Secret Agent Scam: The Lies, Lives, and Wives of Will Jordan

Harvey Guillen (0:06)

Up in the north of Scotland, they tell stories about the Selkie, sea creatures that shed their skins to walk on earth as humans. The legend goes, if you steal a Selkie's skin while she's dancing on the shore, she's yours. She'll be your wife, bear your children, and maybe even believe she's happy.

But it's a love built on a theft. He didn't find her. He trapped her. He didn't earn her heart. He studied her secrets and took the one thing that would make her stay.

In the modern world, we don't call it magic. We call it grooming.

We call it love bombing. It's the art of becoming exactly what someone needs so they never notice the exit is locked.

It's the process of peeling back someone's layers, not to see who they are, but to find where they are most vulnerable.

Mary Thompson was a woman who had already survived the storms of one marriage. She was back on the shore, dancing, finding herself again. She wasn't looking for a legend.

She was looking for a partner. But then, she met a man who didn't just want her heart.

He wanted her skin.

He wanted her reality.

By the time she realizes he was a monster, he had already convinced her he was a hero.

I'm Harvey Guillén and this is Killer Stories.

When it comes to finding love in the digital age, it can be easy to become disillusioned, especially if it's your second go-around. You've already been to the altar, said your I do's, and thought you had it all figured out, only to wake up one day and realize you didn't find your Mr. Right so much as your Mr. I guess?

Suddenly, you're signing divorce papers and thrust back into the deep end. You have to put yourself out there for the first time in years. You sign up for three different apps, all of which you hate, and every day you slowly lose faith that your love life will have an act too. Because it feels like you're drowning in a sea of small talk and receding hairlines. That's where Mary Thompson is at, except it's the year 2000 So online matchmaking is still in the Stone Age. She's not swiping, she's using dial-up internet and a desktop computer to browse dating profiles based on compatibility questionnaires, and it's not going so well. Mary lives in Scotland with her almost one-year-old daughter. She's 35, recently divorced, and much happier for it. Her husband was a real dud. Having a child made that clear. She saw the example she was setting for staying with him, and she said, no, no more. If I can't be better for myself, I need to be better for my little girl. It was a hard lesson, but you live, you learn, you move on. And Mary's grown a lot since her separation. She likes her life, her job, her friends, herself. If she happens to find love again, great. But she's no longer in a place where she feels like she needs a man. Then one day, she gets an email.

It's from a man named Will Allen. He says he's an American living in the UK and he came across Mary's profile online. And it drew Will's attention. Will's message is long, friendly, complimentary without feeling gross. He says he's 34, 6'1, mixed race with curly hair, brown eyes, and an athletic build. He and Mary have a lot in common. They both love art, music, literature, and dancing. And perhaps most importantly, considering Mary is a single mother, Will has his life together. He says he owns an IT consulting firm in the UK. He has to travel a lot for work, but he spends most of his time in Edinburgh, where Mary lives. And he's upfront about why he's single and never been married before. He's been so devoted to his work that he says he's never really looked for something substantial. He's always kept it casual. But these days, he wants to share his life with someone. And so he makes two things explicitly clear. First, he's not interested in anything temporary. No friends with benefits, no hookups. He's looking for something serious, long-term and real. Second, he can't have children of his own. As much as he loves kids, doctors have told him he's infertile, caused by a bad case of mumps as a kid. He no longer considers it baggage. It's the hand he's been dealt, and he's accepted it. He understands that it might sound forward, but he wants to set expectations early, in case having a biological family is important to Mary. Will ends the message by saying he would love to meet in person for coffee. But he understands if anything he said has been a deal breaker. If that's the case, then no hard feelings. He wishes Mary only the best and brightest future. It all seems shockingly normal and respectful, which makes Mary a little skeptical. But she thinks, yeah, what the hell? Why not? Blast her own message back. Soon, one email turns into 10 emails, turns to phone calls, turns to Mary and Will exchanging photos of themselves. Mary shows Will to her friends and they all agree he's really cute. Even despite his weird rose-colored glasses, which, no, is not a metaphor. He literally wears rose-tinted glasses all the time, which to me sounds like at least a rose-colored flag. But Mary and Will keep in touch, sending messages daily, multiple times a day, connecting over books, shared values, and the future they envision for themselves. For Mary, it's like a real life you've got mail, except no one's anonymous and everyone is who they say they are. That becomes clear when they finally meet for lunch in December 2000 Will's real name isn't Will Allen, it's Will Jordan. Allen, he says, is his middle name. But besides that, he's everything he said. They meet at his very impressive office, Mary talks to his assistant, Will looks exactly like his picture, and their online chemistry translates to real life. If anything, it's even better. The conversation is lively, interesting, and Will is so attentive. He's the type of guy who makes Mary feel immediately at ease. He maintains eye contact, offers affection in the form of small physical touches, and best of all, he seems genuinely interested in her life. Imagine. Their first date ends with a memorable but polite first kiss, which leaves Mary wanting more.