He Traveled From Germany To Visit His Online GF, He Saw She Was A Conjoined Twin, She Deceived Him – | HO!!!!

On Valentine’s Day morning, a 29-year-old doctoral student stepped off an international flight in Ohio believing he was about to begin the most meaningful relationship of his life.

By nightfall the next day, two people would be dead, a family would be destroyed, and a young man with no prior history of violence would be charged with one of the most brutal double homicides the state had seen in years.

The case of Solomon Grant would ignite fierce national debate: about online deception, disability, sexual consent, male victimhood, and the limits of trauma as a legal defense. It would divide jurors, fracture public opinion, and leave behind a question that still unsettles everyone who examines the evidence closely:

When does a victim become a perpetrator—and does the law allow room for both to be true at once?

A Digital Matchmaking Experiment

The story begins, like so many modern tragedies, not in a bar or a classroom, but on a livestream.

In late November 2023, Solomon Grant was living alone in Munich, Germany, where he was pursuing a PhD in engineering. Friends described him as introverted, methodical, and emotionally reserved—a man more comfortable with equations than small talk. Though professionally successful, he struggled with isolation.

According to multiple colleagues, Solomon’s social circle consisted mostly of fellow researchers. Dating in a foreign country, complicated by language and cultural barriers, had proven frustrating.

That was when a friend suggested something unconventional: a TikTok matchmaking livestream run by a charismatic American influencer named Richard Stewart.

Stewart’s nightly broadcasts attracted thousands of viewers. Men appeared on screen one at a time, their photos and bios displayed while women commented in real time. Stewart read comments aloud, encouraged flirtation, and facilitated introductions predictably—but effectively.

It was public, unfiltered, and emotionally risky.

Solomon signed up.

“He Looks Like the Perfect Man for Me”

When Solomon’s profile appeared on the livestream, the reaction was immediate. Viewers flooded the chat with compliments. He was articulate, well-educated, and soft-spoken—an appealing contrast to the bravado that often dominated such spaces.

Then one comment stood out.

“Solomon Grant looks like the perfect man for me.”

The username belonged to Jasine Thompson, a woman from Ohio. Her profile photo showed a smiling young Black woman with expressive eyes. Her bio was brief. Normal. Unremarkable.

Solomon responded with a simple emoji.

Minutes later, she messaged him privately.

The conversation flowed easily. They bonded over shared Midwestern roots. They joked about Ohio weather, football rivalries, childhood memories. A playful bet over a college football game became a recurring inside joke.

What began as light banter evolved into daily communication.

Voice notes. Late-night messages. Confessions about loneliness and ambition.

Within weeks, Solomon told friends he had met someone “who actually understands me.”

The Truth Left Unsaid

What Solomon did not know—what no one watching the livestream knew—was that Jasine was not alone when she typed those messages.

Sitting beside her, reading every exchange, suggesting replies, was her identical twin sister, Jallen Thompson.

Jasine and Jallen were conjoined twins, fused at the torso, sharing multiple vital organs. Separation surgery was medically impossible.

The twins had spent their lives navigating public curiosity, rejection, and cruelty. According to later testimony, dating had been particularly brutal. Men disappeared once they learned the truth—or stayed only to fetishize them.

By their own account, honesty had brought humiliation. Concealment, they believed, was the only path to emotional connection.

So they made a decision that would later become central to the case:

They would not tell Solomon—at least not yet.

Three Months of Intimacy Built on Omission

For nearly three months, Solomon and Jasine communicated daily. Solomon spoke openly about his research pressures and isolation abroad. Jasine shared her dreams of returning to school and building a future.

Notably, Solomon asked for full-body photos more than once.

Each time, Jasine deflected.

“I don’t really take pictures like that.”
“I’m always working.”
“I’ll show you when we meet.”

Solomon did not press. Friends later described this as consistent with his personality—respectful, conflict-avoidant, trusting to a fault.

In January 2024, Solomon asked Jasine to be his girlfriend.

She accepted.

When he suggested visiting Ohio, she agreed.

Privately, the twins panicked.

A Decision That Changed Everything

According to statements later given to investigators, Jallen urged her sister to tell Solomon the truth before he boarded a plane.

“If he finds out in person, he’ll feel ambushed,” she warned.

Jasine disagreed. She believed that if Solomon met her first—if he experienced her kindness, her normalcy—he would understand. She convinced herself that love would overcome shock.

The twins rented an Airbnb a few blocks from their family home. They wanted Solomon to have privacy, space, a sense of independence.

Their parents knew about Solomon. They were uneasy but did not interfere.

On February 14, 2024—Valentine’s Day—Solomon boarded an eight-hour flight from Frankfurt to Columbus.

He brought new clothes. Gifts. Hope.

The Moment of Impact

When Solomon’s car pulled up to the Airbnb that afternoon, he saw Jasine immediately.

And then he saw Jallen.

Two women. One body.

Witnesses later described Solomon freezing in the car, staring through the window, struggling to process what his eyes were telling him.

He exited the vehicle slowly.

Jasine handed him flowers.

No warning. No preparation. No explanation.

According to Solomon’s later statement, “Everything I thought I knew collapsed in about three seconds.”

A Second Deception

Inside the Airbnb, Solomon demanded answers.

Why hadn’t she told him?

Jasine cried. She spoke of lifelong rejection. Of fear. Of desperation.

Solomon was shaken—but not cruel. He listened. He asked questions. He tried to understand the medical reality of their condition.

Then Jasine made a claim that would later become pivotal:

She told Solomon that separation surgery was scheduled.

That in one month, everything would change.

Relief flooded Solomon. If true, it meant the deception—while devastating—had an endpoint.

But it was not true.

And that lie would prove catastrophic.

A Question That Would Not Rest

That evening, alone in the bathroom, Solomon searched medical literature.

Every reputable source said the same thing: conjoined twins who share a heart cannot be separated.

He contacted a trusted friend, a physician.

The answer was unequivocal.

There was no surgery. There never could be.

When Solomon confronted Jasine, she admitted it.

She had lied to keep him from leaving.

A Line Crossed

Solomon packed his bags. He tried to leave.

Jasine blocked the doorway, crying, begging him to stay one more night.

Exhausted, emotionally shattered, Solomon agreed to remain until morning.

That decision would end three lives.

By the time Solomon Grant agreed to stay one more night inside the Ohio Airbnb, the relationship he thought he was building had already collapsed.

What remained was shock, exhaustion, and a growing sense that he had lost control of his own narrative.

According to court records and sworn testimony, Solomon retreated to the bedroom shortly after confronting Jasine Thompson about the fabricated separation surgery. He did not leave the room again that night. He made no phone calls. He did not contact friends or police. He later described his mental state as “detached, overwhelmed, and numb.”

That night would become the most contested portion of the entire case.

The Allegation That Changed Everything

Solomon’s account, first given to detectives and later repeated under oath, was that sometime after 10 p.m., he consumed water brought to him by Jasine. Shortly afterward, he experienced sudden physical weakness, disorientation, and loss of motor control.

Toxicology results later detected trace amounts of a sedative class drug in his bloodstream—levels consistent with recent ingestion but insufficient, on their own, to establish intent or administration by another party.

Solomon alleged that while incapacitated, he was sexually assaulted.

The victims could not confirm or deny the allegation.

No contemporaneous report was made.
No medical examination occurred.
And critical physical evidence—including drinking glasses—had been washed before police arrived.

From the outset, prosecutors viewed the allegation with skepticism. Defense attorneys viewed it as the fulcrum upon which the entire case turned.

Morning After: A Breaking Point

The following morning, Solomon stated that Jasine behaved as though nothing was wrong.

According to his testimony, she dismissed his distress, denied wrongdoing, and attempted physical contact again after admitting there was no surgery planned.

At that moment, Solomon said, fear and rage collided.

What followed lasted several minutes.

The medical examiner documented 147 stab wounds between the two victims—an extraordinary level of violence that prosecutors later emphasized repeatedly.

When it ended, Solomon did not flee. He remained at the scene, kneeling beside the bodies until the victims’ mother entered the apartment and called 911.

An Arrest Without Resistance

Police arrived to find Solomon still inside the residence, covered in blood, the weapon nearby.

He complied immediately with commands.
He waived no rights but answered questions voluntarily.
He did not attempt to justify the killings—only to explain what had preceded them.

From the start, investigators faced an uncomfortable reality:
The scene suggested rage, but Solomon’s behavior suggested collapse.

Building the Case: Facts Versus Narrative

The prosecution’s case rested on several indisputable facts:

Solomon killed two people.

He inflicted an extraordinary number of wounds.

He had opportunities to leave.

The victims were physically disabled and unarmed.

The defense did not dispute the killings.

Instead, it argued extreme emotional disturbance, citing:

Prolonged deception.

Alleged drugging.

Sexual assault.

A psychological dissociative response.

Expert testimony described Solomon as experiencing acute trauma and impaired impulse control, not premeditation.

But the law is not built on empathy alone.

The Courtroom Divide

During trial, the courtroom became a microcosm of the national debate.

The prosecution framed the case as one of entitlement and rage—arguing Solomon reacted violently to humiliation and rejection.

The defense framed it as a catastrophic breakdown—arguing Solomon was a victim who became a perpetrator under extraordinary psychological stress.

Jurors heard from:

Medical experts

Psychiatrists

Solomon’s former partner

His academic advisors

The victims’ grieving family

Crime scene photographs were shown.

The number 147 echoed again and again.

The Verdict

After six hours of deliberation, the jury returned unanimous verdicts:

Guilty on two counts of first-degree murder.

The courtroom fractured instantly—grief on one side, devastation on the other.

At sentencing, the judge acknowledged trauma but rejected mitigation.

Solomon Grant was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole, to be served consecutively.

Aftermath: Two Truths That Cannot Coexist

The Thompson family has never acknowledged the allegations of assault. To them, the case is simple: their daughters were murdered.

Solomon’s supporters insist the justice system failed to account for male sexual victimization and psychological collapse.

Both narratives cannot fully coexist.

And yet, both contain undeniable truths.

Two women are dead.
A man with no violent history will never be free again.
And the events inside that Airbnb will never be fully known.

The Unanswered Question

The law delivered a verdict.

But the case left behind a question no court ruling can resolve:

If trauma explains violence without excusing it, where does justice end—and where does mercy begin?

That question continues to divide those who study the case.

And it may never have an answer that satisfies everyone.