Chapter 7 - THE CLEANUP IN TRIBECA
Over the next month, the process of untangling Lucas's mess became a strange, beautiful ritual of healing.
Since the Tribeca loft lease had been fraudulently executed in my name using my credit profile, I worked directly with the building's landlord—a decent, elderly man named Mr. Abernathy who was horrified by what had transpired. Together, we terminate the lease, allowing me to move my belongings out and leave the stage of Lucas's grand delusion behind forever.
Natalie and I spent our weekends clearing out the apartment.
We donated his expensive designer clothes, his custom shoes, and his art books to a shelter for victims of domestic and financial abuse. We packed up the luxury furniture he had bought on stolen credit cards and handed it over to the court-appointed receiver to be auctioned off for the benefit of the small vendors he had scammed.
One rainy Saturday afternoon, while going through the drawers of his mahogany desk in the study, Natalie pulled out a small black leather box.
She opened it. Inside were four USB drives, each labeled with a woman's name and a year.
Natalie — 2022 Elena — 2023 Sophia — 2024 Claire — 2026
I leaned over her shoulder, a cold feeling settled in my stomach.
We plugged the drive labeled Elena — 2023 into my laptop.
It contains hundreds of scanned PDF files: passport photos, bank statements, forged signatures, and private text conversations with an heiress based in Miami whom Lucas had dated for eight months before meeting me.
"He had a system," Natalie whispered, her fingers tracing the screen. "He didn't just target women randomly. He archived them. He studied their financial weaknesses, their family backgrounds, their emotional vulnerabilities... and when he was done with one, he used her data as collateral to secure the capital needed to lure the next one."
"Elena," I read from a court document on the drive. "He convinced her to invest three hundred thousand dollars in a nonexistent music festival in Austin before vanishing from her life."
I looked at Natalie. "We have to find them."
"Find who?"
"Elena and Sophia," I said, my resolve hardening like tempered steel. "They probably think they were just heartbroken. They probably think they made bad business investments and were left behind because they weren't enough. They don't even know they were victims of a serial financial predator."
May you like
Natalie looked at the four USB drives lying on the desk. A brilliant, fierce smile spread across her face.
"I'll pull up the public record registries in Florida and California," Natalie said, pulling her phone from her pocket. "Let's bring the whole club together."
