I had been dating a guy for a year. He and his daughter lived with his dad in a fancy house. He had a full-time job.
He would always tell me about his day, his work, his annoying coworkers, the traffic on the way back. One day, I received a disturbing call from my parents saying they were worried about me. They told me they had driven past the industrial park where he claimed he worked—and apparently, there was no company by that name there.
At first, I laughed it off. I thought maybe they were just being nosy or confused. I mean, he worked in logistics or something similar—warehouses, shipping routes, stuff like that.
Maybe the company had a different name on the building. But the next day, something didn’t sit right. He’d told me he was working overtime—again—but when I texted him at 6:30 p.m., he didn’t respond until after 9.
Said he was “just wrapping things up.” I asked for a selfie of him at work, jokingly, and he sent a blurry photo of some boxes and a clipboard. I zoomed in. The boxes had labels in Spanish, but the warehouse looked eerily like a storage unit.
So the next day, while he was “at work,” I drove down to the industrial park myself. I parked across from where he said his company was. I sat there for almost two hours.
Nothing. No deliveries. No one coming or going.
I even asked a guy who came out of the next building over, and he said that suite had been vacant for months. I was shaking as I drove away. I didn’t go home.
I went straight to my best friend’s house and told her everything. She said, “You know what this sounds like? It sounds like he’s not working at all.
Maybe he’s unemployed. Maybe worse.”
That night, I asked him point-blank. I didn’t even try to ease into it.
I said, “I went by your job today. Why did you lie to me?”
There was this weird silence on the phone. Like he was trying to decide which lie to go with.
Then he said, “Why would you spy on me?”
And that told me everything I needed to know. I hung up. He showed up the next morning at my apartment with coffee and flowers like it was nothing.
I told him I wasn’t in the mood, but he pushed his way in. He said it wasn’t what I thought, that he had a job, just “not a traditional one.”
Apparently, he’d been buying liquidation pallets and flipping stuff online. Like, reselling returned items from Amazon and Walmart.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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