My Boyfriend Bought His Mistress Gifts With My Money

I met the first roommate at a coffee shop three blocks from campus.

Her name was Maya Chen. Junior. Pre-med. She had agreed to meet me after I sent a carefully worded email through the university directory. I didn't mention Neriah by name. I just said I was looking into certain scholarship irregularities and needed student perspectives.

She arrived ten minutes early. I liked that.

I bought her a latte. We sat by the window. She stirred her drink and didn't look at me.

"I lived with Neriah Clark for eight months," she said finally. "Freshman year, second semester through sophomore fall."

"What was that like?"

Maya laughed. It wasn't a happy sound. "She was two different people. When RAs came by, when faculty stopped in, she was perfect. Polite. Grateful. Always talking about how lucky she was to be here. How hard her mom worked. How much the scholarship meant."

"And when they left?"

"She borrowed my textbooks and never returned them. She told people I was sleeping with my lab partner to get better grades. She cried to our RA that I was making her feel unsafe because I asked her to stop using my shampoo." Maya finally looked up. "She made me feel crazy. Like I was the problem for noticing."

I took notes on my phone. Neat. Organized. "Did you report any of this?"

"Once. The RA said Neriah was under a lot of stress. Financial stress. That I should be more understanding." She set her cup down. "So I moved out."

"Thank you," I said. "This is helpful."

"Is she in trouble?"

I smoothed my blazer. "That depends on her."

Maya nodded slowly. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a small notebook. "I kept a log. Dates. Incidents. I thought I was being paranoid. But I wrote it all down anyway."

She slid it across the table.

I met three more roommates that week. Same coffee shop. Same quiet corner. They all had similar stories. Borrowed money never repaid. Rumors spread just carefully enough to avoid direct confrontation. Guilt trips deployed like weapons whenever anyone pushed back.

One girl, a sophomore named Iris, cried when she told me about the necklace Neriah took. "It was my grandmother's. Neriah said she just wanted to wear it for a date. She never gave it back. When I asked, she said I was being materialistic. That I didn't understand what it was like to have nothing."

I wrote it all down.

By Friday, I had twelve pages of notes and four signed statements.

I thanked each of them. I told them their accounts might be needed soon. I didn't say when. I didn't say why.

They didn't ask.

---

Saturday morning, I drove to campus.

The coffee shop was called The Grind. Small place. Brick walls. Local art on the walls. Popular with students because the wifi was fast and the owner didn't care how long you stayed.

I had identified it from the background of one of Emerson's Instagram posts. He had tagged the location. March 14th. 3:47 p.m. The caption said "study break."

March 14th was the day I had Venmoed him three hundred dollars for a statistics textbook. Required reading, he had said. The bookstore was price gouging.

I walked into The Grind and asked for the manager.

Her name was Stephanie. Mid-forties. Tired eyes. She listened to my request and frowned.

"Security footage from March? That's months ago."

"I know. I'm willing to compensate you for your time."

I handed her my card. CEO. Montgomery Consulting Group.

She looked at it. Then at me. "What's this about?"

"A civil matter. I need timestamps. Nothing more."

She disappeared into the back office. Twenty minutes later, she returned with a USB drive.

"March fourteenth. Three fifteen to four thirty. That's the window you wanted, right?"

"Yes. Thank you."

I handed her two hundred dollars cash. She didn't argue.

I watched the footage that night on my laptop. Emerson and Neriah at a corner table. Laughing. His hand on her knee. Her head on his shoulder. Timestamp: 3:52 p.m.

Five minutes after my Venmo cleared.

I added it to the file.

---

Emerson's cloud account was still open. He had never changed the password. I didn't feel guilty about that.

I scrolled through his text messages. Months of them. Neriah's contact name was saved as "N — books." Subtle.

March 14th, 4:03 p.m.

Emerson: Got the money. Meet me at the usual spot?

Neriah: Already here. Hurry up.

April 2nd, 11:47 p.m.

Neriah: She's working late again.

Emerson: Good. Come over.

April 19th, 6:32 p.m.

Emerson: She asked if I wanted to meet her dad this weekend.

Neriah: LOL. Are you gonna do it?

Emerson: I don't know. It feels weird.

Neriah: Just smile and pretend. You're good at that.

I screenshotted everything. I organized it by date. I added it to the USB drive.

The file was almost complete.

---

Monday afternoon, I met Scottie Larson for the first time.

She arrived exactly on time. Tailored suit. Leather portfolio. Handshake firm enough to mean business. We sat in my office. She declined coffee.

"I'll be direct," she said. "I'm looking for a consulting partner on a commercial development project. But I'm also in the middle of a divorce. It's ugly. I need to know that won't be a problem."

"It won't be," I said.

She studied me for a moment. Then she nodded. "Good. Because my husband is a serial cheater and I can't prove it. Yet."

I leaned back in my chair. "What's stopping you?"

"He's careful. No paper trail. No suspicious charges. He uses cash. Burner phones. I've hired two investigators. They found nothing."

"Do you still want to find something?"

She smiled thinly. "I want to take him apart in court. Professionally. Financially. Completely."

I liked her immediately.

"Then let's talk about partnership terms," I said.

We spent the next hour going over projections and timelines. She was sharp. She asked the right questions. She didn't waste time on small talk.

At the end, she signed the preliminary engagement letter.

"One more thing," she said as she stood to leave. "The keynote next week. Are you going?"

"I am."

"So am I. Maybe we'll run into each other."

"Maybe."

She shook my hand again and left.

I sat at my desk and looked at the USB drive sitting beside my laptop.

Eight days until the keynote.

I was ready.