Beads of sweat formed and cascaded down my sculpted neck as I watched the man ahead of me callously strike the child standing before him. A lump rose in my throat as I watched him ball his hands into boulder-like fists and prepare for his first blow to the child’s jaw; this was not the kind of thing I liked to watch. Despite my need to run up to the man and plead with him to stop I followed my father’s instructions and took the pictures. The money shot was the man wiping the blood off of his fists and onto his jacket as a waterfall of blood continued to erupt from the young boy’s nose. It was the strange, I never thought I would see child abuse being so openly generated and in the middle of the day. This boy’s grandparent’s had reason to be concerned and now I would have to be the bearer of bad news. It was another typical day in the field of private investigation.