I've been watching Manny Cortez for the past six months. He put in a claim to the Randall Insurance Company for one million dollars. He insisted while on his exercise bike in his basement, an electric shock traveled up his right leg while he was pedaling. This sudden jolt caused him to fall off the bike and hit his head on the cement floor. His wife discovered him in a puddle of blood. She called for an ambulance. Manny went to the hospital and stayed for five days. Complications incurred a loss of memory, being unable to walk, and tremors in his hands when trying to hold various objects. These conditions surfaced after his brother Jose came to visit him.

I later discovered Jose was a lawyer.

As an investigator for the Randall Company, I had to attend a workshop on employee relations at the Arms Hotel. While walking through the parking lot, I saw a decal on a car window that represented welders. I also saw one just like it on the backdoor of Manny's house.

When I stepped into the lobby of the hotel, I went to the front desk.

"Could you please tell me where the workshop for the Randal Company is?"

The young woman looked at her computer screen. "Banquet hall C." She smiled and pointed towards the hall.

As I started walking to the banquet halls, I noticed a man going into the empty elevator. He resembled Manny, but this man wasn't in a wheelchair. The man in the elevator stood tall, and he held a drink in his hand that was not shaking.

I saw the elevator go to the third floor and return to the lobby. I could not help but wonder if my mind was playing tricks on me. Maybe I've been on the case too long. Even my wife disagreed with me that Manny was a charlatan. She became his occupational therapist during his rehabilitation period and thought he was kind and charming. I still thought he was out to make a fast million bucks.

After I got my camera from the trunk of my car, I took the elevator to the third floor. Attending the workshop will have to wait for another day.

I stepped off the elevator and got in position to observe all eight rooms on the third floor. There were plenty of doors opening and closing except for 306. It never opened once. As the hours passed, I got nervous. It was getting late, and I needed to get some flowers for my wife in celebration of our tenth wedding anniversary. Things were not great in our household. In fact, we may be a shade away from seeing Dr. Phil. I would give her the flowers, then take her out to a fancy restaurant.

Finally, the doorknob to room 306 turned. I put my eye to the lens of my Sony RX, ready to snap the picture, and ready to save the company a lot of bacon.

As the door opened, I took a picture of Manny and his lady friend walking out of the room, holding hands, smiling at each other as their lips touched. By that time, my heart dropped. My stomach roiled. They went into separate elevators. I joined the woman and said sarcastically, "Happy Anniversary."