Episode Transcript
[00:00:00] Speaker A: Welcome to behind the Scams. I'm Sue. Today we're bringing you the third episode in our pop up podcast series. For those who don't know what that is, let me explain.
A pop up podcast is a special format we use when the most important thing is not analysis, not expert commentary, and not a back and forth interview.
It is a way to hand the microphone to a survivor and let them tell the story in their own words at their own pace. We do it this way because scam victims are often interrupted, corrected, second guessed, or asked why they did not see it sooner. But when you listen without interruption, you hear something different.
You hear the pressure.
You hear the isolation.
You hear how the criminals built the trap one step at a time. In this episode, there are no host questions, no interruptions, no play by play analysis layered over the top.
Just one survivor speaking directly to you so you can hear the psychological playbook exactly as it was used against her to protect her identity. We are calling her Clara. We have removed specific local landmarks as city names and county names. We have also generalized the names of businesses involved. But make no mistake, Clara is a real person.
This is her real story.
The fear was real, the damage was real, and the silence she was forced into was part of the crime itself. Clara lost nearly half a million dollars through a gold courier and cryptocurrency imposter scam.
But what she wants you to understand is that this was not a simple mistake. It was a carefully controlled psychological operation.
And now we're handing her the microphone.
[00:02:05] Speaker B: Um, I have started this story in my head a hundred times.
And every time, I still feel embarrassed before I even get to the beginning, I think about what people might assume that I missed something obvious.
That I should have known, that I would never have done this if I had been thinking clearly.
And the hard part is I was trying to think clearly.
I thought I was being careful.
So I want to say this before I tell you what.
You don't have to be careless to be taken.
You don't have to be lonely. You don't have to be confused.
You can be educated, careful, organized.
The person other people come to for help and still be broken down if somebody gets you scared enough, isolated enough, and exhausted enough.
It started on an ordinary day. I was at home in a quiet suburban neighborhood in the Midwest.
Nothing unusual was happening. I was on my computer, scrolling through a social media platform, just sort of half reading, half relaxing.
And then all at once, my screen locked. A warning filled the screen. It said my computer had been compromised.
It said my Banking information could be at risk.
There was a phone number on the screen for support, and.
I don't know. The message made it look urgent, like if I closed the window or tried to shut anything down, I could make everything worse.
I suppose that sounds simple now, but it did not feel simple then.
So I called the number.
I wish I hadn't. I wish I had just unplugged the computer. I wish I had called my son or my husband or my bank from a number I looked up myself.
But in that moment, it did not feel like I was choosing between good options and bad options.
It felt like I was responding to an emergency.
The man who answered sounded calm.
That's what pulled me in first. He didn't sound like a criminal. He sounded trained, like someone who handled worried people all day.
He told me he was with technical support and that he could see signs of unauthorized access.
Then his tone changed. Not dramatically, just enough.
He said, this is more serious than a computer issue.
He told me my identity had been stolen. He said my information was connected to a federal money laundering investigation.
Then he said something about drug cartels. And those words, they did exactly what they were meant to do. They made the room feel smaller. They made me feel like I had stepped into something huge and dangerous by accident.
I remember saying, that can't be right. I haven't done anything. And he said that was exactly why I needed to cooperate. He said innocent people get used by criminals all the time.
He said the only way to clear my name was to follow instructions and stay available.
Then he transferred me to someone he said was an FBI agent.
The second man had a different voice.
More official, I guess, less comforting.
He knew how to speak in straight lines.
He told me I was not under arrest yet, but that I was under investigation.
He said my cooperation would determine whether I was treated as a victim or as a suspect.
Uncertain, he sent me documents, credentials, a federal looking identification card. Then a non disclosure agreement stamped with official looking seals.
I remember staring at it and thinking, this looks real.
He told me I had to agree not to disclose anything about the investigation to anyone.
Remembering, they gave me what sounded like a case number.
I don't remember every digit now, and I don't want to pretend I do, but I remember the feeling of writing it down because it made the whole thing feel official.
They used words like affidavit, warrant verification, federal hold.
Words I had heard before in normal life, I guess, but never aimed at me.
He said if I told my husband, my children, my bank or the local police, I could Compromise a federal investigation.
He said disclosure could be treated as a federal crime.
He said they were watching communications tied to my identity, and if I reached out to the wrong person, the criminals could be tipped off and I. I could be arrested.
I believed him.
I hate saying that, but I did.
That is how they separated me from everyone who would have saved me.
Trapped.
They put me on a video call.
They called it protective custody.
I call it now what it virtual custody.
I had to keep the camera on.
I had to keep the phone nearby. If I moved rooms, they wanted to know why.
If I looked away too long, they asked what I was doing.
If my husband came near, they told me to act normal and say it was just a technical problem.
They made me hold my phone a certain way sometimes so they could see where I was.
Not every second, but enough that I felt watched. If I was quiet too long, they would say my name.
If I asked to call someone, they reminded me about the investigation.
And I remember thinking, well, if this is real, I could ruin everything by making one wrong call.
It went on for days.
I slept badly. I ate badly.
I was afraid to shower too long.
I was afraid to leave the screen.
I was afraid that any small mistake would. Any wrong answer would make me look guilty.
And I want people to hear this clearly. They did not have to convince me they were good. They only had to convince me that disobeying them was dangerous.
After they had me isolated, they moved to my money.
The fake agent said my bank accounts were scheduled for immediate frequency because my identity was tied to criminal activity.
He said if my accounts were locked, I might not be able to pay bills, access retirement funds, or prove what was mine. And I remember thinking, I can't lose access to everything.
I can't let that happen.
Secure.
That word still makes my stomach turn.
He told me to withdraw funds and convert them into physical gold bars through a registered precious metals dealer out of state.
He said the gold would be held in a secure government vault while they verified that I was the victim and not part of the investigation.
It sounded wrong, but it also sounded official.
And by then, I was so afraid of doing the wrong thing.
The instructions were specific.
What to say, what not to say, how much to move, how to explain the transactions. If anyone asked, they coached me through it like they were helping me survive something.
And because I was already terrified, because I believed I was under federal scrutiny, I followed the steps at the bank. I was trying so hard to look normal that I probably looked anything but normal. I had been coached. They told me if Anyone asked questions, I should say I was making an investment or moving money for personal reasons.
I remember rehearsing answers in my head while standing there. And they had already warned me that bank employees might ask questions because banks were connected to the investigation.
So somehow I had been made suspicious of the very people who might have slowed me down.
When the gold arrived at my house, it was heavier than I expected.
That sounds obvious. I know gold is heavy. But it is different when you are holding your life in your hands.
It is different when the weight of it is not just metal. It is years.
It is discipline. It is choices you made and vacations you did not take and comforts you postponed because you thought you were being responsible. The shipments did not feel like one simple package. There were boxes, labels, signatures, tracking updates, and calls about when packages would arrive. I had to be home. I had to answer quickly. I had to confirm what arrived.
It all felt organized, and that was part of why I kept going.
Real criminals, I thought, would be messy. This had a schedule. This had instructions. And I guess that made it feel official enough.
I remember the boxes.
I remember checking them.
I remember being told not to panic, not to tell anyone, not to break the chain of custody.
They used that phrase, chain of custody.
It sounded official.
It sounded protective.
It made me feel like I was participating in something legal and structured, when really I was being walked to a cliff.
Then came the courier.
I stood on my own front porch, in my own neighborhood, looking at a stranger.
He was not threatening in the way people imagine criminals are threatening. He did not need to.
The threat was already in my ear.
The threat was on the phone.
The threat was the fake agent saying that if I did not complete the transfer, I could be arrested, my accounts could be seized, and my family could be pulled into it. The courier did not come with a badge or a marked car. That should have told me something.
But I had been told not to expect a normal police visit because this was confidential. I was told the courier was part of a secure pickup process.
So when he arrived, I was not looking for proof anymore. I was looking for the next instruction. I handed the boxes over $400,000 dollars in physical gold bars to a total stranger on my front porch.
I still can't quite believe I'm saying that out loud.
Maybe that sounds strange, but I remember noticing ordinary things at that exact moment.
The weather, the front step, the way the boxes felt when I let go of them.
I remember wondering if a neighbor saw anything.
And then I remember feeling relief, which is so painful now.
Relief because I Thought I had done what I was supposed to do.
I can see that moment even now.
My hand on the door, the walkway, the space where the boxes had been.
I remember thinking, this is almost over.
I remember believing that if I just finished what they asked, I would be safe.
But it was not over.
It was never going to be over. As long as they thought there was anything left to take after the gold, they came for the rest.
They told me there were still unresolved issues tied to my cash, and they said my accounts could still be compromised.
They said cryptocurrency was the fastest way to secure the remaining funds while the investigation was active.
And I just kept trying to get to the end of it. I guess I had never used a Bitcoin ATM before. I did not understand it.
That should have stopped me, but by then my normal decision making had been worn down.
I was not thinking like myself.
I was thinking like someone being monitored, someone being accused.
Someone trying desperately to prove obedience.
The machines asked for things I did not really understand.
Wallet, information, confirmations, screens that changed quickly.
Sometimes the machine would pause or reject a bill or ask me to confirm something again.
The people on the phone told me what to press, what to scan, what to ignore.
I remember my hands shaking because every little delay felt like I was failing the instructions.
I was embarrassed because I knew I did not understand it. But I was in public and still completely alone, feeding cash into the machine, bill by bill, while someone stayed close in my ear, telling me this was almost finished.
In the end, I deposited $99,750 into Bitcoin ATMs, $99,750, bill by bill.
It is hard to hear that number now.
It is harder to say it.
I want to say I knew right then.
I want to say some part of me stood up and said, stop. This is wrong.
But that is not how it happened.
What happened was silence.
They were gone.
No more instructions.
No more threats.
No more official voices telling me the next step.
Just my house, my phone, my computer.
And then my body finally understood what my mind had been refusing to let in.
I think I sat there for a while. I don't even know how long.
Minutes, maybe longer.
I kept looking at the phone like it might ring again and explain everything.
Like someone official would come back on and say, okay, you are cleared now.
I suppose I was still waiting for permission to stop being afraid.
But nobody called.
And that silence, that was when the room changed.
I felt shame first.
Not anger, shame, a physical shame.
Heat in my face, A hollow feeling in my Chest.
I thought, how could I have done this?
How could I have handed away what my family built?
How could I have believed them?
I asked myself that over and over.
And then came the embarrassment.
The kind that makes you want to hide the truth, even from the people you love most.
I had always respected law enforcement.
I had always believed that if someone with a badge or someone claiming authority told me an investigation was serious, I should cooperate.
They did not use greed against me. They used my respect for law and order.
They used my fear of doing the wrong thing.
They used my instinct to comply.
The hardest part to explain is that I did not feel like I was making one big decision.
I felt like I was making a hundred small ones.
Answer the phone. Stay on the video.
Do not tell anyone.
Go to the bank.
Wait for the package.
Hand over the box.
Drive to the kiosk, press this button.
Scan that code.
Each step felt urgent. Each step felt connected to the last one.
And by the time I could see the whole thing, I guess it was already gone.
That is why I am telling this story.
Not because it is easy. It is not.
I still have days where I replay every moment. I still hear the voices. I still see the porch.
I still think about the gold leaving my home and the bills going into those machines.
But I also know silence protects the criminals. I keep thinking about the moment I almost told someone.
There were chances, small ones. A question from a bank employee.
A moment when my husband was nearby.
A second when I could have put the phone down and said, something is wrong.
And I didn't.
I, um. I didn't.
Not because I didn't love my family.
Not because I didn't trust them.
Because by then, the fear was louder than everything else.
So if you hear yourself thinking, I can handle this quietly, or I'll explain it later, or I just need to get through this one step.
Please stop.
Please.
That is what I kept telling myself.
Just this one step. Just get through this one thing.
And every time I did, they got one step farther away. With everything I had worked for, I wish I had done that. I really do.
I cannot change what happened to me.
But maybe someone hearing this will recognize the script before the career reaches their porch.
[00:20:59] Speaker A: That was Clara.
[00:21:01] Speaker B: And if you heard pain in her
[00:21:02] Speaker A: voice, you also heard courage.
Here is the takeaway I want you to remember and share with someone you love.
Legitimate law enforcement, the FBI, the irs, the Federal Trade Commission, your bank, or any real government agency will never call and demand that you move money to protect it.
They will never tell you to buy gold.
They will never send you to a Bitcoin atm.
They will never send a courier to your home to collect your cash, your gold or your life savings. If someone says you are under investigation and orders you not to tell your spouse, your children, your bank or local police, treat that secrecy as proof of the scam.
Hang up, close the laptop. Call someone you trust using a number you know is real, then report it. For behind the scams, I'm Sue. Because the more you know, the harder you are to scam.
Bye for now.
