I’m from the government … and I’m here to help

Connie Grundmann gripped a small cardboard box in one trembling hand, cellphone in the other, her heart pounding in her chest. On the box she had affixed a mailing label addressed to the U.S. Department of the Treasury. The sun dipped slowly on that bright April evening in South Carolina as a silver sedan crept toward her house.

“My driver can’t see you,” the man on the phone told her. “Step off your porch.”

She did as she was told, and the car parked on the street in front of her house. She caught only a glimpse of the driver. The medical mask and lavender sunglasses he wore made it impossible to discern any details. But she could easily tell the car’s back window was open.

“Now,” the man on the phone instructed, “walk slowly to the car and drop the box into the back seat.”

In that moment, Grundmann sensed something was terribly wrong. “You don’t drop $50,000 in the back seat of an unmarked car,” she recalled.

But, by then, it was too late. She trusted the man on the other end of the phone. After all, he worked for the federal government, didn’t he? She put the box through the window and watched as the car drove away.

According to the Federal Trade Commission (FTC), scams targeting large amounts of cash have nearly doubled in the last few years. Scammers impersonating government employees bilked Americans out of $76 million in 2023. On average, victims lost nearly $15,000 each, much more than the amount lost to scams targeting credit cards or bank accounts.

Grundmann lost a lot more than that.

“The humiliation of all this is just sickening,” Grundmann said, shaking her head as she recalled the details.

It all started with a fake virus alert that flashed across the 71-year-old’s computer screen in early April 2024. It urged her to call a phone number to get help from a Microsoft agent. That’s a common tool used by “phishing” scammers, who try to secure their victim’s cooperation by getting them to take some kind of action, sometimes clicking on a link in an email or text message.

The FBI’s Internet Crime Complaint Center (IC3) logs an average of 758,000 complaints every year, although the actual number of victims may be much higher. Many don’t report to IC3. Phishing scams are by far the most ­common, in part because they’re often the catalyst for a more complicated scam.

Terrified of losing everything on her computer, Grundmann panicked and called the number. A woman posing as an agent stoked Grundmann’s fear. “Oh no! Oh my Lord, oh my Lord!” she said. “This is not good. You’ve been hacked! This is so bad.”

Horror gripped Grundmann as she listened to the woman fire off a list of vile websites hackers had supposedly used her IP address to access. The woman told Grundmann she was also a suspect in a money laundering investigation. Not complying with the “government” meant she would be liable. That could mean jail time, and who would care for her husband? The woman also warned Grundmann her money wasn’t safe.

Convinced it was all true, Grundmann’s fear spiraled into a frenzy. Her breath came in short gasps and her chest tightened. Unable to think clearly or act rationally, she was eager for help—and completely vulnerable.

Scammers count on that kind of reaction. John Street, a Biblical counselor of more than 50 years, said scammers know fear prevents people from making logical decisions. It becomes an emotional roadblock in a person’s thinking. “That produces a lot of panic and ­desperation,” he said. That affects even people who are quite logical and typically make good decisions. “When the adrenaline is running and they become really desperate … then they make horrible decisions,” Street added. “[Scammers] want you to fall into a fear trap.”

Horrified of being accused of shameful internet activity, Grundmann fell hard. “I just had to clear my name,” she said.

Connie Grundmann Photo by Denise McGill / Genesis

THIS KIND of “tech support scam” is one of the Top 5 reported to the IC3. Over the past five years, the number of such scams has nearly tripled, with more than 37,500 reports in 2023. Financial losses ballooned from about $54 million in 2019 to nearly $1 billion in 2023. Tech support scammers fabricate an urgent, scary situation and present themselves as the rescuer. The scammer gains the victim’s trust before the betrayal.

Assuring Grundmann she would get help, the “tech support agent” transferred her to the next scammer. Grundmann thought she was talking to someone at the FTC. The man used the name of a real FTC commissioner, Alvaro Bedoya, and encouraged her to search his name online to verify his identity.

Now, all commissioners’ pages on the FTC website include a warning about potential scams. But the agency only added that after Grundmann’s fiasco.

“Don’t worry. I am here to help you,” the man told her. “We must secure your funds to protect them from the criminals who are using your name and card numbers.”

Having never had contact with any government agency, Grundmann eagerly did whatever he told her.

THE BEST DEFENSE against scammers is understanding their tactics. Grundmann didn’t know government agencies don’t contact people via phone or email. They send letters through the mail. Her ongoing phone calls with “Bedoya” should have been a red flag, even though he made them seem legitimate by telling her to use a password at the start of each conversation.

But banks also have safeguards that should present a roadblock to scammers. The Bank Secrecy Act, first adopted in 1970, is intended to protect financial institutions from crimes including money laundering. All banks must comply with the act or face severe penalties. Compliance is complicated, but two aspects apply to cases like Grundmann’s.

The act requires banks to file Currency Transaction Reports for any transactions that involve more than $10,000. Banks also are required to report any suspicious activity on an account. If a customer is suspected of fraud—or could be the victim of a scam—a Suspicious Activity Report flags the account and, in some states including South Carolina, allows banks to put a several-day hold on cash withdrawals.

But as Grundmann discovered, it’s not a foolproof system.

Photo by Denise McGill / Genesis

ON APRIL 3, “Bedoya” convinced her that her money was not safe in the bank because of the hackers. Instead, he said she should entrust the funds to the FTC. He told her to purchase four $100 gift cards at Walmart and give him the card numbers. He said the FTC would provide an electronic voucher in return.

He then had her use ATMs at Walgreens and Walmart to withdraw cash totaling $3,200.

“He kept telling me over and over, ‘We need to secure your funds,’” Grundmann said.

Signs posted obscurely at Walmart checkouts warn about this kind of elaborate scheme. But the signs are nowhere near the ATM.

“Bedoya” told her to deposit the money into a bitcoin machine at a local Lucky Stars Tobacco & Vape. He gave her a QR code that directed her funds to a specific account only he had access to. He crafted legitimate-looking fake documents claiming her funds were safe with the FTC and assured her she would receive a check in three to seven business days.

Grundmann kept her life savings at USAA, a credit union only accessible to her online or through her debit card. Since she did not bank locally, “Bedoya” told her to open a local checking account at Wells Fargo and gave her the address. This way, he said, she could access her money and move it to a safe location with the FTC.

The morning of April 4, Grundmann followed “Bedoya’s” instructions to visit various ATMs in Spartanburg County and withdraw a total of $4,800. That afternoon, she returned to the same Wells Fargo and used her USAA debit card with a bank teller for $20,000.

Grundmann had never held that much cash before. Full of trepidation, she headed toward the door. A banker blocked her way and asked discreetly, “Are you aware of money laundering?” The shock of such a question left her speechless. It was the same term “Bedoya” had used, but she would never be guilty of such a thing. She was stunned by what felt like an accusation. “I had no idea what money laundering involved. I gave her a blank stare and walked out the door,” Grundmann recalled. All she wanted to do was get her cash to safety as quickly as possible—in the bitcoin machine.

The next day, “Bedoya” told her to withdraw $20,000 in cash using the same method but from another Wells Fargo branch. He anticipated the bank questioning why she needed so much money and crafted a lie. “I can’t lie,” Grundmann told him. His quick response: “Sometimes you have to make up a story to protect your funds.”

Grundmann told the teller she was working on a major landscaping project and received a discount if she paid cash. The teller seemed hesitant and called over a colleague. “I could tell they were concerned,” Grundmann said. “But he never used the word scam. They kept saying money laundering.” Grundmann wonders if a different approach might have saved her. “If they had explained to me how some scams work and used that word, I probably would have opened up to them. And recognized that I was being scammed.”

Individual banks develop their own protocol for identifying and preventing scams. But it doesn’t always work. Josh Dunn, vice president of corporate communications at Wells Fargo, told me via email that fraud and scams are an industry-wide concern. “Safeguarding our customers’ assets is our top priority, and we have robust security protocols and measures in place,” he said, but he declined to elaborate on those protocols.

By the end of the day, Grundmann had fed $48,000 into the bitcoin machine.

FINANCIAL LOSSES to government impersonators more than tripled between 2019 and 2023, topping $394 million. In 2023 alone, combined losses from government impersonation and tech/customer support scams totaled over $1.3 billion. The elderly are not the only victims. About 60% of complainants are younger than 60 and experience close to half the losses.

Forty-one-year-old Rebecca Hill was one of them. Just weeks after Grundmann’s scam began hundreds of miles away, Hill sat in her recliner and powered up her laptop. A female voice startled her: “Virus alert! Virus alert! Call this number now!” She couldn’t close the black image covering her screen. The voice shouted, “Do not attempt to turn off your computer! It may not come back on!” Hill couldn’t think clearly enough to hit mute.

“It drove fear into me,” she said. “I dialed the number.” The phishing scam quickly progressed to a tech support scam. A groggy Indian-sounding voice answered her call. The speaker’s kindness and gentle manner disarmed her.

He said he would help her and take care of the problem and provided an official-sounding tech agent identification number. “I felt like I was being rescued from this horrible computer situation,” Hill said. She gave the man remote access to her computer, and he claimed 39 people were hacking her Wi-Fi for nefarious purposes. “They continually played on that fear,” Hill said. The scammer took her to a fake but legitimate-looking website where she was to enter her credit card information and purchase a firewall.

It cost $399. After hanging up with the scammer, Hill intended to leave her computer on for 45 minutes as instructed, until her tech-savvy sister weighed in. “It’s definitely a scam,” her sister told her. Hill turned off the computer to prevent the scammer from accessing any more of her information. She spent weeks contacting her banks and credit card companies to prevent the scammer from stealing any more money.

Connie Grundmann ended up giving her scammer $98,400—her entire life savings. She was left with just enough money to cover one month of bills.

For weeks after dropping that final $50,000 box of cash through the open car window, Grundmann battled sleepless nights and headaches. She recognized her situation as a spiritual battle. “I kept hearing and seeing the word restore. I kept thinking, God’s going to work this out and we’re going to get our money back.”

But “Bedoya” had her make all the withdrawals, and camera footage at the banks prove that. She finally came to realize the money is gone for good.

John Breyault, vice president of public policy, telecommunications, and fraud at the National Consumers League, believes consumers should have better recourse. The legitimate services fraudsters exploit—including bitcoin, ATMs, and banks—have nothing to lose when scammers exploit them to steal money. “If they were required to bear more of the costs when fraud occurs on their systems, it would create an incentive for them to do more to secure their systems to prevent the fraud in the first place,” Breyault said. “When consumers are defrauded into sending money to a criminal, the banks need to make them whole.”

His organization backs the Protecting Consumers From Payment Scams Act, a bill introduced by three Democratic senators in August. It’s currently under review by the Committee on Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs.

Grundmann’s been left with two choices: trust God or despair. “We can’t change our past mistakes. But our past mistakes do not define who I am today,” she said with sparkling eyes and a genuine smile. Although God didn’t answer her prayer for financial restoration, she believes He did answer—with spiritual restoration.

Despite everything the scammer took from her, Grundmann has been able to pray for him. “The hardest thing I’ve had to do is to pray for that man’s soul. But God gave that man a brilliant mind, and he’s using it for evil. So I’m praying for his soul, that he could be redeemed if he chooses, and use his mind for God’s glory.”

—Rachel Coyle is a freelance writer andWJI Mid-Career graduate