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

I hadn’t seen her since the day I was arrested. This wasn’t her fault; none of this was her fault.

“No,” I said.

“Leave that account alone. Emma didn’t choose her parents. She didn’t ask for any of this. That money stays in trust for her education, but with one condition: I’m named as the trustee and it can only be used for legitimate educational expenses. Not one penny goes to Rebecca or Derek.”

Sharon raised an eyebrow.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. She’s going to need therapy and support after watching both her parents go to prison. The least I can do is make sure she can get an education.”

The trial was set for March 2025. I insisted on being there for every day of it.

Derek tried to make a deal first. He offered to testify against Rebecca in exchange for a reduced sentence.

The crown considered it, but Sharon pushed back hard.

“They planned this together, executed it together, and profited together. Derek was the technical architect, Rebecca was the inside operator. Neither one deserves a pass.”

The trial lasted five weeks. The evidence was overwhelming.

The jury took less than four hours to convict both of them on all counts. Derek got eight years.

Rebecca got seven, with credit for time served during her bail violation. But I wanted more than just prison time; I wanted the company back.

The civil suit was complex. Holloway Marine Supply was technically still operating, now run by an interim CEO that the board had appointed.

Rebecca’s shares had been seized as proceeds of crime. The company itself was valued at $24 million now, having grown despite the scandal.

Sharon argued that Rebecca’s ownership stake had been obtained through fraud since she’d used her CFO position to embezzle funds that she then used to increase her ownership. She argued every share Rebecca had purchased over the past five years should be returned to me.

Derek’s parents tried to intervene, claiming they had rights as Emma’s guardians to protect her interests. But the judge was having none of it.

“The child’s interests are protected by the educational trust Mr. Holloway generously allowed to stand. The shares in question belong to Mr. Holloway. Case closed.”

I got my company back, all of it—100% ownership. But the real closure came from an unexpected conversation.

Emma’s therapist reached out through Sharon because Emma wanted to see me. Derek’s parents had been telling her that I was the bad guy, that I’d lied to hurt her parents.

But she’d been having nightmares, and in therapy, she’d finally admitted she remembered the day I was arrested.

“I heard Mommy and Daddy practicing what to say the night before,” Emma told her therapist.

“Daddy kept saying, ‘Stick to the script.’ And Mommy was crying. I didn’t understand what it meant, but I knew something was wrong.”

Sharon arranged a supervised visit at a neutral location. I hadn’t seen Emma in over two years.

She was taller now, her hair longer, and she had Catherine’s eyes. She ran to me and hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe.

“I’m sorry, Grandpa,” she sobbed.

“I’m sorry they hurt you. I’m sorry I believed them.”

“Oh sweetheart, you have nothing to be sorry for,” I said, holding her close.

“None of this is your fault, not one single bit.”

“Do you hate Mommy and Daddy?”

I took a deep breath. How do you explain to an eight-year-old that you can hate what someone did while still understanding they’re her parents?

“I’m very angry at what they did. They hurt me badly and they made choices that hurt you too. But you’re allowed to love them anyway. They’re your parents. This is complicated and it’s okay for you to have complicated feelings.”

“Can I still see you even though they’re in jail?”

“Emma, I want to see you as much as possible if that’s okay with you.”

She nodded, tears still streaming down her face.

“I missed you, Grandpa. I missed you so much.”

We started having weekly visits. Derek’s parents fought it at first, but the family court judge sided with me once Emma expressed her wishes clearly.

I rebuilt my relationship with my granddaughter one Saturday afternoon at a time. We’d go to Science World, or walk around Stanley Park, or just sit in my living room and talk.

I told her stories about her grandmother, about building the business, and about all the things I wanted her to know about her family before the betrayal had poisoned everything. As for Holloway Marine Supply, I made some changes.

I hired a new CFO, a meticulous woman named Janet Crawford who’d worked for Price Waterhouse Coopers for 20 years. I implemented new oversight procedures—checks and balances that would make it impossible for one person to move money without multiple approvals.

I set up a foundation in Catherine’s name to provide scholarships for students pursuing maritime careers. And I changed my will.

Everything goes to Emma now, held in trust until she’s 30 with professional trustees to manage it. Not her parents, not Derek’s parents, but independent professionals who will act in her best interests.

Rebecca writes to me sometimes from prison. The letters are always the same.

She says she’s sorry, she was scared about money, and Derek pressured her. She says she made a terrible mistake and she wants forgiveness.

I don’t write back. Maybe someday I will, but not now.

The wound is still too fresh. She didn’t just steal money from me; she stole two years of my life, my freedom, and my reputation.

She was willing to let me die in prison rather than admit what she’d done. That’s not a mistake; that’s a choice.

Derek writes too, but his letters are different. He blames everyone but himself.

He says the system failed him, he was greedy, Rebecca was manipulative, and the judge was biased. Those letters I throw away without reading past the first paragraph.

I’m 65 now, two years older than I should be if you account for the time stolen from me. But I’m free.

I’m vindicated, and I have my granddaughter back in my life. I have my company stronger than ever, and I have my reputation restored.

Every morning I wake up in my own bed, make my coffee, and walk down to the marina near my house. I watch the boats heading out into English Bay and I think about how close I came to losing everything.

I think about how easy it would have been to give up in that cell, to accept the guilty verdict and just serve my time. But I didn’t.

I fought, I learned, and I planned. When the moment came, I was ready.

The day I walked out of that courtroom was indeed the day Rebecca and Derek lost everything. They lost their freedom, their money, their reputations, and their daughter’s trust.

Everything they’d been willing to destroy me to get was gone. Was it worth it?

That’s what Emma asked me once during one of our Saturday visits.

“Grandpa, was it worth it? All the time in prison, all the fighting, just to get revenge?”

“It wasn’t about revenge, sweetheart,” I told her.

“It was about the truth. It was about making sure that people who do terrible things face consequences. It was about showing you that even when the world is unfair, even when people you love betray you, you don’t have to accept injustice. You fight for what’s right, no matter how long it takes.”

She thought about that for a moment, then nodded.

“Grandma would have been proud of you.”

“I think she would have been proud of both of us,” I said.

“We survived something that should have broken us, and we’re still here.”

And we are still here, still fighting, still building something better from the wreckage of what was destroyed. That’s the truth they never tell you about betrayal.

It doesn’t end when the guilty are punished or when you win in court. It ends when you decide that what was taken from you won’t define who you become.

I’m Richard Holloway. I spent 22 months in prison for a crime I didn’t commit and I came out stronger than the people who put me there ever imagined possible.

And I’m still standing.