library using my limited computer access to research corporate fraud cases.

We worked to understand the techniques prosecutors used and the mistakes criminals made. Tom showed me how to file Freedom of Information requests to get copies of all the evidence used in my trial.

We went through every bank statement, every invoice, and every email with a fine-tooth comb. And we found the cracks.

The offshore account had been opened using my passport information. But Tom noticed the account opening date: February 14th, 2020.

I had been in Toronto that entire week for a maritime trade show. I had flight records, hotel receipts, and even photos from the conference that I’d sent to Catherine before she got sick.

There was no way I could have opened an account in the Cayman Islands on that date. The ghost company invoices all had subtle formatting inconsistencies.

The fonts were slightly different from our legitimate supplier invoices. When we looked up the company registration numbers, they belonged to real companies but in different provinces.

Someone had copied legitimate business numbers and attached them to fake names. The emails were the smoking gun.

Tom taught me about metadata, which is the hidden information in every digital file. We filed a request for the full digital forensics report.

When it finally arrived, Tom nearly jumped out of his chair.

“Look at this,” he said, pointing to a line of code I couldn’t understand.

“The email metadata shows they were created from your computer.”

“Yes, but look at the timestamp and the IP address. These emails were supposedly sent during business hours, but the IP address shows they came from a residential location in West Vancouver.”

“Where do Rebecca and Derek live?”

“West Vancouver,” I whispered.

“Now look at the dates: February through November 2020. Cross-reference those with your calendar. Where were you?”

I pulled up my old calendar records. During that entire period, I’d been working from home because of COVID-19 lockdowns.

The office had been closed except for essential warehouse staff. Rebecca had been the only person going into the office regularly because she needed to process payroll and vendor payments.

She’d had access to my office computer. Derek, with his administrative access to our email system, could have logged in remotely as me and created those emails from their home.

But proving it was another matter. I was still in prison, still had no money, and still had a criminal record.

That’s when I got a call from someone I’d never expected to hear from again: Michael Brennan. Mike had been my business partner in the very early days of Holloway Marine, back when we were just two guys with a warehouse and a dream.

He’d sold me his share of the business 25 years ago when he moved to Alberta, and we’d lost touch.

“Richard, I just found out what happened to you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

“I’m so sorry. I should have been paying attention.”

“It’s not your fault, Mike.”

“Maybe not, but I’m going to help you fix it. I’ve made good money in oil and gas up here and I’ve got some contacts. I’ve already reached out to a lawyer in Vancouver, Sharon Park. She specializes in wrongful convictions and she’s willing to take your case pro bono if you’ve got any evidence at all.”

Sharon Park was a force of nature. She was 48, a former crown prosecutor who’d switched sides after watching too many innocent people get railroaded by an overworked system.

She visited me at William Head three weeks after Mike’s call. I showed her everything Tom and I had compiled.

I showed her the timeline discrepancies, the metadata analysis, and the impossible account opening. She listened and took notes.

When I finished, she smiled.

“Richard, this is good. This is really good. It’s not enough for an appeal yet, but it’s enough to start a proper investigation. I’m going to need you to trust me and be patient. We’re going to do this right.”

Sharon hired a private investigator named David Song and a digital forensics expert named Dr. Patricia Mangi. These were real professionals, not overworked public servants.

They started pulling threads. David discovered that Derek’s consulting business had been on the verge of bankruptcy in early 2020.

He’d invested heavily in a cryptocurrency scheme that collapsed, losing nearly $300,000 of personal savings. Then suddenly, in March 2020, right after the embezzlement supposedly started, Derek paid off all his debts.

He even put a down payment on a $2.3 million house in West Vancouver. Dr. Mangi’s analysis was even more damning.

She proved definitively that the emails had been created using administrator access with timestamp manipulation to make them appear as if they’d been sent months earlier than they actually were. The IP log showed that someone at Rebecca and Derek’s home address had accessed my office computer remotely on 47 different occasions, always when I wasn’t there.

But the real breakthrough came from an unexpected source. Sharon had subpoenaed the Cayman Islands Bank to trace where the $850,000 had actually gone.

It took months and multiple court orders, but finally, the records came through. The money had been transferred to three different accounts.

One belonged to a numbered company in Delaware that David traced back to Derek. The second went to an investment account in Rebecca’s maiden name.

The third, and this made my blood run cold, had been transferred to a college fund for Emma. They’d stolen from me and put it in their daughter’s name.

They knew that even if they got caught, recovering money from a minor’s educational fund would be nearly impossible. I served 22 months before Sharon filed for an appeal based on new evidence.

The Crown fought it, of course; they didn’t want to admit they’d gotten it wrong. But Dr. Mangi’s forensic report was unassailable.

David’s financial investigation showed a clear trail from my company to Derek and Rebecca’s personal enrichment.

The Truth Shall Set Me Free

The appeal hearing was set for October 2024. I was transported back to the courthouse in Vancouver wearing the same suit I’d been arrested in.

It was now two sizes too big because prison food had melted the weight off me. Sharon presented our case methodically.

She showed the timeline proving I couldn’t have opened the offshore account and the digital forensics showing email manipulation. She presented the financial records showing Derek and Rebecca’s sudden wealth and the IP logs proving remote access from their home.

The crown prosecutor, a different person than the one who’d convicted me, looked genuinely disturbed as the evidence piled up. During a recess, Sharon told me he’d approached her about a deal.

“Absolutely not,” I said.

“I want exoneration, not a settlement.”

The three-judge panel took two weeks to deliberate. When they returned, the lead judge didn’t mince words.

“Mr. Holloway, it is the finding of this court that your conviction was a miscarriage of justice. The evidence presented demonstrates not only reasonable doubt but a clear pattern of fraud perpetrated against you. Your conviction is hereby overturned and you are released immediately with our sincere apologies for the failure of the justice system.”

I walked out of that courthouse a free man for the first time in nearly two years. Sharon was already moving to the next phase.

“We’re filing criminal charges against Rebecca and Derek,” she said.

“Fraud, forgery, perjury, conspiracy—and we’re suing for civil damages. Every penny they took plus compensation for your wrongful imprisonment.”

The criminal investigation moved faster than I expected once the RCMP got involved with the full forensic evidence. They executed search warrants on Rebecca and Derek’s home and devices.

They found everything: emails between Rebecca and Derek planning the scheme, Derek’s research on how to create offshore accounts, and Rebecca’s notes on which invoices to forge and how to make them look legitimate. They’d started planning this six months before Catherine died.

They’d seen it as their inheritance, something they deserved for Rebecca putting in years at the company. When I didn’t volunteer to sign over the business or make them equal partners, they decided to take it.

Derek was arrested at his office. Rebecca was arrested at Holloway Marine Supply, my company that she’d been running in my absence.

Their bail hearing was beautiful to watch. Sharon made sure I was there.

The crown argued they were both flight risks with proven ability to hide assets. Bail was set at $750,000 each.

Rebecca looked at me across the courtroom, and for just a moment, I saw fear replace the cold calculation that had been there during my trial. Derek’s parents mortgaged their house to make his bail.

Rebecca sat in pre-trial detention for six weeks before she finally accepted a bail reduction and her sister co-signed. But here’s where the story takes a turn that still breaks my heart.

Emma, my granddaughter, had been living with Derek’s parents during all of this. Sharon informed me that we needed to address the college fund.

It had grown to nearly $400,000 with investment returns.

“That money was stolen from you, Richard. Legally, it needs to be returned as part of restitution.”

I thought about Emma. She was eight now.