The man I once loved, now posing as Catherine’s groom, was living a new life under a false name. How was this possible? In that instant, memories of the day John left rushed back…
Six months ago…
One evening, John and I were discussing our upcoming wedding plans in our cozy room, dimly lit by the bedside lamp.
“So, how are things going with the wedding planning?” I asked, knowing he was overseeing the arrangements. Looking troubled, he replied, “All the big payments are covered—the venue, caterers, the band, and decorations. But I’ve exhausted all the funds.”
“Even the money we saved up?” I questioned, surprised.
“Yes,” John sighed. “And some from my personal accounts. The project payment I was expecting this month is delayed.”
“It’s fine, things happen,” I reassured him.
“Could you sign a power of attorney in my name to help manage the payments more easily?” he requested. I trusted him without question. “I got the confirmation from the bank today.
You can access my accounts now. They said the paperwork was processed.”
“Thank you, Amanda. This wedding will be perfect, everything we’ve dreamed of,” he promised.
That night, as we lay in bed, I felt safe in our love. In my heart, he was already my husband. Little did I know, it would be our last night together.
The next morning, the bed beside me was cold and empty. His absence was the first sign of betrayal. I called out, “John?” but the silence confirmed my worst fears.
The apartment felt lifeless as I searched for him in every room—nothing. I noticed a trail of muddy shoe prints leading to our closet. Heart pounding, I opened it to find only a few of my dresses left.
Dread enveloped me as I checked my phone and saw alerts from the bank—withdrawals of $38,000 and $23,000 within the past hour. Panic surged as I dialed his number, only to reach voicemail. “He wouldn’t…” I whispered, realizing he had taken everything.
Dazed and desperate, I dressed and headed to the police station, each step heavy with betrayal. To the officer at the front, I stammered, “I need to report a theft.”
Officer Harris listened as I explained, “My fiancé, John Freeman, has disappeared with all our savings. I signed a power of attorney for him to handle wedding expenses.”
He took notes and explained that, due to the power of attorney, John’s actions might not be legally defined as theft.
“We’ll try to find him, but getting the money back could be tough if he’s using a false identity,” he said. I left the station in tears, defeated and alone with the burden of his deception. Present time…
There he was—John, now Arnold—mingling confidently, embodying the persona of a wealthy groom.
Anger and fear surged within me as I prepared to act. Determined, I approached him, and as he turned, the smile faded from his face. I slapped him hard, drawing the attention of the guests.
“You are a fraud and a thief!” I shouted. He replied calmly, “I don’t know what you mean. You’re mistaken.”
I turned to Catherine and said, “This man isn’t who he claims!
He’s John, my ex who abandoned me and stole my money right before our wedding.”
Desperate, he insisted, “She’s delusional. I’m Arnold.”
Ignoring him, I added, “I bet you have multiple passports too, right? Convenient for a scammer like you.”
Before I could call the police, a man stepped forward, flashing a badge.
“Ma’am, I’m Peter Greenwood, chief of police and Catherine’s brother. Please leave. Arnold is known to us.”
Defeated, I walked out but was resolved to expose him.
At a nearby café, I devised a plan. Remembering Catherine’s story about her grandmother’s sister, Linda, I hatched an idea. Pretending to be Linda, I would return to the wedding.
Calling Carla, a skilled makeup artist, I requested a transformation. Soon, I was disguised as an elderly woman. At the venue entrance, I said, “I’m Linda, Catherine’s family.”
Catherine approached, surprised.
“Grandma? I haven’t seen you in ages!”
“Linda always finds a way,” I replied. I made my way inside and requested the microphone.
“Good evening, everyone. I’m honored to be here celebrating Catherine’s union,” I said, eyeing Arnold. I declared, “I brought a special gift—a family heirloom valued at $800,000.” I placed a fake diamond on the table, watching Arnold’s reaction.
Hours later, as expected, he made his move. During a blackout, he grabbed the diamond and rushed out. Hidden by the exit, I struck him, and he collapsed.
Peter, witnessing this, called his team to arrest Arnold. Catherine, shaken, approached me days later and offered me a job as her assistant. “I’d be honored,” I said, ready for a fresh start.
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