How Monica Draper got scammed is not unheard of. But what she did after she lost more than $100,000 to an online Lothario? That is quite extraordinary.

Her money is gone. The 55-year-old web designer accepts that. But what she cannot accept is that the fellow she met online at the dating website Plenty of Fish was able to abscond with her money — and that of at least a half-dozen other women — despite the fact that he was already on the lam for fraud.

Draper has become a one-woman detective agency, running the hunt for the man she knew as Glenn Whitter from the cozy log cabin she shares with a dog and cat in a rural town north of Toronto.

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She has set up a website warning other women about him, listing his misdeeds and alleged aliases. She has reached out to women across the country, armed with files of emails and financial paperwork; she even has what she says were his crib notes on how to pursue women like her: a bit older, divorced, looking for companionship online.

“He finds your hot button,” says Draper. “He chose his victims carefully. I was in a very vulnerable state coming out of a relationship. So were the other women. He knew exactly what to go for.”

Interviews with police, financial regulators in Ontario and eight of Whitter’s former romantic-flames-turned-clients across Canada paint the portrait of a skilled and charming tactician who mastered a strategy to meet single women and turn them into clients who would invest in his ventures.

A string of women who claim to be his victims say they re-mortgaged their homes, poured personal savings into his investments and borrowed money on their credit cards to rent him a car and buy him groceries.

Little of the money was repaid.

Their stories — how Whitter approached them first as a romantic partner and quickly turned into their financial adviser — bear a remarkable similarity.

With outstanding charges pending in Peel for alleged fraud that date back to 2003 and hundreds of thousands of dollars allegedly gone missing, there are a lot of people looking for Whitter.

But no one has found him.

One person who is keen to speak with Whitter is Cpl. Marcel McLennan, of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. McLennan became involved in the case when another victim, looking for help, walked into the station where he works in Stoney Creek, Ont., and asked to speak with an officer.

Since then, he has been trying to unravel Whitter’s financial dealings. The challenge for McLennan was determining what met the legal definition of fraud, and what was dishonest — but perhaps not criminal.

“I’d say that he has defrauded women in the past — no knowledge if he’s currently active, but I’d bet money he’s continuing, as from what I saw, it was his main means of existence,” McLennan said in an email. “He’s preyed on women who have given him money and paid his bills and that’s not by definition fraud, really. It’s just slimy.”

There are, however, criminal charges waiting for Whitter.

A warrant has been issued for Whitter’s arrest and court documents show he was charged with fraud and uttering forged documents. After he failed to show for his court appearance in June of last year, a bench warrant was issued for his arrest — and his lawyer, who was unable to reach him, has had his name removed from the file.

Last month, the Financial Services Commission of Ontario announced 18 charges laid against Whitter under the Mortgage Brokerages, Lenders and Administrators Act — nine each of dealing in mortgages without a brokerage licence, and administering mortgages without a mortgage administrator’s licence.

The formal charges follow two previous public warnings about Whitter issued by the financial regulator — in April 2012 and again in March 2013 — based on “multiple” complaints, said spokesperson Kristen Rose.

“It is alleged that Mr. Whitter solicited individuals to borrow and lend money on the security of real property without a licence,” a statement from the authority said. “It is also alleged that Mr. Whitter solicited some of these individuals through online dating websites.”

The case is proceeding despite the fact that FSCO officials don’t know where he is, said Rose.

Asked if he is aware of the charges against him, she said: “I think that if Mr. Whitter were to Google himself on a semi-routine basis, I think he would know about these charges.”

The charges carry a penalty of a fine of up to $100,000, or a year imprisonment.

The first court date is scheduled for Feb. 20.

Draper knew nothing of Whitter’s legal trouble when they met in February 2009 on the dating website. Twice-divorced, she was dipping her toes into the dating world after six years of being single. He said he was a mortgage specialist and, at first, bombarded her with affectionate emails and attention. But outside of those sweet nothings, he spoke continually about one thing.

“His thing was that he was a financial specialist,” Draper recalls. “And he talked constantly about money.”

They had been dating a few months when Whitter learned that Draper’s home was still listed jointly with her ex-husband. With her permission, he arranged a new mortgage in August 2009.

During that process, Whitter broke it off when Draper said she wanted an exclusive relationship. He stayed in touch, though: her skills as a web designer intrigued him, Draper recalled.

And he had big plans. He wanted to build his own dating website. He had a now-defunct company site, “Creatus Capital,” that he needed help with. He had ideas for seminars and other businesses and they could all use a web presence.

Around the same time, Draper gave Whitter $1,850 toward an investment he later told her went bad. The money had disappeared.

While she says the invoices she submitted to him for her work were slow to be paid, the money did eventually appear.

It was January 2010 when Draper’s financial security began slipping away.

Whitter had come to her with a tale of personal financial woe, she recalls. He needed a quick infusion of cash. She decided to help.

She drew $11,000 from two credit cards and gave it to him with every promise of returns.

Draper, the daughter of World War II refugees, says her seemingly naive generosity was woven into her conditioning long ago.

Her Lithuanian father died when she was 8, leaving her to care for a deeply depressed mother for much of her life.

“I grew up taking care of people. In essence, I became the mother at the age of 8. I grew up taking care of people. And in my family, love equates to money. So when I look back now at what I did, I can see that I was looking for love by giving money.”

She knows its crazy, she says.

“I knew this wasn’t the man for me. But you’re conditioned.”

In April 2010, that conditioning led to her biggest mistake.

Whittier said one of his mortgage deals had fallen through and that he was on the hook for $2.6 million.

“He cried, ‘Monica, Monica, please help me. I’m begging you.’ He literally cried.”

“’Monica,’” she recalls, “’could I put a mortgage on your place? I’m stuck. I could lose my business.’ ”

“And something inside you says, ‘Don’t do this.’ But I did it,” Draper says.

She refinanced her mortgage to give him $90,000 . He agreed to pay her back $500 a month, and he did for 18 months. Then he disappeared.

“I figured once he got situated, I’d get my money back. That didn’t happen.”

Based on a message she posted to a forum on the dating website explaining what had happened to her, she believes there are at least 30 other women who lost money to Whitter.

A request for comment to Plenty of Fish on whether it received complaints about Whitter or took any action against his membership on the site were not returned Thursday.

All eight women who spoke with the Star say they initially met Whitter through the Plenty of Fish dating website. All quickly became his clients.

Among them was Vancouverite Rita Kensington.

Recently separated in 2010, the then-52-year-old started chatting with Whitter on the dating website’s forums.

As their friendship online grew, Kensington decided she would stop in Toronto the following year and spend a couple of days with Whitter in the waterfront condo he told her he owned.

Property records show the apartment was never listed under his name.

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But when Whitter reneged on a promise to spend Christmas with her in Vancouver that year, the romantic relationship gradually morphed into a business relationship.

“I get a phone call from him saying he’s in serious trouble and he needs help,” Kensington recalls. “One of his staff had arranged a mortgage and the ministry of finance was coming after him and he could lose his licence and he needed to get some money together very quickly.”

She gave him $9,000. And then, when he came back with stories of a pending lawsuit against him from a mortgage gone bad, she gave him another $12,500.

“I thought everything was legitimate and above board,” says Kensington, who works in the computer industry. “I’m a businesswoman. I don’t normally let things like this get past me. But I didn’t have a chance.”

More tales of hardship followed the next year. In the end, Kensington handed over nearly $24,000 that she now realizes she will never see again.

“He played me royally. When I started chasing him for the money back, that’s when the excuses started. The bank had put a stop on his account.”

Those who have handed him money that has disappeared say it’s a combination of charm, a veil of financial legitimacy and rare brilliance keeping track of his stories and his “clients.”

“I don’t know if he has a photographic memory or what but he has the ability to keep all the plates spinning,” says Kensington. “He’s very smart in being able to look at all the logistics of it and keep everything going.”

Among the papers Draper showed the Star are notes she says are in Whitter’s handwriting. They seem to be crib notes of women’s likes and dislikes. Someone called “Dana,” for example, likes “teeth, chest, personality, height — 5’10’’ tall” and says “no overweight, no large beer bellies, long hair.”

Another says “ask good questions” such as “what is it about you that makes guys want to date you?” and about their interests, not “how was your day?”

Whitter’s greatest financial victim interviewed by the Star is Marlene, 56, an Ontario hospital support worker whose losses — too painful for her to detail with precision — range well into six figures, she says.

She has asked that her real name — Marlene is a pseudonym — be withheld for fear of professional repercussions.

The way she tells the story, Whitter essentially lived off of her generous loans between 2011 and last year, made possible after she re-mortgaged her home and an emptied her savings account.

After meeting on a “seniors” dating site in August 2010, his early flirtations turned to “money, deals, clients and mortgages,” she says.

When he became preoccupied with a deal gone bad in November 2010, she began helping him financially — increments of $5,000 meant to be loans. He told her of being so desperate to pay off debts that he had to mortgage his condo and work nights as a DJ in a strip club.

“I could no longer bear listening to how unhappy he was,” she says. “At one point, he sent me an email telling me that he was giving up on life. So being the person that I am I offered to mortgage my home to help him out of this horrible arrangement.”

She was mortgage-free at the time.

Whitter thanked her for “saving his life” and said he would take care of her forever, she says. Forever didn’t last long.

He made repayments for seven months, she says. Then it stopped. After disappearing for a time, he returned to say his brother stole his bank card and the mortgage money. He couldn’t make the payments.

It got worse: He claimed he didn’t have money for food or a car.

So Marlene says she took him grocery shopping and paid for a rental car for weeks at a time.

Why would she do this?

“I very much cared for this person. I saw a lot of potential. He had a difficult life. I wanted him to have a chance at life.”

It was clear all of the money was a loan. She asked every month for payments. He turned a deaf ear, she says: “He took advantage of a good heart. He knew he could count on me as he did until his disappearance.”

That happened on May 18 of last year.

He left a message that evening telling her, “I’m going up north to work for a few days to make some money and I will call you when I return”.

That’s the last she heard from him.

“I feel used and abused, lied (to) and manipulated. I cared more about his well being than my own. I placed his needs before mine. I believed him and I believed in him. This is what I received in return. I am now struggling to hold on to my home. I don’t know how much longer I can keep it. I pray for a miracle.”

Like Marlene, Sheri — a single mother from Barrie — asked her name not to be published fearing professional repercussions. She had just returned to Ontario from B.C. with her three children after a divorce when she met Whitter online in 2006.

It wasn’t long into their first meeting over coffee that Sheri decided she had little romantic interest in him. But he reached out to her afterward to talk to her about her finances.

“He seemed like a trustworthy kind of guy,” she recalls. “That’s one of my problems. I have a very trusting nature.”

After landing her first full-time teaching job and buying a house, she decided to remortgage it under Whitter’s guidance.

For the first few years, her investments with Whitter were fine, producing the returns he told her they would, she says.

But in August 2011, she agreed to invest $10,000 in a one-year bridge financing deal that Whitter said would give her $1,400 in interest. Nine months later, he suggested a second short-term investment of $3,000 that would generate interest higher than the bank rates.

She again agreed.

When it came time to collect the returns, Whitter had disappeared, she says.

“None of his cellphone calls were going through. Emails were not being answered. I started to panic,” she recalls.

When he did finally call back months later, Whitter told her he had been robbed in Florida and was having a hard time getting back to Canada.

“He said someone else was taking care of his expenses and the (Canada Revenue Agency) had frozen all his assets. He was telling stories about how he was sick and things were crashing down around him but that my money was safe.”

At that point, she typed Whitter’s name into an Internet search engine and saw a press release from the Financial Services Commission of Ontario announcing he had no broker’s licence.

The last word Whitter shared with her sits on a voicemail message she still keeps from January of last year: “I’m not at the home anymore and I don’t have my cellphone either,” he says in a deep baritone. “I’ll try you later.”

She says she had no idea until receiving a call from an RCMP officer — who located her through Draper — telling her she was one of many victims.

“I just thought I was dumb. I had no idea about all the others. I learned my lesson the hard way. I think he needs to be found and be accountable for what he’s done.”