He Scammed The Wrong Paralegal

$568.20.
The server handed me the leather folio, her smile tight, practiced, and entirely professional.
I stared at the empty seat across from me.
Five minutes ago, Preston had excused himself to use the restroom.
Excuse me, I said, my voice steady. But the gentleman...
Hes gone, maam. The servers eyes shifted away, unable to hold my gaze. "Out the back exit."
I looked down at the itemized receipt. The Seafood Tower. The Dry-Aged Porterhouse. The bottle of Silver Oak Cabernet. All his choices.
My phone buzzed against the white tablecloth.
A text from Preston: [Thanks for the treat. Its good for a woman to learn how to be generous for a change.]
I let out a short, dry laugh.
"Check, please."
The server blinked, confused. "Ma'am, this is the..."
"I know," I said, lifting my head to look her in the eye. "Run the card. But I need an itemized invoice. Make sure the recipient is listed as 'Individual' and the memo line reads: 'Evidence for Fraud Investigation.'"
1
My name is Sloane, and Im twenty-eight. I work as an in-house paralegal for a mid-sized tech firm in the city.
I make decent money, have about fifteen grand in savings, and I havent been on a serious date in three years.
This setup was my mothers doing.
"Preston is thirty-five, an investment banker, owns a condo in the Loophe is a catch, Sloane!" My mother had chirped over the phone, sounding like shed just won the Powerball. "He even asked for your photo and said you had 'kind eyes.'"
I didnt take it too seriously.
Ive been on the dating apps long enough to see the carnival of horrors.
Ive had guys ask within the first five minutes if Id sign a prenup waiving all rights to my own 401k. Ive had men who wanted to know if I was okay with their mother living in the spare bedroom before wed even ordered appetizers.
So, when Preston suggested a high-end steakhouse, I actually thought it was a green flag.
At least it wasnt a dive bar or his car.
Id left work early that day, changed into a silk slip dress, and even put on the expensive perfume I save for holidays.
When I arrived, he was already seated.
Tailored navy suit, hair gelled back with military precision, a smile that showed exactly the right amount of teeth. He was the picture of corporate success.
"Sloane, right? You look even better than your pictures."
The opener was a bit slick, grease on a polished surface, but I let it slide.
"Preston?"
"Sit, sit."
He pulled out my chair with performative chivalry.
I sat. He pushed the heavy leather-bound menu toward me.
"Order whatever you want. Im easy."
I scanned the menu, my eyes automatically drifting to the mid-range entrees.
"Maybe the roasted chicken, and a wedge salad"
"Hey, come on. First time meeting, lets not be cheap." He raised a hand, snapping his fingers for the waiter. "Hi, yeah. Do you have the Jumbo Seafood Tower? Lets get one of those. And the Japanese A5 Wagyu ribeye? Make it two. Oh, and open a bottle of the '98 Cab."
I froze. "Preston, we really don't need all that."
"Its fine, its fine. We rarely get to treat ourselves." He grinned, expansive and confident. "My treat. Relax."
My stomach gave a small, warning lurch.
But the order was in. I didn't want to make a scene.
As we ate, he was charming. Aggressively charming.
He asked about my job, my family, my five-year plan.
"Your parents retired? Whats their social security look like?"
The question was sharp, invasive.
"Enough to get by."
"Thats good. You help them out?" He nodded sagely. "I send my mom a few grand a month. A man provides, right?"
I didn't answer.
He pressed on. "What kind of savings are you sitting on?"
"...I don't think that's appropriate to discuss."
"No worries, no worries, just curious." He waved a hand dismissively. "Ive got about half a million liquid, not counting the equity in the condo."
I thought, Well, if hes sharing, maybe Im being too guarded.
"About fifteen thousand."
"Nice. Good start for a dowry."
My expression hardened.
He caught it instantly. "Kidding! I'm kidding. A woman as independent as you? Who needs a dowry?"
I stayed silent.
The food arrived.
The lobster was fresh, the Wagyu melted on the tongue, the wine was velvet.
But as I ate, the knot in my stomach tightened.
He was mining me for data. Income, savings, family assets, real estate ambitions.
Whenever I asked about him, he deflected with a joke or a vague platitude.
Halfway through the meal, he stood up.
"Pardon me. Just need to hit the men's room."
I nodded.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
The unease bloomed into cold dread.
I texted him. No reply.
I called. Straight to voicemail.
I flagged down the server. "Excuse me, the gentleman..."
The servers eyes did that tell-tale dart to the side.
"Hes gone. Out the back."
I felt the blood rush to my head, a hot wave of humiliation.
"Check, please." The server handed it over.
$568.20.
I didnt scream. I didnt cry.
I asked for the itemized invoice.
"Memo line: Evidence for Fraud Investigation."
The server paused, stunned.
I opened my phone. Screenshot the texts. Screenshot the call log. Photographed the devastation of the half-eaten seafood tower.
Then I sent a text to my mother: [The matchmaker. Whats her name? Whats her number?]
2
My mother was still in the dark.
[Whats wrong? Did you two not click?]
[Name. Number.]
She sent a screenshot of a digital business card.
Patty Gold. Elite Relationship Consultant.
I saved it. No explanation given.
The next morning, I took a half-day off work.
First stop: The bank. I printed the transaction recordId put the meal on my Chase Sapphire, so the timestamp was precise.
Second stop: The restaurant.
"Hi. I need to review the transaction details from last night."
The hostess looked nervous. She pulled up the system.
"These itemsthe Wagyu, the winethe gentleman ordered these?"
"Yes, ma'am. He stated he was hosting and asked for our specials."
I recorded the conversation on my phone.
"Does he come here often?"
The hostess hesitated. "...Im not really supposed to say."
I nodded.
Often.
"Do you have security cameras?"
"We do, but to access footage youd need"
"I work in legal." I flashed my ID badge. It wasn't a badge, strictly speaking, just a corporate lanyard, but I moved with enough authority that it didn't matter. "I am currently compiling evidence. If you cooperate, I will note that the restaurant was an unwitting party. If you don't..."
I let the silence hang heavy. "Then I have to wonder if the establishment is an accessory to fraud."
The hostess went pale.
"Let me get the manager."
Ten minutes later, I had the file on a USB drive. Preston walking in, ordering like a king, eating, checking his watch, and slipping out the back fire exit.
Clear as day.
I uploaded it to the cloud and moved to step three.
Patty Gold.
Her "consultancy" was located in a converted garden apartment in a faded brick building in Queens. A plastic sign on the door read Gold Standard Matchmaking.
I knocked.
"Coming, coming!"
The door swung open to reveal a woman in her late fifties with hair dyed a violent shade of auburn and lipstick that bled into the cracks around her mouth.
"Oh, hello! You must be Sloane! Your mother wouldn't stop raving about you. Pretty as a picture!"
"Patty." I didn't smile. "Preston. You set us up."
"Yes! A total catch, isn't he? How did it go? Sparks flying?"
"He ran out on the check last night."
Patty froze for a beat, then forced a high-pitched laugh.
"Oh, honey, young people these days. First dates can be awkward"
"He stuck me with a six-hundred-dollar tab."
Her smile calcified.
But only for a second.
"Surely its a misunderstanding! Ive known Preston for years. Hes not that kind of man. Let me just give him a call"
"Don't bother," I cut her off. "Im here for his file."
"Excuse me?"
"Full legal name. Current address. Employer. Youre a legitimate business, you have records, right?"
Pattys eyes started darting around the room.
"Well... we have strict privacy policies. I can't just hand out client data."
"Fine." I stood up. "Im going to the precinct. Ill let the police subpoena the records."
"Wait, wait, wait!" She grabbed my arm. "Lets not be dramatic. Its a few hundred bucks, right? Ill cover it!"
I stared at her hand on my sleeve until she let go.
"You'll cover it?"
"Yes, absolutely. Ive known him a long time, he probably just... forgot his wallet..."
"What is your relationship with him?"
"No relationship! Just... a loyal client."
"Loyal client?" I let out a cold laugh. "How many dates has he been on?"
Pattys face drained of color.
Her mouth opened and closed.
I pulled out my phone and hit record.
"Patty, listen carefully. I deal with contracts and liability for a living. If you lie to me, I will make it my personal mission to dismantle this little operation. Talk."
She looked at the phone, sweat beading on her upper lip.
"I... I didn't know he was going to stiff you..."
"What did you know?"
Silence stretched for ten seconds.
Then she crumbled.
"He... he asks for introductions. Three or four a month."
"And?"
"And he takes them to dinner. Expensive places."
"And leaves them with the bill?"
She looked at the floor.
I smiled, but there was no humor in it.
"How much?"
"What?"
"Whats your kickback?"
"I don't"
"I have the security footage," I bluffed, turning the screen toward her. "I can find out how many times you two have met."
Patty slumped against the doorframe.
"Two hundred... two hundred a head."
I nodded and stepped back.
"Thank you for your cooperation."
"W-what are you going to do?"
I didn't look back. "Get my money back. And put you both somewhere with bars on the windows."
3
Back in my apartment, I organized the evidence on my dining table.
Restaurant receipts. Video files. The recording of Patty. The text messages.
The chain was clear: Preston uses the matchmaker to source victims, uses the date as a pretext to gorge on luxury food, flees, and then mocks the women to discourage pursuit.
Patty takes a kickback. Willful ignorance at best, conspiracy at worst.
It was fraud.
But I wasn't going to the police yet.
Six hundred dollars? Thats barely a misdemeanor in this city. The cops would file a report and use it as a coaster.
I needed volume.
That night, I logged onto a local community forum and Reddit.
[Has anyone in the city used "Gold Standard Matchmaking"? Or been set up with a finance guy named Preston who loves expensive wine?]
I posted it and went to bed.
When I woke up, my notifications were blowing up.
[Me! Last month! Stuck me with a $400 tab!]
[Omg, yes. Said he had to use the bathroom and never came back.]
[I thought I was the only one. I felt so stupid.]
[Wait, is he about 5'10, slicked back hair, asks about your savings account?]
[YES. The savings question!]
I scrolled through the comments, a chill running down my spine.
Not three or four.
Just in the comments, I counted seventeen women.
The earliest was eight months ago.
The highest tab was nearly eight hundred dollars.
I created a private Signal group and sent out invites.
"Ladies, Im the OP. I work in law. I have an idea, but I need everyone on board."
[Whats the plan?]
"Police report."
[Is it worth it? My friends told me to just let it go. The cops won't care about a dinner bill.]
"They won't care about one bill. But seventeen?"
The chat went silent.
Then, a message popped up:
[Count me in.]
[Me too.]
[Let's get him.]
I typed quickly.
"Okay. Organize your evidence. Bank statements, screenshots, texts. Anything you have. Ill draft the master affidavit."
[Sloane, you are a godsend.]
"Im not a godsend," I typed. "Im just pissed off."
That evening, my mother called.
"Sloane, honey, how is it going with Preston? Did you exchange numbers?"
"We did."
"And? Are you seeing him again?"
"No."
"Why not? Hes so established"
"Mom." I cut her off. "Hes a con artist."
Dead silence on the line.
"What do you mean?"
I told her everything. The bill. The escape. The other women.
My mother was quiet for a long time.
Then she said something that surprised me.
"Im going to kill Patty Gold."
"Mom"
"I paid her three hundred dollars for that introduction!" My mothers voice trembled with rage. "She guaranteed a background check! Guaranteed! She scammed my daughter's money and my money?"
Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
Patty wasn't just taking kickbacks from Preston.
She was charging the mothers a finder's fee.
Double dipping.
"Mom, don't go over there."
"Why not?"
"Because I have a better idea."
4
By day three, the Signal group had grown to twenty-three women.
Some took off work. Some brought friends who were lawyers.
We met in the back room of a quiet coffee shop.
"Im Sloane." I stood at the head of the table. "Heres where we stand."
I opened my laptop. Yes, I had made a PowerPoint.
"Subject: Preston Reed. Real age 37, claims 35. Claims to be a banker, actually unemployed. Over the last eight months, he has utilized 'Gold Standard Matchmaking' to exploit at least 23 women."
"Modus Operandi is identical: High-end dining, excessive ordering, mid-meal exit via rear egress."
"Individual losses range from $300 to $800. The current total verified loss is..."
I paused for effect.
"0-02,450."
Gasps rippled through the room.
"Twelve thousand dollars?"
"He ate twelve grand worth of steak?"
I nodded. "It gets worse. Patty Gold takes a $200 kickback from him per date, plus she charges your families an intro fee. Based on our numbers, she has defrauded our families of at least another $7,000."
"Combined, Preston and Patty are looking at a fraud scheme totaling over twenty thousand dollars."
Someone slammed a hand on the table. "Police! Now!"
"We will," I said. "But first, I want to do one thing."
"What?"
"Make him ready for his close-up."
I laid out the plan.
Patty was still in business. She didn't know we were organized.
My friend Harper is two years younger than me, gorgeous, andmore importantlyan investigative reporter for a local news station.
"We send Harper in. Wired."
"Will he recognize her?" someone asked.
"No. He preys on women he thinks won't fight back. He doesn't watch the news. And greedy men get sloppy."
"What about Patty?"
"As long as the check clears," I said coldly, "Patty won't ask questions."
That afternoon, I called Patty from a burner number.
"Hi, Patty. My friend is looking for a match. I heard you're the best."
She hesitated. "You sound familiar."
"I get that a lot. I have a generic voice."
"Right. Well, send her over. The fee is"
"Three hundred. I know. She'll be there tomorrow."
I hung up and texted Harper.
[Tomorrow, 3 PM. Gold Standard Matchmaking.]
[Copy. Hidden cam is ready.]
[Remember: You are Harper, 28, Marketing Exec, $20k in savings.]
[Why mention the savings?]
[Hell ask.]
[Seriously? On a first date?]
[Just wait.]
The next day.
Harper went in.
That night, she sent me the footage.
Pattys spiel was identical. I fast-forwarded through it.
The gold was the dinner.
The video was grainy, shot from a button-cam, but the audio was crystal clear. Preston sat there, suit immaculate, grinning like a shark.
"Harper, right? The photo didn't do you justice."
Word for word.
Then the interrogation: Job, income, family assets.
Harper played it perfectly. Shy, compliant.
"Twenty thousand in savings? Smart girl. Thats a nice little nest egg."
He said it while scanning the wine list.
He ordered. The Tower. The Wagyu. The expensive vintage.
Identical.
Halfway through the meal, he stood up.
"Pardon me. Just need to use the little boys' room."
Harper looked up at him, eyes wide.
He smiled, turned, and walked toward the restrooms.
But the camera angle caught him veering left. Down the service corridor. Pushing open the emergency exit.
And poof.
Gone.
Harpers voice came over the video, a soft chuckle.
"Gotcha."
I typed back: [Beautiful work. Let's make him famous.]

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "315498" to read the entire book.