AARP Hearing Center
My name is Jim, and I have spent most of my adult life swindling people out of money — big money. I worked in 30 fraudulent business operations over a 10-year period, pitching everything from gold coins to time-shares to oil and gas leases and other business opportunities. These scams took in millions of dollars. No matter how much money we made or how far-fetched the deal was, I never got caught. That is, until Sept. 30, 2004.
That was the day 40 U.S. postal inspectors and FBI agents with gold badges and guns burst into my office. This was on Biscayne Boulevard in Miami. We occupied two full floors of a nondescript commercial office building. The place housed numerous other scam boiler rooms I had worked in, but you would never have known that from the outside.
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"Hang up the phones — it's over!" one agent yelled.
The particular scam here was an Internet-kiosk business opportunity. We'd been running TV ads claiming that investors could make thousands of dollars from computer kiosks placed in high-traffic areas like airports and shopping malls. For a small fee, passersby could use these kiosks to check their email or surf the Web. Back in the early 2000s this was a hot idea. We told people they could earn a minimum of $30,000 to $35,000 per machine each year. This was pure baloney — the machines didn't generate anything close to that kind of income. And we sold them at huge markups. We took in $17 million from 700 unwary investors in about eight months. At least 100 employees were in the building at the time of the raid, including secretaries and other clerical staff. A lot of them didn't even know that the business was a fraud.
The agents gathered everyone in a big open area we called The Pit — where, moments earlier, dozens of salesmen had been pitching prospective victims over the phone — and started calling out people's names. They were handed letters explaining whether they were targets of the investigation, material witnesses or something else. When they called my name, things got quiet. I was the manager of the room; people wanted to see how I would react. As I walked over to retrieve my letter, my cellphone went off. The theme from The Godfather (my new ringtone) filled the room. People couldn't help but laugh.
The next thing I knew, a postal inspector took me into a side room and told me, "Your day just got shitty, and it is going to get shittier."
That was the end of my last scam. The Feds sent a dozen guys to prison. I did 37 months, and it probably should have been longer.
You might be thinking, "Oh, those get-rich-quick scams are obvious, and I would never fall for one." When I hear someone say that only stupid people fall for fraud, I feel like asking for that person's phone number. But here's the thing: I didn't want to talk to stupid people, because stupid people don't have $50,000 lying around to give me. You would be amazed at how many doctors, lawyers, engineers and college professors I ripped off. The bottom line is, fraud is a crime that can happen to anyone, given the right con man and a victim with the right set of circumstances.
Make no mistake: I am a dangerous person on the telephone. If I choose to be fraudulent in my practices, nothing is going to stop me from taking lots of money from you. Period, the end. And the world is filled with people just as dangerous as I am.
I was what's known as a closer: the guy who gets you to hand over the money. I'll tell you how, so you can recognize and avoid the techniques I used. I can do this because I am out of the game now. If I were still in the game, I'd tell you only one thing: "You and I are going to make a lot of money together."
Born to Con
I learned how to do this at an early age. I've got a natural ability to talk people into things. Growing up in Brooklyn in the 1970s, people called me Fonzie; they would say, "Hey, Fonzie, that mouth of yours is gonna make you a million dollars someday."
In my neighborhood, 500 families lived on my street, giving me a lot of parents to manipulate. You learned what works. I played the heartstrings; I intimidated; I made people feel bad for me. Whether it was manipulating my three older sisters or convincing the neighbor lady that I needed one more ice-cream bar from the Mister Softee truck, I always knew what to say. And as I got older, I got better.
In 1995, I got a chance to apply these gifts of persuasion in the workplace. I went to work for a Florida company that sold prepaid-calling-card vending machines. At first I thought it was a real job. But it seemed like a lot of customers were calling back to complain. In fact, they all called back to complain. Believe it or not, for a long time I thought every business was like this. Gradually, it dawned on me that this was the dark side of corporate America. But by then I had developed my own dark side — drug addiction.
I first tried heroin when I was 22, and became instantly addicted. For the next 15 years I would move in and out of rehab centers and in and out of fraud boiler rooms. Drug addiction gave me the two characteristics all scam operators want in a closer: selfishness and greed. If you are strung out and in need of a fix, you will do anything to feed your habit.
This may explain why the owners of many of these scam operations in South Florida recruited their boiler room staff at local Narcotics Anonymous meetings. Who's a better talker than an addict? Nobody. Who is more manipulative than an addict? Nobody. Who is more desperate for money than an addict? Nobody. Addicts hustle; that's what we do.
So you couple that with my experience selling over the phone in Florida and you have the perfect storm. I'm a hustler from New York and an addict. These boiler rooms were dying to hire me.
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