My Predator Cousin Made Out With Every Boyfriend at Family Weddings.

The Secret Leverage

Then, three months ago, I found out something interesting. I was at a coffee shop near my apartment, working on my laptop, when I overheard two women talking at the next table. One of them mentioned Amber’s name.

It’s not a common name in my city, but I figured it was probably someone else. Then the woman said: “Yeah, Amber Westbrook, probation. Can you believe it? She always seemed so put together.”

I froze. Amber Westbrook, my cousin, on probation? I know I shouldn’t have, but I leaned closer and listened.

The woman was a court clerk talking to her friend about her day. She mentioned something about fraud charges, community service, and regular check-ins with a probation officer. My perfect cousin Amber was on probation.

I went home and did what any normal person would do: I internet stalked the hell out of her. It took some digging, but I found it. Six months ago, Amber had been charged with credit card fraud.

She’d been using fake credit cards to buy designer clothes and expensive jewelry—all the things that made her look like she had her life together. She’d pleaded guilty and got probation instead of jail time because it was her first offense and she cried prettily in court.

None of the family knew; she’d kept it completely secret. I sat there in my apartment, staring at the court documents on my screen, and I felt something shift inside me. For the first time in years, I had leverage.

I didn’t know what to do with it. Then, my cousin Rachel announced her engagement with a wedding in three months. I got the invitation in the mail—thick cream card stock with gold lettering.

I almost threw it away; I’d already decided I wasn’t going to go. But then I thought about Amber. I thought about her showing up to Rachel’s wedding with some new boyfriend, smiling her perfect smile, probably already planning which groomsmen she’d target.

And I thought: “What if I brought someone she couldn’t touch? What if I brought her probation officer?”

The idea was insane, completely insane, but once it got into my head, I couldn’t let it go. I spent two days trying to talk myself out of it. It was petty, it was ridiculous, and it was potentially illegal, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to do it.

I needed to meet her probation officer first. I found his name through more internet digging: Officer Marcus Brennan. He worked for the county probation department.

I found a photo of him from a community outreach event. He was probably in his mid-30s with dark hair and a serious expression—the kind of face that meant business. Now, I just needed to actually meet him.

I’m not proud of what I did next. I called the probation office, pretending to be someone interested in volunteer opportunities. I found out when Officer Brennan would be at the county building for public office hours.

I showed up. The county building smelled like old paper and desperation. I waited in the lobby for 40 minutes before I saw him.

He was walking down the hallway with a stack of folders, looking tired. I called out: “Officer Brennan.”

He turned: “Yes?”

I walked up to him, my heart pounding: “Hi, my name is Megan. I know this is going to sound strange, but I need to talk to you about one of your probationers, Amber Westbrook.”

His expression immediately became guarded: “I can’t discuss active cases with—”

I interrupted: “She’s my cousin. And I’m not asking you to tell me about her case. I’m asking you to do something that might sound completely insane.”

He stared at me: “I’m listening.”

I took a breath: “There’s a family wedding in three months. Amber will be there, and I need you to come with me as my date.”

The silence that followed was excruciating. He asked: “I’m sorry, what?”

I said quickly: “I know how this sounds, but hear me out.” “Amber has been sabotaging my relationships for years. Every time I bring a boyfriend to a family wedding, she goes after him.”

“She’s done it three times, three different guys.” “Everyone thinks I’m making it up or picking bad boyfriends, but it’s her. She does it deliberately.”

Officer Brennan’s expression didn’t change: “And you think bringing her probation officer to a wedding as your date will somehow, what, stop her?”

I replied: “I think it’ll make her uncomfortable enough that she won’t try anything.” “And honestly, after what she’s put me through, I think she deserves to be uncomfortable.”

He shifted the folders in his arms: “Megan, Megan, what you’re describing is using my professional position to intimidate someone. That’s not appropriate.”

I said: “She’s not a good person. And I’m not asking you to threaten her or even mention her probation.” “I’m just asking you to attend a wedding as my guest. If she happens to be uncomfortable because you’re there, that’s on her.”

He asked: “Why would I agree to this?”

It was a fair question. I’d thought about this part: “Because I’ll make a donation to the probation department’s youth outreach program: $500.”

His eyebrows raised slightly: “You’re trying to bribe me?”

I said: “I’m offering to support a good cause in exchange for a few hours of your time.” “You don’t have to do anything inappropriate. Just show up, have some cake, maybe dance with me once or twice. That’s it.”

He studied me for a long moment: “This is the most unusual request I’ve ever received.”

I asked: “Is that a no?”

He replied: “I didn’t say that.”

My heart jumped: “So you’ll think about it?”

He said carefully: “I’ll think about it. But I’m not making any promises.”

He gave me his email address and told me to send him the details about the wedding, saying he’d let me know in a week. I left the county building feeling like I’d just done something either brilliant or catastrophically stupid.

Five days later, I got an email: “Against my better judgment, I’ll attend the wedding with you. Ground rules: we maintain appropriate boundaries. I won’t discuss Miss Westbrook’s probation case. And if she asks why I’m there, we tell the truth—that you invited me as your date. I won’t lie or mislead anyone about my presence. If you agree to these terms, send me the wedding details.”

The Wedding Gambit

I read the email three times. Then I transferred $500 to the youth outreach program and sent Officer Brennan the wedding information.

This was really happening. The next two and a half months were surreal. I exchanged a few more emails with Officer Brennan.

Marcus, he told me to call him when we weren’t in official settings. He asked about the dress code, and I sent him the invitation details.

We agreed to meet for coffee a week before the wedding to make sure we could at least have a conversation without it being completely awkward. Meanwhile, I RSVP’d to Rachel’s wedding with a plus one.

My mother called me immediately: “You’re bringing someone? Who?”

I said vaguely: “A friend. His name is Marcus.”

She asked: “A friend or a boyfriend?”