CHASE SECURITY CENTER
How scams unfold

My phone rang with my bank’s name on the caller ID. The woman introduced herself as the new branch manager and said she wanted to personally welcome me as a long-time customer. It felt reassuring.

A few days later, she called again. She said they’d identified some unusual transactions on my account and that the police were involved. She transferred me to a detective who gave me his badge number.

He said the branch manager suspected an employee inside the branch so it was important to keep this quiet. They’d opened a new account in my name and said they would watch if the employee made any fraudulent transactions. I gave them my permission to move $2,500 to this new account and read them the code they texted me.

Little did I know they’d drained my account and no new account was set up. It was all so believable, especially how the “detective” was so convincing.

I got a text from an unknown number. It was my sister saying her purse had been stolen out of her car, along with her phone and credit cards. She said she was at a phone store and borrowed the rep’s phone to text me.

He’d told her that without a credit card, the only thing they’d accept was one of their gift cards.

She asked me to buy a gift card online. I didn’t think twice. It all made perfect sense — how else would you buy a new phone if your credit cards just got stolen? I bought a $900 card and sent her the gift card number and code. Then, nothing.

I called her and she picked up. She was completely unaware of what had happened.

I’d been scammed. They used my love and concern for her to trick me. I’ll never forget how that felt.

A pop up “alert” took over my screen, warning that my computer had been hacked. My cursor was moving on its own, so I panicked. Another pop-up, branded like my computer company, told me to call tech support immediately and gave me the number.

The man who answered sounded professional and calm. He said they’d seen this attack before and directed me to a cybersecurity site. He asked me to click a link so he could check my screen. To test things, he had me log into a few harmless accounts, then suggested I sign into my bank to make sure it was safe. He assured me he couldn’t see my password because it appeared as dots.

When no suspicious transactions showed up, he said it was a false alarm and hung up.

I later learned that by giving him remote access, I’d exposed everything I typed. Soon after, thousands were transferred out of my bank account.

I found a beautiful cabin online with a last-minute holiday offer. It had snow-covered trees, a stone fireplace, everything we wanted.

I contacted the owner through the rental site and he followed up by calling me. He asked me for a deposit and to text him photos of my ID and credit card. So, I did.

When we arrived, someone else was already staying there. Apparently, the listing was fake and had been cloned by a scammer.

Soon after, I started receiving notices about unpaid credit cards and a car loan I never opened. The scammer had used my info to steal my identity. What should have been a cozy holiday became a full-blown identity theft horror show.

I’d gone down a rabbit hole of searching every ticket site. Then — finally — a big-name seller showed availability. The site looked like it always did. At checkout, my card wouldn’t go through. A message popped up: call this number to complete your booking.

Strange. But I was happy to have found seats, so I called. The agent said their payment system had been down all day, but other people had used their credit cards to buy gift cards, and that was working. I email my nieces gift cards all the time, as they’re easy to buy online. He told me he’d hold the tickets and gave me a code for when I called back. I went online and bought $360 in gift cards, called back and read him the numbers.

I waited for the ticket confirmation email but nothing happened. I called the number again, and the rep said they had no record of my purchase and hung up. When I checked the website address carefully, I realized it was one letter different than the real site. This site and the 800 number I’d called were completely fake. I’d given scammers the gift card numbers, so I had no recourse and my money was gone.

My parents taught me something simple: if you can help, you should. So, when the hurricane hit our coast and the news showed whole streets underwater, I didn’t think twice. An ad appeared while I was scrolling online: a “verified emergency relief fund” for local families. It looked official. Government-style logo, urgent language, photos of flooded neighborhoods I recognized. It even said a major donor would match every contribution for the next 24 hours.

It felt like the right moment to act. I sent a check to donate. It wasn’t a huge amount, but it felt meaningful. A few days later, I asked for a receipt for tax purposes. No reply. When I tried to trace the charity, there was nothing. No registration. No footprint. My check has been cashed and the website had already disappeared. I’d been scammed, not by someone selling a fake product or offering a prize, but by someone who exploited my instinct to help.

Every August feels like financial whiplash. New shoes. Clothes. Backpacks. My son’s school strongly recommended getting him a laptop. By the time I found a website advertising a huge back-to-school sale, it felt like a lifeline.

The site looked completely real. Same branding as a major retailer. Professional photos. Customer reviews. Even a countdown timer warning the sale would end in two hours. I ordered a laptop, headphones and school supplies. The confirmation email arrived instantly.

Then nothing. No shipping updates. No tracking number. The customer service number went dead. A week later, my bank flagged fraudulent charges from overseas. The website had vanished overnight. Losing the money hurt, but telling my son he’d start the school year with secondhand supplies and a borrowed laptop hurt even more.

I’ve always written checks and dropped them into the blue mailbox on the corner. I thought it was safe.

But one morning, my life was turned upside down. A bill that I knew I’d paid showed up as overdue. I checked my bank account and my heart skipped a beat. The check I’d mailed had been cashed for a much higher amount. Apparently, scammers had erased it and rewritten it for thousands more in their own name.

My bill wasn’t paid and to make matters worse, scammers drained my account by cashing fake checks they’d created. They also used my check to steal my identity and had opened accounts in my name.