My Son’s Girlfriend Tried To Blackmail Me For $2m On A Yacht. She Didn’t Know I Was Recording. Now The Whole Town Knows Her Secret.

“Natasha Vulov’s real name is actually Natasha Kovac, changed legally three years ago. Currently, she lists an address in Midtown, but she was evicted from a luxury apartment in Buckhead eight months ago.”

He added,

“Monthly rent was $4,000. She’s carrying $62,000 in credit card debt across nine cards, all maxed. Three collection agencies have active judgments against her.”

My hand tightened around the phone. James continued,

“There’s more. She started bankruptcy proceedings last year but never completed them. And Richard, her Instagram—most of those brand partnerships are fake. She buys followers and engagement. The luxury lifestyle is smoke and mirrors.”

After hanging up, I sat motionless in my office. Online, she projected wealth and success, but she was evicted and facing three lawsuits.

The engagement talk, the family planning, and the pointed questions about my assets made sense now. She wasn’t marrying Michael; she was marrying access to what she thought he had, or more accurately, what she knew I had.

I called Michael that evening at 6:00, after he’d be home from work. I said,

“Son, we need to talk about Natasha. I had someone look into her financial background. There are some serious red flags.”

His voice immediately sharpened,

“What? What are you talking about?”

I answered,

“Michael, she has over $60,000 in debt. She was evicted. She’s being sued by collection agencies. The Instagram lifestyle isn’t real.”

The explosion came through the phone like a physical blow. He yelled,

“You investigated her? You had someone spy on my girlfriend, Dad? What is wrong with you?”

I said,

“Listen to me. These are facts. She has nine maxed credit cards. She’s been evicted for non-payment. This is serious financial trouble. And with how she was asking questions at dinner—”

His voice cracked with pain and fury as he interrupted,

“How dare you! I’m 28 years old. I don’t need you investigating people I date like I’m some child who can’t make decisions!”

I replied,

“I’m trying to protect you. This is about a pattern of behavior she targets men with.”

He shouted,

“You can’t stand seeing me happy! You never could. After Mom died, you buried yourself in work, and now you can’t handle me building a life without you hovering over everything!”

I said,

“That’s not true, Michael. Please, just look at the evidence. She was paying rent she couldn’t afford. She’s buried in debt. She’s hiding—”

He cut me off,

“You’re trying to ruin this because you’re alone and miserable! I should have known you’d find something wrong with anyone I cared about, just like you did with Sarah, just like you did with Emily!”

I told him,

“Those relationships had real issues and you know it.”

He said,

“No, Dad. The issue is you. Don’t call me again.”

The line went dead. I sat holding the phone in the silence of my empty house.

Outside, the March evening was turning dark. I pulled up Natasha’s Instagram on my laptop.

Every photo showed luxury: designer bags, expensive restaurants, first-class travel, and jewelry. Nothing matched a reality of evictions and debt.

Nothing made sense unless someone else was funding it, or unless she was hunting for someone who would. I opened a legal pad and started writing everything I knew.

By the time I finished, four pages were covered in notes. Michael wouldn’t listen, which meant I had maybe six weeks before whatever came next.

I had to find proof she was targeting him. I had to stop this before she destroyed my son.

The Extraction and the Secret Recording

Two weeks of silence followed. Fourteen days passed where every call to Michael went to voicemail and every text went unanswered.

I drove past his apartment twice and saw Natasha’s white Mercedes in his spot both times. It looked like she’d moved in.

Then James called back with new information, his voice tight with concern. He said,

“Richard, Michael just pulled $40,000 from his investment account—his entire savings. And he applied for a personal loan: $50,000 at 19% interest. The bank approved it yesterday.”

My stomach dropped. Michael’s entire financial cushion, $90,000, was gone.

James continued,

“That’s not all. I found something else. Natasha has an LLC registered in Delaware created three weeks ago. Company name is NV Luxury Consulting. Michael’s name isn’t on it. She’s the sole owner.”

I asked,

“What’s the business supposed to be?”

James replied,

“According to the filing, fashion consulting and brand development. But Richard, there’s an offshore account connected to it in the Cayman Islands, set up the same week she registered the LLC.”

I thanked James and sat staring at my computer screen. This was extraction, not partnership.

She was setting up to disappear with his money. The engagement announcement appeared on Facebook that Wednesday.

There were photos of Natasha with a diamond ring and Michael beaming beside her at some upscale restaurant. The caption read:

“He said yes! So excited to start this journey with my soulmate. Wedding planning begins now.”

I tried calling Michael, but it went to voicemail. I tried texting, but there was no response.

I wrote an email with the subject line “Son, please read this.” It bounced back; he had blocked my email address.

On Friday, a formal invitation arrived by mail. It was heavy cardstock with embossed gold lettering: “The Morrison-Vulov Wedding. Lake Lanier Engagement Party on Yacht, May 15th at 6:00. Ceremony to follow next month.”

I researched Lake Lanier yacht venues. The one listed started at $15,000 for evening charters, and premium packages went much higher.

Michael was drowning, and Natasha was adding weights to his pockets. That afternoon, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

The message said,

“Richard, it’s Natasha. We should talk before the party. It’s important for Michael’s happiness. Can we meet privately?”

I stared at the message for five minutes. She was making a move, but toward what?

Every instinct I’d honed over 40 years in business screamed that this was negotiation, not a peace offering. I typed back,

“When and where?”

Her response came instantly,

“Your office tomorrow at 5:00. Michael thinks I’m at a photo shoot.”

The next morning, I drove to an electronic store in Sandy Springs. A young clerk showed me a recording device the size of a car key fob.

He said,

“This model has 30 hours of battery life, is voice-activated, and has crystal clear audio up to 20 feet.”