The Scammer - 36

There are five stages of grief with a few of my own additions: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, boomerang,

and then finally . . . revenge. Most people would think I was just stuck in the anger stage. Anger is just the weeds that

grow out of that lump of dirt that used to be a heart when it’s grieving. But revenge . . . revenge is the sweet frosting

on a yellow cake.

I arrived at the revenge stage four months after they found Kevin’s body in his dorm room closet. I came home from another stint at therapy, utterly numb and decided to open up Kevin’s computer, still tucked away in the corner of our garage with the rest of his belongings. There was no way I could accept that he killed himself without reason. Despite what everyone told me . . . that maybe he hid his depression, that people change when they go to college . . . I knew him better than I knew myself. Something had to have happened. Something drove him toward his death. And if I didn’t search for a reason, I would be in a perpetual loop of grief. I didn’t want to boomerang. I wanted someone to pay for what they’d done.

I dug through his computer, every file, every folder, until I found one titled “Emancipation.” In it were various notes from

Devonte’s rhetoric, the lion quote with a question mark beside it, credit card statements, and then pictures . . . of Vanessa.

He was in love with her. Or the version of her he thought he knew. A girl we never heard of or from, even after he died.

I found text message threads and email conversations with people from other schools that suffered at the hands of Vanessa

and Devonte. I could almost imagine Kevin putting two and two together, slowly learning the truth. The heartbreak he must

have felt, the shattering, after finding the community he was so desperate for, all for it to be a con and he found himself

lost once again. Devonte brainwashed my brother, Vanessa sucked him dry of the will to live.

I couldn’t show my parents what I had found. They were already disappointed that Kevin had stolen so much money from them.

They would be even more knowing he had fallen into the trap of scam artists. Stupid would be the first word they’d use. And even if I did show them and we went to the cops, it wouldn’t be enough to act on.

I called two of the people Kevin had reached out to, delivering the news about his death. Neither seemed surprised, and neither wanted to come forward to share their story. Either too scared or too ashamed that they had been fooled. One admitted he traded sexual favors for an “outstanding bill” he owed Devonte, the other estimated she gave upward of fifty thousand, all borrowed from her parents.

Devonte would fall under two-strikes-you’re-out parameters. But Vanessa seemed untouchable, her hands never truly dirty. She

may have done a few pathetic years of probation. That wasn’t good enough. Not for her taking my brother, my best friend. For

any real justice to be had, I had to find a new victim that would be willing to testify.

That’s when the plan started to build in my head.

Wherever Vanessa would go, Devonte would follow. All I had to do was track her down. Kevin’s friends mentioned her talking

nonstop about hoping to go to Frazier. When I found the mug in Kevin’s belongings, I knew that’s where she’d end up.

Once I learned Devonte was doing two years for credit card fraud (a mere stroke of luck with his slip-up), I suspected Vanessa

would lie low and had an alert set for his release, the timing working serendipitously with my upcoming graduation.

The last part was the most difficult. Contacting the head of Student Housing, Ms. Rogers, to make sure I was room-matched

with Vanessa. Buying her cooperation and silence cost ten thousand dollars. But it was worth it.

Everything else fell into place naturally after that—Vanessa practically gave me full access to her computer, with all the

evidence I needed neatly planted.

Principle number nine: Make the other person feel important—and do so sincerely.

I left my door open from time to time, allowing them opportunities to use my credit cards and open new ones. It also gave them access to plant their subtle threats and bogus evidence in my closet.

After the police searched our suite looking for Kammy, I noticed the misplaced tile in the bathroom ceiling. I found a burner

phone, Kammy’s wallet, a bag of cash, and roofie pills. The same drug Devonte slipped in my drink that night at the party,

probably so he’d have another hold over me. Like he did to Kammy. Like he did to Loren. I switched the pills with aspirin.

Slipping the real pills into my own mug that day was easier than I thought. Amazing how they both underestimated me.

“That’s how you are taken advantage of. Appearing like easy prey instead of a worthy adversary.”

The cash they siphoned, almost seventy-five thousand dollars, was comically stuffed under her mattress. I took the money and

planted whatever additional evidence, including the full list of people she swindled, on her computer to rack up the charges.

As she was being detained, she screamed how I stole from her, that this was all a set-up. But there was no way to prove it.

I don’t know if I would have had the guts to go through with this plan if I knew they were capable of murder.

My parents, stunned by this “coincidence,” stepped into lawyer mode, threatening to sue the school for not ensuring our safety

and letting a predator roam around campus freely. People were fired, articles were written, life moved on.

What I didn’t expect was how good Devonte ended up being. I almost swallowed up the bullshit he was feeding us that it’s believable anyone else would too.

If I had known how quickly the spell he cast would work on us, of course I would have prioritized the girls’ safety. But Devonte

called me out right, I’m not a good friend. Because what kind of friend am I not to warn them of the hell he would unleash

on our lives? They seemed so strong, so street smart, never falling for boys’ bullshit. I thought they would snap to their

senses. I misjudged the power of his magic, and they ended up being casualties in a war they didn’t know they were a part

of. The guilt sickened me to the point that food only tasted like garbage juice.

He’s good. A little too good.

Jack: Hey.

Me: Hey.

Jack: So I heard you found her.

Me: Yeah. I did.

Jack: But you’re still going to stay?

Jack didn’t know exactly what I was up to, not the real plan. He knew I wanted to find my brother’s girlfriend, he just couldn’t understand why, and to his credit, despite the bitterness, he didn’t tell anyone. And he never will. Revenge is a universal language.

Yes, I found Vanessa, but I found so much more here at Frazier, and I’m not ready to let it go.

Me: Yeah. I am.