Updated Feb 25, 2026 • ~6 min read
POV: Gabi
Brandon wants to meet again.
Brandon: Had an amazing time last night. Dinner tomorrow?
I screenshot it.
Send it to Nix.
Nix: Perfect. One more meeting and we’ll have everything we need.
Me: What do I do?
Nix: Get him to admit the full scope. How many women. How much money. The gambling.
Me: And then?
Nix: Then we go to the police.
I agree to dinner.
NIX
I’m surveilling Brandon’s office.
Watching patterns.
He arrives at 9 AM every day.
Leaves at 6 PM.
Except on days he has “dates.”
Then he leaves early.
Changes clothes in his car.
Methodical.
Today he’s meeting Gabi—as Giselle—at 7 PM.
I’m setting up cameras near the restaurant.
Backup recording in case the devices fail.
My phone rings.
“Nix Carter.”
“Mr. Carter, this is Agent Morrison with the FBI.”
FBI?
“How can I help you?”
“We’re investigating a fraud case involving Brandon Vale. We understand you’ve been conducting surveillance?”
Shit.
“I’m a private investigator hired by his wife.”
“Gabriella Moreno.”
“Yes.”
“We’d like to coordinate. We’ve been building a case against Mr. Vale for wire fraud and identity theft. Your evidence could be useful.”
This is good.
This means federal charges.
“Happy to cooperate. What do you need?”
“Everything you have. And we’d like to bring Mrs. Moreno in for questioning. As a witness.”
“She’s not complicit. She had no knowledge of the fraud.”
“We believe you. But we need her statement on record.”
“I’ll let her know.”
“Mr. Carter? Tonight’s meeting with the suspect—we’d like to be there.”
My stomach drops.
“You know about that?”
“We’ve been monitoring Mr. Vale’s communications. Including the dating apps.”
“Can you hold off? Let us get the confession first?”
Pause.
“Fine. But after tonight, we’re moving in. No more civilian involvement.”
“Understood.”
I hang up.
Text Gabi.
Me: FBI is involved. They’re watching Brandon. Want to move in after tonight.
Gabi: WHAT?!
Me: This is good. Federal charges mean serious jail time. But we need tonight’s confession.
Gabi: I’m terrified.
Me: I’ll be right outside. You’re safe.
GABI
I’m wearing a wire.
Actual FBI wire.
Agent Morrison met me an hour before dinner.
Showed me how it works.
“Just get him talking,” she said. “About the scam. The women. The money.”
“What if he gets suspicious?”
“Play the interested investor. Women do it all the time with startups.”
Now I’m sitting across from Brandon.
Again.
He’s in a good mood.
Ordered expensive wine.
“I’m glad you wanted to meet again,” he says.
“Me too. I’ve been thinking about your investment opportunity.”
His eyes light up.
“And?”
“I’m interested. But I need more details.”
“Of course. What do you want to know?”
“How many investors do you have currently?”
“About a dozen. All women, actually. They believe in the vision.”
My skin crawls.
“All women?”
“Yeah. Women are more intuitive investors. They see potential where men see risk.”
Translation: Women are easier to manipulate.
“How much have you raised total?”
He hesitates.
Calculating.
“About two hundred thousand over the past two years.”
Liar.
It’s closer to $250,000 if you include my savings.
“That’s impressive. When will investors see returns?”
“Six months. Maybe sooner.”
“And if the business fails?”
His expression flickers.
“It won’t fail.”
“But if it does?”
“Then investors take the risk. That’s how startups work.”
“So the money isn’t guaranteed?”
“Nothing in business is guaranteed, Giselle.”
He’s getting defensive.
“I’m just doing due diligence.”
“Of course. Smart.”
“Have any investors asked for their money back?”
Direct hit.
His jaw tightens.
“A few. But they didn’t understand the timeline.”
“Did you pay them back?”
“Not yet. Cash flow issues.”
Translation: He gambled it.
“Where is the investment money now?”
“In the business account. Vale Ventures LLC.”
Lie.
There’s $143 in that account.
“Can I see bank statements? To verify the balance?”
Now he’s uncomfortable.
“That’s proprietary information.”
“But if I’m investing ten thousand dollars—”
“Giselle, I like you. But I’m not showing you my books on a second date.”
He’s getting angry.
Time to pivot.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”
He relaxes slightly.
“It’s okay. You’re being careful. I respect that.”
“It’s just… I’ve been burned before. By someone who seemed trustworthy.”
Empathy play.
“I get it. But I’m not that guy. Everything I’ve told you is true.”
Lie.
Every single word is a lie.
“Okay. I believe you.”
He smiles.
“So you’ll invest?”
“I need a few days to think about it. Ten thousand is a lot.”
Disappointment flashes across his face.
But he hides it quickly.
“Take your time. But the opportunity won’t last forever. Other investors are interested.”
Pressure tactic.
Classic scammer move.
“I understand.”
“Actually,” he leans in. “Can I be honest about something?”
Oh no.
“Sure.”
“I’m not just looking for an investor. I’m looking for a partner. Someone who gets it. Gets me.”
He’s hitting on me.
His wife.
While I’m pretending to be someone else.
“Brandon—”
“I know it’s fast. But I feel a connection with you. Don’t you feel it?”
I want to vomit.
“I do,” I lie.
He reaches across the table.
Takes both my hands.
“I’m going through a divorce. My wife—she never supported me. Never believed in my vision. But you? You’re different.”
Different.
Because I’m not actually me.
“I’m sorry you’re going through that.”
“Don’t be. It’s for the best. She was holding me back.”
Rage burns in my chest.
“How long were you married?”
“Three years. Biggest mistake of my life.”
Biggest mistake.
Our wedding.
Our vows.
Our entire relationship.
A mistake.
“Do you have kids?”
“No. Thank god. Clean break.”
Clean break.
As if I don’t exist.
As if our life together meant nothing.
“Brandon, can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“The other investors. The women. Did you meet them the same way? Through dating apps?”
He freezes.
Just for a second.
“Some of them. Why?”
“Just curious. It seems like an unconventional way to find investors.”
“It’s the future. Mixing business with pleasure. Why not?”
“And your wife—does she know about the business? The investors?”
“She knows I have a company. But she doesn’t understand it. Never asked questions. Too busy with her photography.”
I’m too busy?
I work twelve-hour days to pay our bills while he gambles away our savings.
“That must be frustrating.”
“It is. That’s why I’m excited about you. You ask questions. You’re engaged.”
He squeezes my hands.
“I think we could be great together, Giselle. Business and otherwise.”
I’ve heard enough.
More than enough.
“I should go. Early morning tomorrow.”
Disappointment crosses his face again.
“Already?”
“Yeah. But I’ll think about the investment. And… everything else.”
“I hope you do.”
He walks me to my car.
At the door, he leans in.
Tries to kiss me.
I turn my head.
His lips hit my cheek.
“Goodnight, Brandon.”
“Goodnight, Giselle.”
I get in my car.
Drive three blocks.
Pull over.
And I scream.
END OF CHAPTER 9
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