Financially, spiritually and optically, Oliver Karafa and Yun Lu “Lucy” Li were a perfect match. Karafa was the consummate pretty boy: his brown hair always coiffed just so, his tennis shoes pristine. He was desperate to be seen as a successful and savvy entrepreneur, and what he lacked in skills or qualifications he made up for in bravado. With no post-secondary education and little job experience, he told whomever would listen that he was going to be a millionaire before he was 30. His wife, Li, had the looks and dimensions of a Kardashian: arched brows, high cheekbones, Barbie waistline. Her chosen path to fame and fortune was TikTok. She was part of a set of fraternal triplets who branded themselves as the Miaa Triplets on social media. They posed in lingerie and spoke little, evidently hoping that their looks alone would elevate them from wannabes to bona fide influencers.Karafa and Li came from well-off families, and they wanted to expand on what their parents had achieved. Whereas that success had required sacrifice, however, Karafa and Li were looking for shortcuts. They leaned heavily on the idea that, if they looked the part, surely they would attract the right crowd and success would follow. If style over substance was their core compatibility, it would also be their undoing. When Karafa’s and Li’s ambitions were threatened, they were willing to go to horrific lengths to protect them.The would-be couple first met in the late aughts, at Earl Haig Secondary School in North York. Back then, Li was a self-described nerd, shy and self-conscious about her braces. They dated briefly, but Li couldn’t hold Karafa’s attention. Karafa had recently moved from Slovakia, where his parents owned an industrial bakery. With their tailored wool blazers, silk scarves and expensive jewellery, the Karafa clan projected old-world money. When Karafa’s parents decided to go back to Slovakia, Oliver, then 16, moved into a midtown apartment with his older sister. Their parents ens