It Happened To Me: My Mom Met A Man At A Mixer For Widows. He Stole Her House, Her Savings And Our Inheritance

We didn't yet know that she had a neurological disease—but the man who wormed into her life did. And before she died, he abused and isolated her. How to prevent this from happening to your mom or you.

Hello, Weekend People!

Before this cautionary tale of a piece below, let me take a momentary diversion to tell you about my fun double date last night. Michael Stipe and I joined my daughter Charlotte and her still and always wonderful boyfriend Jack, who were celebrating their one year anniversary(!). We saw a new movie with the great (and you’ll see why) title Little, Big, And Far by one of our all time favorites (for decades, seriously) Jem Cohen. It's playing in New York right now so if you live anywhere near, or if you are the type to travel in for it, then lucky for you that that’s your lifestyle and I highly suggest you see it this week. It's not the kind of movie I can sum up for you, nor would Jem want me to, I'm sure. (I tried to give Jem one insightful comment after the screening about the mix of documentary and fiction in it and instead came off like the ninny I am about certain topics - oh well.) The fact that this film is truly uncategorizable and un-sum-up-able is one of the best things about it. So shut up, Jane.

Let’s make our weekends uncategorizable and whatever we want them to be also. And tell me about a movie you want me to see and I will (not Poop Cruise - I’ve already watched that).

I love you all! Enjoy(?) today’s featured story!

Jane

By Lisa Haukom

My mom was at a cocktail party for widows, hosted by her financial advisor, when she met a con man with a ponytail and a plan.

Picture deviled eggs, polite laughter, and women rebuilding after burying their husbands. That’s where he showed up. Rail-thin. Hair tied back like a low-budget cult leader with a fresh spin on charm. Tinted sunglasses, sun-leathered skin, and the kind of confidence that only comes from getting away with things.

He didn’t belong at that cocktail party with the widows. Some of the women must’ve felt it. But that’s the thing about professional manipulators: They know how to blend in just long enough to be memorable. And once they’re in the door, they start rearranging the furniture, literally and metaphorically.

The grifter with my mom taken the first year they were dating., Texas 2006.

He flirted. He listened. He asked my mom about her life, her losses, her hopes. And by the end of the night? He had her number — and not just the one in her phone.

A month later, he drove from San Antonio to LA to sit in my living room and ask my husband and me for permission to date my mother. (Yes. Permission. Like it was 1850, and she came with a dowry.)

He told us how deeply he cared for her, how he planned to protect her and make her life easier. He said he was a railroad engineer and ex-military. But, when pressed for details, the stories got foggy fast. Every hair on my arm stood up like it was bracing for impact. This is what con men do. They love-bomb the target. Then they love-bomb the family. They present themselves as saviors, as soulmates, as spiritual replacements for whoever came before. They manufacture trust fast, and once they have your emotional buy-in, the isolation begins. Subtly at first. Then all at once.

“Well?” my mom said on the phone after he left. “Isn’t he amazing?”

My mom and me in DC, 2017, on one of our girls trips with my sister..

“Uh… sure,” we replied. Feeling like we’d missed a step, or maybe skipped a whole chapter. I think about that night often. What he didn’t say, what he never says, is always where the danger starts and once we pulled the thread, it all unraveled: the restraining order from his ex-wife. The estranged teenage sons who wanted nothing to do with him. (Last seen at my Mother’s funeral yelling, “We are going to be so rich!”) About the neighbor who would file her own restraining order later.

He didn’t mention the ongoing lawsuit against the railroad for a personal injury that likely didn’t happen. And, of course, the part he kept quiet the longest: his real objective, finding his next mark.

Later, we followed our gut and ran a background check. That’s when it all came spilling out:

• A restraining order from his ex-wife

• Estranged sons

• A bogus lawsuit

• A pattern

We told my mom everything. But she was already in too deep.

Not long after, the background check confirmed what our bodies already knew—this man was dangerous. He convinced my mom to buy him a commercial property in downtown Castroville so he could “rebuild his business.”

He told her he wanted to fix clocks, saying he wanted to “give back to the town” and fulfill his dreams of restoring heirloom clocks. (It’s the kind of pitch that sounds noble if you ignore the fact that the only thing he’d ever successfully repaired was his own backstory.)

We now know he collected clocks under the guise of “fixing” them and quietly flipped them for cash on eBay. Clients left desperate comments on the business’s Facebook page. “You’ve had my clock for two years. Are you giving it back?” The shop was almost always closed. The window display never changed. And my mom paid for all of it.

But that was just the warm-up.