From Roommate To Hell

I Trusted My New Roommate — Then Lost Everything Overnight

Three months ago, I moved into a cozy two-bedroom apartment on the east side of town. Rent was manageable, the location was perfect, and the place had a warm, lived-in charm. But within six weeks, that dream flipped into a nightmare. I ended up nearly homeless, blindsided by a scam I never saw coming—because it came from inside the apartment.

It started on Facebook Marketplace. I’d been looking for a roommate to split rent after my previous one moved for grad school. I posted photos of the space, added a lighthearted bio (“Into plants, podcasts, and pancakes”), and within a day I got a message from Ethan—friendly, polite, 27, said he worked in graphic design and just moved to the city.

We FaceTimed. He had a nice setup, wore a hoodie with a coffee stain—charming, relatable. He talked about his love for indie music and how he wanted to move closer to work. He offered to move in fast, even offered to send the deposit right after we signed the sublease agreement.

Red flag #1? He asked to sign digitally “to save time.”

Red flag #2? The Zelle account he used to send the deposit came from someone named “Jess.”

I brushed both off. Don’t we all use our mom’s accounts sometimes?

By week two, Ethan was settled in. But little things started to feel off.

He never unpacked. His room stayed sparse—just a bed, laptop, and backpack. He’d leave for “work” but was back within two hours. One night I came home to find him with a stranger on our couch, both drinking and whispering. When I asked who it was, Ethan just smiled and said, “Old friend, just crashing for a bit.”

Things escalated fast.

The next week, I noticed my Wi-Fi password had been changed. My bedroom door was slightly ajar when I know I’d shut it. Then my mail started going missing. The tipping point? I checked my credit score one morning—my heart sank. A new credit card had been opened under my name.

I confronted Ethan. He shrugged it off, said maybe I was “paranoid from working too much.” That night, he disappeared.

When I came home the next day, the apartment was empty—his things gone, my spare electronics gone, and worse: my documents were missing. Passport, Social Security card, the whole file folder.

I called the police. They were sympathetic but honest—chances were slim. Without a legal lease under both our names and no proof of theft beyond my word, it was a civil issue. The detective nodded grimly when I mentioned Facebook Marketplace.

Apparently, this was more common than people think. Scammers pose as normal renters, earn trust, then siphon off data, money, or just squat long enough to disrupt lives before ghosting.

For a few nights, I couch-surfed while sorting everything out—changing locks, freezing accounts, calling the bank. The emotional hit was worse than the financial one. I felt stupid. Violated. But I learned more about identity theft recovery in 48 hours than I ever wanted to know.

Here’s What I Wish I Knew (So You Don’t End Up Like Me)

Always use a rental agreement signed in person or through a verifiable platform (like DocuSign, not random PDFs).

Run a background check. Services like RentPrep or MySmartMove are inexpensive compared to getting scammed.

Verify IDs. Ask for and verify a government-issued ID and match it to the name on any bank transfers or deposits.

Avoid Facebook Marketplace for roommates. Use trusted housing platforms or apps like Roomi or SpareRoom.

Trust your gut. If something feels off—it is.

I’m lucky. I got my life back on track within a month. Changed passwords, filed a police report, and even found a new (verified) roommate through a friend. But not everyone walks away with just lost gadgets and a bruised ego. I heard from someone who lost their entire bank account after a similar scam.

So I’m sharing this not just to vent, but to warn. Because online, the line between a dream roommate and a full-blown scam artist can blur fast. And sometimes, it only takes a hoodie, a smile, and a few good lies to steal more than just your space.