My Scam Victim/Survivor Story #72

I’m a 53-year-old physician assistant living in Rochester, New York, and I never imagined I’d lose $575,000 to a scam that began with a friendly message on LinkedIn. I’ve always been careful, staying informed about current events and avoiding suspicious offers, but in 2023, fresh off a divorce and feeling lonely, I fell for a romance scam that drained my savings and left me questioning my trust in myself. The scammer was a master of deception, posing as a kind woman seeking connection, blending into my life with promises of love and wealth only to betray me. Writing this feels like reliving a painful wound, but I’m sharing my story to warn others across the U.S., hoping you can avoid the heartbreak I faced. The loss has changed everything, but by understanding how I was deceived, I’m working to rebuild, determined to help you stay safe.

It started in May 2023, when I was settling into a new apartment in Rochester after my divorce. I felt isolated, missing my daughter and questioning what was wrong with me. Scrolling through LinkedIn, I received a message from a woman named Sarah Lin, who said she admired my work as a medical educator and wanted to connect. I’d love to learn from you and maybe be friends, she wrote, her tone professional yet warm. Her profile showed a business consultant from New York, with photos of her at conferences and city parks. I was intrigued, thinking this could be a chance to fill the void, so I replied, cautiously optimistic.

We moved our chats to Telegram, where Sarah was attentive, asking about my life in Rochester, my love for emergency medicine, and my dreams for the future. She shared stories of her own—how she’d moved from China, worked in finance, and longed for a meaningful connection. You’re so passionate, it’s refreshing, she said, and I felt a spark, letting myself believe I’d found someone special. She sent photos: her at a café, walking a dog, even a selfie smiling in a park. Our talks grew flirty, and within weeks, I was opening up, craving the connection she offered, unaware of the trap being set.

About a month in, Sarah’s messages shifted subtly. She mentioned her success in cryptocurrency investing, guided by her aunt, a “top financial planner” in New York. It’s how the wealthy stay ahead, she said, suggesting I could secure my future, maybe retire early. I’d dabbled in crypto on Coinbase, so it didn’t seem far-fetched. She sent screenshots of her digital wallet, showing thousands in profits, and urged me to try. Start small, you’ll see the gains, she encouraged. I hesitated, my gut whispering caution, but her confidence and our bond swayed me. I sent $5,000 to a Coinbase account, then transferred it to a platform called CryptoVault, thinking it was a low-risk test.

That was the beginning of a devastating spiral. Over the next four months, Sarah pushed me to invest more, claiming bigger deposits meant bigger returns. Just $20,000 more, and you’ll clear your debts, she said, sending charts showing my “gains” on CryptoVault. The site looked real, displaying my balance growing daily—$6,000 a day at one point. I withdrew $2,000 early on, which felt tangible, convincing me it was legitimate. This is working, I’m building wealth, I thought, ignoring the red flags. I borrowed $100,000 from my 401(k), took out loans, and emptied my savings, sending $575,000 total, believing I’d soon have millions.

The requests kept coming. Sarah said I needed $50,000 for “tax clearances,” then $75,000 for “platform fees.” These are standard, we’re almost there, she assured me, sending contracts with official-looking seals. My excitement blinded me, and I didn’t question the quirky site or her excuses about meeting in person—I’m shy, let’s wait, she’d say. But doubts crept in when my balance hit $1.7 million, and I tried to withdraw it. The site froze my account, demanding $286,000 in “anti-money laundering fees.” This doesn’t make sense, who gets this tax? I thought, my stomach knotting. I confronted Sarah, asking for proof the platform was real. Her reply was cold: Pay or lose it all. Then, silence. Her Telegram went offline, and her LinkedIn profile vanished.

I sat in my Rochester apartment, staring at my empty accounts, my heart pounding with disbelief. I’d sent $575,000, money meant for my retirement, my daughter’s future, my stability. The truth was crushing: Sarah wasn’t a consultant. She was a scammer who’d preyed on my loneliness. I later learned her photos were stolen, her wallet screenshots faked, and CryptoVault was a fraudulent site. The connection, the promises, the wealth—all lies. I felt like I’d been living in a dream, only to wake to a gut-wrenching reality.

The shame was paralyzing. I couldn’t face telling my daughter, who’d always seen me as her rock. I’d missed red flags—the endless fees, the vague excuses, the too-good-to-be-true returns—because I craved the connection and the dream she sold me. I kept it hidden for days, replaying every message, tormented by guilt. The betrayal wasn’t just financial; it was deeply personal, like losing a friend who never existed. I grew wary of every email, every call, fearing another deception. My confidence, built over years of high-pressure work, crumbled, and I doubted my ability to trust anyone, haunted by my own vulnerability.

Eventually, I confided in my parents, who listened without judgment and urged me to move forward. I found an online support group, reading stories from others across the U.S. who’d been duped by similar scams. I thought I was alone, but I wasn’t, I realized, finding solace in shared pain. The scammer’s tactics—fake profiles, emotional manipulation, fraudulent platforms—were calculated, designed to exploit trust. Knowing this eased my self-blame, though the financial loss still stings. I’m rebuilding, living frugally, and relying on my family more than I’d hoped.

Sharing this is agonizing, like admitting a defeat, but it’s worth it if it saves you. These scammers are experts at blending in, crafting personas that feel authentic, like imposters wearing a trusted mask. If someone online pushes investments, promises quick wealth, or avoids meeting in person, step back. Verify their story, talk to loved ones, and never send money without absolute certainty. I learned these lessons too late, but by sharing my story, I hope you can stay vigilant and protect your heart and savings from those who hide behind a facade of opportunity.