Chapter 3

The next day, I called in sick.

I went to an electronics store and bought a set of micro-audio recorders—the kind that can be hidden inside power outlets.

I also bought a spy camera disguised as a phone charger block.

When I got home, Ashley was out.

I installed the recording devices in the outlets in the living room, bathroom, and kitchen.

I placed the camera charger on the shoe rack in the entryway, pointing directly at the front door.

Once everything was set, I purposely left five hundred dollars in cash on the coffee table.

I also left my iPad on the sofa with the screen on, logged into my Snapchat account.

Then, I left.

I told Ashley I was heading to the office for overtime, but I actually sat in the Starbucks downstairs.

I opened my phone and connected to the live feed.

At 3:00 PM, Ashley came home.

She walked into the living room and spotted the cash on the coffee table immediately.

She swiped it, counted it, and stuffed it into her pocket.

Then she noticed the iPad on the couch with the screen still glowing.

She sat down and began scrolling through my Snapchat.

She read my chat logs, one by one.

She stopped at a thread with "Dr. Owen."

He was a doctor at the local hospital, someone I only communicated with for professional reasons.

Ashley started typing, pretending to be me.

"Hey Owen, you haven't texted me lately. Lost interest?"

He replied almost instantly: "Not at all! Just been slammed at the hospital. What's up?"

Ashley sent a sad bitmoji: "I thought you were ignoring me."

Then she followed up with: "By the way, does that dinner invitation still stand?"

My hands shook as I watched the screen.

That wasn't me.

Ashley was using my identity to flirt with a completely oblivious man.

Dr. Owen replied: "Of course. This weekend? I'll book that sushi place you wanted to try."

Ashley sent a blushing emoji: "Perfect. Let me know."

She exited Dr. Owen's chat and started hunting for other men.

After scrolling through a dozen contacts, she found her next target.

The contact was "Brandon - Client."

I knew Brandon. He was a client from a project we wrapped up last year. He was in his mid-forties and married.

Ashley messaged him: "Hey Brandon, long time no see. What are you up to?"

He replied within seconds: "Chloe? Wow, didn't expect to hear from you."

Ashley sent a selfie.

But it wasn't my face.

It was her own face, heavily edited with beauty filters to look completely different, but set against the backdrop of my living room from my Instagram.

She typed: "Missed you. Hey, I’m a little short on rent this month. Think you could loan me some cash?"

The man hesitated: "How much?"

"Five thousand. I'll pay you back next week."

"Sure. Send me your Venmo."

Ashley sent her own Venmo link.

Five minutes later, the transaction cleared.

Ashley grinned, immediately transferring the five grand to her bank account.

Then she kept scrolling.

This time, she clicked on a contact named "Richard."

I had absolutely no idea who this guy was.

Ashley messaged him directly: "Hey Richard, free tonight? My roommate is out of town. It’s just me."

He replied: "Really? I'll bring some wine."

"Awesome. The door will be unlocked, just come right in."

Ashley sent him our address.

Then, she shut the iPad, placed it back on the couch, hummed a song, and walked back into her room.

Sitting in the coffee shop, my nails dug into my palms.

This wasn't her first time.

She was using my identity to flirt with these men, take their money, and invite them over.

And she was bringing them into my home.