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My mother laughed and shook her head when I told her.
“I told you these men ain’t shit, La’Belle. When are you gonna learn?” This was around the time she’d divorced Howard and was back on the prowl herself. “If you’re gonna go through the hassle of catching feelings, make sure his bank account has at least seven figures in it. Minimum.”
I really became Regina’s daughter after that fiasco.
I started hunting. I went where I knew niggas with deep pockets would be, and I always made sure I left with something.
Reddit boards were my university. That’s where I learned how to get into accounts, back before e-SIMs and two-factor authentication were standard. I’d learned every detail of a man’s life first—the important dates, mother’s maiden names, pets’ names, because those were the most common password combinations. Most rich niggas are too arrogant to think a woman like me would ever steal from them.
Marriage was out of the question entirely. God forbid I ended up like my mother or worse, Andrew’s wife, sitting up in my big house with my snotty kids while my man’s dick was overly friendly with everybody else.
No man was ever gonna play in my face again. That included Cardez Montague.
I don’t care how nice our date was. There were rules and apparently, he thought I was playing when I said I don’t call niggas. That wasn’t hyperbole—if a man wanted to see me, he needed to reach out. Period.
Three weeks went by with nothing from him, which was fine, because I knew he’d reach out eventually. They always did. And this little stalemate worked in my favor anyway. It gave me time to figure out how I was gonna do this, because Cardez wasn’t a Wade situation. This would take a little more finesse than recording his voice and scheming my way into his phone. If he had shady dealings, then I was almost positive he wasn’t keeping anything important there. He seemed way too careful for that.
Which is why I’d gone to Jody’s place in Long Island. She was a forensic accountant and hacker, and I’d been using her for years when I couldn’t access their bank accounts through their phones or their PIN wasn’t easy like their birthday. She got in, moved the money, and got a little cut in exchange.
“Lala, you know I’m usually down with whatever, but I got a bad feeling about this one,” she said.
“You told me the nigga has like ten shell companies. There’s no way he’s watching all of them that closely.”
“Don’t you think there’s a reason Aunt Regina told you to stay away from drug dealers,” she whispered.
I waved her off. “Girl, why you acting like he’s the boogie man? I don’t even know if anything will come of it. I haven’t heard from him in three weeks.”
“Did you call him?”
“You know my rules.”
She sucked her teeth. “Yeah, and talking to men like him was one of them. Until now.”
“Whatever. I got a date with Ian tonight anyway.”
“Yes, stick to the rivers and lakes you’re used to,” she said. “Leave that other one alone.”
“You’re no fun.” I stuck my tongue out at her.
“No, I’m just not tryna die over money when there’s plenty of other stupid rich men to steal from.”
Ian was the financier I’d met at Luxe about a month ago. Turns out, he wasn’t lying about going through a divorce. Despite us not linking up, he texted consistently and would send me a few hundred dollars for lunch here and there without me asking. I’d been putting him off every time he asked me to dinner, but tonight I finally said yes.
He picked an upscale Asian fusion restaurant on the Upper West Side.
I wore a black shorts romper. I had a fresh install and wore my hair half up, half down, and a cute pair of Sam Edelman sandals.
Ian was already seated when I arrived.
“You look amazing,” he said as he stood and came around to kiss my cheek.
“Thank you,” I smiled.
“I’m glad we could finally connect.”
“Same.”
He ordered a bottle of wine for the table and made some suggestions for dinner. We made light conversation before the conversation inevitably circled to his “thieving” ex-wife.
