For over a year and a half, my elderly father has been preyed upon by a ring of Jamaican con artists.
Their game is Advance Fee fraud (in the form of a Sweepstakes scam), wherein a large sum of money is promised in exchange for prepayment of certain fees, such as taxes and customs duties. It is all a hoax, of course, because no legitimate sweepstakes requires winners to pay to claim their prize.
If a target cooperates, the fees multiply and escalate, often in creative ways (the scammers have variously impersonated officials from Publisher's Clearing House, Federal Express, the IRS, FBI, and even the Department of Homeland Security). Naturally, the hoaxers demand payment in cash so they receive the funds immediately and there is no trail leading back to them.
I first became aware of my father's involvement in 2008 when he announced he was driving to the airport to meet a man who was going to deliver his winnings in a sweepstakes. Smelling a rat, I queried my dad and learned he had wired money to Jamaica to "release his prize." His unwillingness to disclose the sum sent a chill down my spine.
I told him it was clearly a scam, and tried unsuccessfully to talk him out of going to the airport. I then offered to tag along, but he refused to let me accompany him.
Naturally Mr. Prize Money was a no-show, although my father would later claim he had met him at Customs where his winnings were being "held up." I checked out his story with local officials, and they confirmed that no such thing ever happened.
Troubled by my father's credulity, I tried to convince him it was all a ripoff. I downloaded reams of evidence from the web, including warnings from federal agencies and testimonials from other victims. I even had the bunko specialist from the local police department talk to my dad in person. At the end of their meeting my father admitted that he had been duped, and thanked the detective for setting him straight.
Within twenty-four hours, he was sending money to the con men again.
Thus began my campaign to protect my parents against further loss, an undertaking that has pitted me against my dad, who in league with his controllers has been a formidable adversary.
Afraid of being overheard on the land line at home, my father started talking to the crooks in secret on his cell phone up to thirty times a day, and in one billing period his Verizon tab was over $2100. After I insisted on changing his mobile number, he promptly made it all for naught by making an outbound call to the criminals, revealing his new digits.
When changing my dad's cell number failed, I confiscated his mobile phone and swapped it for a model with restricted calling capabilities. The same day he responded by purchasing a prepaid unit at a local convenience store. When the prepaid phone proved to be a hassle, he ditched it and started calling his Jamaican masters from home, using international calling cards to keep overseas dials from showing up on his bill.
Then there were the money transfers: Although it took almost four months, I was finally able to persuade Western Union and MoneyGram to stop wiring funds for my father. It wasn't easy, though. Before they stopped, I had to monitor local outlets (such as grocery stores and Wal-Mart) for activity, often on a daily basis. I also circulated flyers warning WU and MG agents that my dad was being defrauded, begging them not send any cash on his behalf. While only one store had the guts to deny him service, all helped me by providing photocopies of my father's money transfers, which later proved useful.
Once blocked by the wire services, my father started sending envelopes stuffed with cash via UPS and FedEx. When I shut that down, he began sending money by Express Mail.
After exhausting every other option, our family was forced to take legal action and petitioned the court to appoint me conservator of my father's estate, because my dad would not grant me Power of Attorney. Luckily, the judge found sufficient cause to issue temporary letters of conservatorship until a hearing could be held to determine whether or not my dad was cognitively impaired.
After a series of delays there was finally a hearing, and the evidence compelled the judge to rule in our favor, and two months later I began serving as my dad's representative in matters involving money.
Since then I have been unraveling the knot of my father's expenditures. My parents' losses, I have discovered, are close to six figures. Furthermore, I've learned that, after emptying their joint checking and savings accounts, my dad borrowed money against the house and his credit cards to pay the con men's phony fees, which by my reckoning total over eighty installments. Thankfully my folks still have their home, and sufficient resources left to weather this financial storm.
As for my journey to conservatorship: To paraphrase the rock band The Grateful Dead, "what a long, strange trip it's been."
Along the way I have met bank officials, police detectives, fraud specialists, and FBI and Secret Service agents. I have talked to the Toronto police department, as well as the Federal Trade Commission and Attorney General's office. I have also spoken with people throughout the country who have been baited by the crooks with my dad's money. I even attended a meeting of Gam-Anon, a support group for family and friends of compulsive gamblers.
It has been an educational experience, and I am publishing this blog to share what I have learned, that others might not succumb to the scum who ripped off my father.
