Dedication
This book is dedicated to the real heroes in my life—and yours.
To my parents, whose examples and strength during the hardest of times shaped who I became, even when I didn’t recognize it then. As a parent myself, I now understand the weight of what you carried and the quiet sacrifices you made. Knowing that others in this community have benefited from your work over the years makes me a proud living example, and explains why it has been so difficult to ever leave it all behind.
To my friends, former coworkers, truth-seekers, and those who stood beside me when it would have been easier to walk away—thank you. Being hyper-independent, asking for help has never come easily, but I have learned that there are moments in life when support is not optional.
And to those who rise every day and prepare for their 8-plus hour shifts as protectors, rescuers, and saviors to a largely un-thankful public: you have my endless respect. Knowing the damage such careers can inflict is a mixed blessing, but know this—there is hope.
This book is for you.
Author’s Note
They say you can’t fight city hall. For most of my life, I believed that to be true.
I spent years doing everything I could to avoid serious controversy or internal reproach, focused instead on doing my job, protecting others, and living quietly within the values I was raised with. But in March of 2011, that changed. Despite my best efforts to stay clear of conflict, I was pulled into the center of an event that did not end then—and continues to this day.
What follows is not written for revenge, sympathy, or applause. These pages exist to set the stage for a battle I did not seek, but could not ignore. Over time, it became imperative to write the life stories that shaped my existence—not only to define the character of a man I am proud to be, but to bring the players into the open and expose the game as it has unfolded thus far.
It has been a dirty, often disturbing example of human nature, revealing just how easily some will fold and compromise their values when pressure, fear, or self-interest enters the room.
Throughout this journey, I have been reminded—sometimes daily—that even the strongest among us are affected by what we witness and endure. It is said that the average person will experience two to four serious traumatic events in a lifetime. For many in law enforcement, that number is not counted in single digits. Even during my most arrogant days, when I believed myself to be unbreakable, I could admit when fear crept in, and when the work left its mark.
Healing from the job itself was manageable. Healing from what followed after retirement—after I first came to be labeled a whistleblower, or more accurately, a person of conscience—has proven far more difficult.
This is not a story about winning. It is about standing.
I have always believed that while we may not always get justice, the truth will set us all free.
I’m good with that.
One Little Slip, a whistle blowers story 