I asked, drinking wine. He paused, then replied, “Most of the major payments—venue, caterer, band, decorators—are made. But… I’ve exhausted finances.
Even used my savings.”
I frowned. All of it? Including joint account?”
“Yes,” he moaned.
A glitch occurred at work. A late payment. Temporary, yet… Let me access your account too.
For seamless operation.”
His power of attorney form required my signature. I acted immediately. Loved him.
Trusted him. Without walking down the aisle, we wore our wedding rings at home. “The bank confirmed everything,” I informed him after filing the papers.
Now you’re authorized.”
Smiled and kissed my forehead. Rachel, this will be excellent. You’ll see.”
The last night I saw him.
The following morning, my bed was vacant. No note. No text.
Quite odd, falling silent. His clothing vanished. Lost joint savings.
Personal accounts erased. 2 withdrawals. $38,000 and $23,000.
Panicked, I contacted the bank. They verified the transactions were permissible under his power of attorney. I dialed Jacob—voicemail.
I texted, emailed, phoned again. Nothing. Visiting the cops.
Sergeant Daniels, a friendly officer, listened intently. Almost crying, I continued, “I trusted him.” He was my fiance. He accepted my testimony and promised to investigate.
I could see from his eyes that he wasn’t optimistic. His authority was lawful. This will be difficult without fraud or identity theft, he said.
That day, I left the station heartbroken and $61,000 in debt. Presently
Jacob, now Andrew Wallace, was set to marry a lady wealthy than us. He smiled, mingled, and hugged people with nauseating ease.
I was enraged by what he had done to me and what he was going to do to Victoria while I watched him. I had to stop him. He was chatting with Victoria’s uncle near the bar as I approached.
He looked at me again. A flicker occurred this time. Recognition.
Panic. I approached him and smacked him across the face, quieting the room. “You’re a liar and a thief,” I shouted.
He pretended. Excuse me? Do I know you?
“Don’t pretend,” I said. “You’re Jacob Rivers. You took from me and left.
You’re about to repeat it.”
The man backed up, hands up. This woman’s crazy. I’ve never seen her.”
Confused guests mumbled.
Victoria was pale and shocked. I murmured, “Victoria,” softly. I arrange your wedding.
I was Jacob’s fiancée first. He stole my money and vanished once I granted him access. He’s not Andrew Wallace.
Con artist.”
A guy emerged from the throng before she could react. He frowned in a blue suit. He said, “I’m Detective Mark Halston,” waving a badge.
I’m Victoria’s brother. I know Andrew. Get out.”
Heart fell.
I swear to Mark—I have evidence. Banking data. Police said.
His name is Jacob Rivers.”
He responded, “You’re disrupting my sister’s wedding,” sternly. “Please leave before I call security.”
I left defeated but not done. That night
I contemplated my next move while drinking a bitter espresso at a small café near the event.
Victoria stated something during a planning session that I recalled. “My great-aunt Sylvia lives abroad. I haven’t seen her since childhood.
I wish Mom could attend the wedding, she remarked longingly. Idea ignited. I requested help from Carla, a brilliant makeup artist and friend.
I told her, “I need you to make me look 90.” “Tonight.”
I was in full disguise three hours later: gray hair, artificial skin wrinkles, liver-spotted makeup hands. I adjusted the brooch on my shawl and proceeded to the venue with a 1950s-style pocketbook. “My name is Sylvia Halston,” I pleasantly informed the security man.
“I think I’m expected.”
He checked the list. You’re not—
“Could you be kind and get Victoria?” I blink slowly. It’s been awhile.
She won’t believe I traveled that far.”
Victoria appeared, shocked and distraught. “Aunt Sylvia?”
“Yes, darling. I hugged her slowly, frailly, saying, “You’ve grown so beautiful.”
Inside, I requested to address the attendees.
I spoke to the audience in my best geriatric voice using the mike. It’s great to be here today. I want to give my lovely Victoria something special before I leave.”
Presented a beautiful fake diamond.
“The family has owned this gem for generations. Worth over $800,000. I’ll put it back in the vault tomorrow, but tonight it’s here.”
I put the packet in my handbag and sat down.
Two hours later, lights flickered and faded. Exactly as anticipated. I silently waited at the service entrance.
After a while, Jacob (or “Andrew”) entered the corridor and grabbed the handbag off the table. I hit him in the back of the head with a glass pitcher as he ran. The diamond fell from his grasp as he fainted.
Victoria and brother Mark arrived seconds later. Shaking his head, Mark continued, “You were right.” “We were blind.”
On the scene, he apprehended Jacob. Police cuffed him within minutes.
A Week Later
Victoria asked us to coffee. She seemed exhausted yet serene. “You saved me from marrying a con artist,” she remarked.
No words can express my gratitude.”
I grinned. “Just promise me you’ll keep passwords private.”
She chuckled gently and said, “I want you as my personal assistant. If interested.”
I hesitated and nodded.
I’d be honoured.”
Best retribution is often turning the page on your own terms, not justice.
