The room went dead silent. I looked from my mother’s furious face to Nancy, expecting her to look confused or defend herself. Instead, Nancy’s face had drained of all color. Her hand, which had been resting on my arm, suddenly felt cold and clammy.
“Mom, what are you talking about?” I stammered. “This is Nancy. She’s a graphic designer. We met on the subway—”
“She didn’t drop that wallet by accident!” my mom shouted, pointing a shaking finger at her. “She’s a con artist! She pulled a ‘distress’ scam on me in a parking lot in Chicago. She claimed her car broke down, got into my house to use the phone, and by the time she left, my jewelry box and emergency cash were gone. I filed a police report, but they never found her.”
I turned to my fiancée, begging with my eyes for her to deny it. “Nancy? Tell her she’s wrong. Tell her it’s a mistake.”
Nancy looked at me, and for the first time, the sweet, clumsy demeanor I had fallen in love with vanished. Her posture straightened, and her expression hardened into something cold and unrecognizable.
“It was five thousand dollars in jewelry, Linda,” Nancy said, her voice dropping an octave, completely different from the soft tone I knew. “And you made it too easy.”
My jaw dropped. The person standing next to me wasn’t the woman I was about to marry; she was a stranger.
“You targeted him?” my mom whispered, stepping between us protectively.
“He was an easy mark,” Nancy shrugged, pulling the engagement ring off her finger and tossing it onto the coffee table. “Sweet, lonely, and clearly from a family with money. The wallet drop works every time.”
She grabbed her purse and backed toward the door. “Don’t bother calling the cops. I’ll be gone before they get here.”
She slipped out the door as quickly as she had entered my life. We never saw her again, but we later found out she had three warrants in three different states. I didn’t lose my money that day, but I lost my trust—and I learned that sometimes, a chance encounter is actually a carefully laid trap.
