My Scam Story #62

Government Impersonation Scam/Banking Scam/Phone Scam Victim/Survivor’s Story

Survivor’s Origin: USA

This is the original victim’s story, enhanced by the SCARS Institute Editorial Team to improve comprehension, readability, and continuity. The names were changed to protect the survivor’s identity.

WARNING: THIS SCAM VICTIM/SURVIVOR’S STORY MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME PEOPLE. DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

ADVERTENCIA: LA HISTORIA DE ESTA VÍCTIMA/SOBREVIVIENTE DE ESTAFA PUEDE SER INSENSIBLE PARA ALGUNAS PERSONAS. SE RECOMIENDA DISCRECIÓN.

If you need help, join our free SCARS Institute Support and Recovery Program at support.AgainstScams.org

Si necesita ayuda, únase a nuestro Programa gratuito de Apoyo y Recuperación del Instituto SCARS en support.AgainstScams.org

My Story

I’m 63, a retired nurse living in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and I never thought I’d lose $17,500 to a scam. I’ve always been cautious, clipping coupons and saving for my grandkids’ future. But in February 2025, I fell for a scam that had me stuffing cash into a Bitcoin ATM at a corner store. I’m still kicking myself, but I’m sharing this to stop others from making the same mistake.

It started with a phone call while I was cooking dinner. The caller ID showed “Department of Justice,” and a man with a stern voice said he was an agent named Mark Thompson. He claimed my bank accounts were compromised by hackers linked to a cybercrime ring. My Social Security number, he said, was tied to illegal activity, and I could lose everything if I didn’t act fast. I was terrified—my savings were all I had left after years of hard work. He told me to move my money to a “secure federal account” using a Bitcoin ATM, which he called a “safety locker.” It sounded official, and he had my account details, which made me believe him.

Mark stayed on the phone, guiding me step by step. He said the hackers could intercept bank transfers, so I had to withdraw cash and deposit it into a Bitcoin ATM at a party store on Washtenaw Avenue. He even gave me the address, saying it was the closest one. I drove to my bank, hands shaking, and withdrew $17,500—two envelopes stuffed with cash. The teller asked if I was okay, but Mark had warned me not to tell anyone, claiming the bank could be infiltrated. I mumbled something about home repairs and left.

At the store, I stood at the Bitcoin ATM, feeling out of place. I’d never used one before and didn’t know what cryptocurrency was. Mark talked me through it, calm and patient, like he was helping a friend. The machine was clunky, with a flickering screen. He sent me a QR code to scan, saying it linked to the federal account. I fed the cash in, $100 bills at a time, for nearly 30 minutes. A few customers came and went, but no one said anything. I felt exposed, but Mark’s voice kept me focused. “You’re doing the right thing,” he said. “Your money’s safe now.”

When I finished, he thanked me and said the FBI would contact me once the investigation was over. I went home, exhausted but relieved, thinking I’d protected my savings. The next day, I called the number back to check on things, but it was disconnected. My heart sank. I checked my bank account—no trace of the money. I called my son, who lives in Ypsilanti, and told him everything. He was gentle but blunt: “Mom, you’ve been scammed.” We looked up Bitcoin ATMs online and learned the money was likely gone, converted to cryptocurrency and sent to a digital wallet somewhere in the world.

The shame hit me like a wave. I’d worked 40 years, scrimping to build that nest egg, and I lost it in one afternoon. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, replaying every moment of that call. Why didn’t I question the QR code? Why didn’t I tell the bank the truth? I felt like I’d betrayed my family, leaving us with less security. My son tried to comfort me, saying scammers are professionals, but I felt so foolish. I’d ignored the red flags—the urgency, the secrecy, the strange machine in a party store.

I went back to the store, hoping for answers. The manager was gruff and hung up when I mentioned the scam. I stood where the ATM was, picturing myself feeding in those bills. My son helped me contact the bank, but they said Bitcoin transactions are irreversible. I was out $17,500, money I’d planned to use for medical bills or a trip with my grandkids. The loss stung, but the betrayal cut deeper. Mark knew exactly how to scare me, using official-sounding terms and my fear of losing everything.

I’ve learned since that these scams are common. Scammers spoof phone numbers to look like government agencies, and they research local Bitcoin ATMs to direct victims. They use fear to cloud your judgment, making you think you’re saving yourself when you’re handing over your money. I found out the “Department of Justice” doesn’t call people to move money, and real agents don’t use Bitcoin ATMs. I wish I’d known that before.

This has changed my life. I’m living on my pension now, cutting back on groceries and skipping outings to save every penny. I’m scared to answer unknown calls, and I double-check every email with my son. I’ve lost trust in myself, second-guessing decisions I used to make with confidence. My family’s been my rock, but I hate that they worry about me now.

I’m sharing this because I don’t want anyone else to feel this pain. If someone calls saying your accounts are at risk and tells you to use a Bitcoin ATM, hang up. Real government agencies don’t work that way. Tell your bank or a family member what’s happening, and verify the caller’s story with an official number from a trusted website. Never scan a QR code from someone you don’t know—it’s a one-way ticket to losing your money. I learned that the hard way, but maybe my story can save someone else from the same heartbreak.

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