Three days after my husband Tom’s funeral, I watched his younger brother Rick drive away in the truck Tom had rebuilt with his own hands. Rick leaned out the window and told me to relax because Tom had supposedly promised him the vehicle. When I asked where he got the key, Rick proudly admitted he had copied it years earlier during a family barbecue.

He believed he was taking advantage of a grieving 61-year-old widow who had no way to fight back.
What he didn’t know was that I had spent 24 years working at the county motor vehicle office handling titles, ownership transfers, and stolen vehicle reports. While everyone saw me as the quiet wife at family dinners, Tom knew exactly how capable I was.