The Fraudster Story

This is a true story I am putting out there, mainly as a warning to others and to share with some friends as it is too long to tell you all. I am a 27 year old man, one of the thousands who move each month to London in order to seek a better life, happiness, excitement, education and adventure. Even though I'm 27, I look pretty young and most people think I'm 23 or even 21. Looking younger has always been a teenage curse, like when boys all around you are starting to hit puberty at 13 or 14 and get taller and talk about girls and masturbation, and you still feel 11 and want to continue building tree houses and fish and illegally play on building sites. However I am beginning to realize how soon, and for the rest of my life, looking yuonger might just turn into a blessing.

The entire summer of this year was a perplexing emotional roller coaster of a series of crazy events. I was mesmerized and lured into an emotional and financial trap by a professional con man, a sociopath, a fraudster. I believe I mentioned him to some of you, a mention he hardly deserves, perhaps only to deliver a warning and prevent a similar scenario from ever taking place again.

So those of you who know me well, will be aware of the often secretly embarrassing even to myself fact, that I am into older men. The reasons for this are multiple I'm sure and many a psychologist would have a field day with me. I should seriously advertise myself as a study subject for PhD researches on skewed & unusual sexualities. The bottom line is my head turns at most men in their prime which in my book is around 50 years old. Maybe even the lower 60s if the guy is into a healthy lifestyle and can charm me with his success, intelligence, masculinity, a dose of arrogance and a sense of humor.

We met on a dating website. I remember that I accessed the site from my university library at Birkbeck College, which when I think of it now after the even, it seems a little careless.  The correspondence began in a mundane, usual matter. What do you like to do, what books you like to read etc. He was half English half French, residing in France. His name was Jonathan Sutherland. I was intrigued, because his profile stood out from others in that it implied an intelligent, well-traveled, well-read and an educated person, who did not simply want to get laid but who offered a lot more besides that. It said he was looking for young men who can talk about more than just "Kylie and cocks". Well that certainly was me as I barely caught that he must have meant Kylie Minogue, who I knew was a singer, and I never enjoyed discussing anyone's genitalia. From the start I held no expectations of a relationship, as I was not looking for one. At least that's what I kept telling myself - "not looking for an LTR". But was I really not looking or was that just a tough "I'm a tough lone rider" front I was putting out there to desensitize myself to the idea of a relationship? The truth is I'm not sure. In any case, the date was great.

We met on a Friday night. We drank several pints of beer each and spoke volumes about books we had read recently, films we had seen, episodes from each other's lives, past relationships, the travelling we had both done. Jonathan appeared to be of rare, extremely high and brilliant intelligence, possessed what seemed like an appropriate sensitivity and one time matter-of-factly admitted to being a romantic. Chemistry was high and sparks were flying. His record was a lot more impressive in all of the categories we spoke about - and it wasn't just due to his age.

The next day was a Saturday and as I had made plans with some friends before, I did not see Jonathan. But I couldn't help but revel in the thrill of our first date which was still all over me. Since he was staying in London until Monday, we decided to go out Sunday. By the way, every detail here is important - it will all tie together in the end. Sunday we had lunch. I noticed that he had moved hotels. Then one he stayed in Friday night was different from the one we stayed in on Sunday. The lunch was had in the hotel restaurant. It was added to the tab. He impressed me with ordering in French (even though we were not in France) and ordering the most pricey items & wines. The conversation continued to flow, as did the wine. I found myself falling for J way too quickly than reason would dictate. We rested, and in the evening when it was time to have dinner, J shared the first revelation which at that point did not ring any bells. He had left his wallet at his friend's house. The friend had gone away and the wallet could not be retrieved until Monday. That of course meant, he could not cover the dinner. I was perfectly fine with that information. I did not mind covering a small meal for two, especially that he said he would be happy with pizza. As a matter of fact I was glad I could "treat" such a brilliant individual as J to dinner. I felt almost privileged to pay. As we approached a cash machine, another big red flag had sprung up. The available limit on my account had gone from around $900 to zero. I was puzzled by this but thought I'd bring it up with my bank on Monday and decided to go to the restaurant and pay with another card. We had simple Italian pizza and shared yet more of this captivating conversation. J continued to impress me with his general knowledge, the people he knew and the things he had done. I mean the guy could out of the blue give me an academic analysis of the medieval Latin dialect of Venice at my small mention of either Venice, Latin or the word medieval. J also turned out to be a fan of Israel - just as I am. So he said we should just go to Israel for a week next Tuesday - as spontaneous as that! I thought this was unbelievable!

Monday was when the real side of J was exposed, and yet, I chose to ignore that. Sunday night we drank quite a lot and because I didn't have to work Monday I crashed in his room. At approximately 8am there was a loud knocking on the door. He jumped out of bed readily and I began to get dressed in another part of the room. J put on some clothes and opened the door. It was the police. There was a problem with the fact J did not have anything to guarantee the bill he'd ran up at the hotel, so the manager called the police. They came into the room and began questioning J. I just sat there, feeling utterly humiliated and confused. That's when I began to question J. Who was this guy? I knew little about him and had no guarantee that what I had been told was true. It bothered me that it was an obvious assumption for the police to make that I was a rent boy. This made me feel so horribly humiliated I kept my eyes on the floor and could not even look up, afraid of the judgment, or pity, I might encounter in the cops' eyes. In the mean time, J was telling the cops his side of the story. I overheard him say he was married. That was news to me. At least I was referred to as a "friend" and it became suddenly revealed to me that I would put up my Amex card as guarantee of payment. What no one knew that the amount of credit left on my Amex card was insufficient to cover the bill J had ran up. I agreed to do this, though the decision was heavily influenced by the amount of shame I was feeling. I just wanted the cops out of the room. They did leave - with me - so that I could pay the remaining bill. On the way down the male officer, who was probably around my age, asked me how well did I really know this guy. I admitted it wasn't long. 72 hours. He told me to be very careful and that there had been a previous instance of him being in a similar pickle. By the time I got downstairs I changed my mind about paying. The hotel manager was there and he was upset. He behaved as if I was partially accountable for the entire matter. When J came down it was stated that if the bill is not settled he (and I possibly) would get arrested. Great. J got on the phone and he began calling friends. One of his friends agreed to bail him out. He paid a considerable amount over the phone by giving his credit card number. The police took the phone and spoke to him to verify and the speaker apparently vouched for J. That calmed me down slightly, but I was still upset. As soon as the bill was paid, we were practically kicked out of the hotel and J was told never to come back.

Outside, there he was, with all his bags and nowhere to go, no money, no cards. I was going to just walk away and get away. But I can't just do that. It's that damn soft side I have which I can't shut away. So I grudgingly offered him my hospitality. He took public transport and I rode my bike. Met him at the appointed station and when we got to my place I asked him straight up if he was a crook. He denied it. And he said we were still going to Israel. Then he made one mistake - he insisted the hotel was paid for, and he showed me the hotel bill. It was for $721. Which was the exact amount that went missing from my bank! Even though I refused to believe it at that moment and wrote it off as coincidence, I paid for his stay at that hotel we got kicked out of.

J stayed with me for 4 days before he had to fly home. He claimed he had lots of business to attend to and was gone nearly the entire day each day. He had to pay back his friend, see his lawyer friend, get the cards back - and because his friend was delayed in returning home he was delayed in getting his wallet back. In the end I never saw the wallet nor a single card - for all I know the wallet never existed. I loaned him 3 books, two were my favorite - one was by Gordon Merrick (the Lord Won't Mind and One for the Gods) and the other was The Romanian by Bruce Benderson.

When he left there were two cases of fraudulent transactions on two different bank accounts I have. I did not suspect J. I thought it was a mere coincidence. People that intelligent, sensitive and well-disposed simply can not be willful liers. Can they?

The following 2 weeks were spent by me anticipating the promised trip to Israel. I had even told some close friends of mine I was off on an unexpected Israeli holiday. Eyebrows were raised but I was happy. We did not go on Tuesday, nor Wednesday. J emailed me he had "tenant problems" and had to stay in France a few extra days. I was eager to go, because I was just about to start searching for a job and wanted to be back in town for when I started receiving possible calls from agents or employers. Then there was an email that he had an attempted break-in and had to stay further to sort out the insurance. he made a promise of a money transfer. He wanted to help me out financially while I wasn't working and pay me back the money I used to pay for his meals. I gave him my account details and waited for the transfer. The week after that there were further reasons and excuses for not going. He had only phoned me once, during those 2 weeks. I, like some damn schoolgirl, cherished every email and text I received. I was hooked. A week later, there was no transfer. During those 2 weeks I had reported the fraud to my bank, cancelled my cards and received new ones in the post. The stolen money was to be refunded.

At the end of that 2 week period, where my hopes were beginning to run thin, he said he was in Paris. I said it was only a train ride away and a small visit would be nice. He said my idea was great and why don't I just come over. I said since I hadn't been working for a couple of months I could not afford just to spontaneously travel to Paris. He said to book the ticket and he would refund me the costs and that's why he was transferring some money for me - so that such unexpected trips could be carried out. Since his promised money had not yet materialized, I managed to book an inexpensive fare and went to Paris. the plan was to spend a couple of days in Paris, after which he had to go to Hamburg to see his friend Simone Young, an Australian conductor, conduct the opera "Der Rosenkavalier". I went online to check the details and sure enough - "Der Rosenkavallier" was being put on in the Hamburg National Opera the night he said. When I told that to one of my close friends, K, he said to be careful nevertheless, that pathological liars research their lies to make sure they would check out.

This is the second really big point in the story where the scales should've fallen off my eyes. J met up with me at Bastille Metro in Paris. We sat down to have coffee, and the first thing of which I was made aware was that J had just been robbed on the Metro and the bag containing his wallet was taken. I had a moment of clarity. For a few seconds I understood what was happening and how naive I was being. But after a few seconds of that clear break in my otherwise muddled thought process, I began justifying J yet again. I paid for all the meals in Paris - J kept reminding me not to worry about this, that the transfer from his bank in southern France was on its way, and he would even add more to reimburse me for the meals. Reluctantly, I kept believing. The second day in Paris he made, what appeared to be a phone call to his private banker in southern France. he spoke in French. He told me that his banker was able to issue a new card and will be posting it via express delivery. But the following day he had to go to Hamburg, so he would just have the card shipped to Hamburg. When he was allegedly on the phone to his banker, he wrote down a new credit card number and the back 3 digit security code. He said those were the details of his new card and he could use those to book me a flight to London. Later on it hit me that those were probably the details of someone else's card, I'm sure I wasn't the only sucker being duped by J. he booked me a flight back home. The next day he left early to go to the airport to catch his flight to Hamburg. He did not have any cash so I gave him €60 in cash so he could pay for his way to and from the airport. I felt very uncertain. My doubts were growing, the discrepancies, coincidences and excuses were becoming to incredible for even a vulnerable unemployed student on a rebound to hang onto. When I came downstairs to check out it turned out he had not paid the hotel bill at all, which was at €660. I just sighed and called him. At first could not get through. Finally I did. He said they should just use the card he made the booking with. They said he did not sign anything and they can't do it without his authority. So he had to send an email, which he did, and they were able to charge that. At least the police wasn't called and the prospect of spending the night in a French jail (thought that might actually be kind of fun, they probably serve fresh croissants each morning and a glass of champagne each night).

After a few days passed back home, I discovered 2 more fraudulent transactions done in.... Hamburg, at Deutche Bahn. I finally began coming to my senses. I figured that while I went to the bathroom, J took out my cards out of my wallet and copied their details, front & back. It would only take 40 seconds or so. Then he used them online to make bookings. He probably runs IAN Travel Services and uses it to make bookings on http://www.hotels.com/. "IAN T.S." is what shows on the statement, and the amount is always in USD, even though the hotel is in Europe. Then J called me from Switzerland. He said the reason his promised money never materialized is because he had given his bank incorrect details, but he has a brand new idea of how to transfer money to me. He would only need to get my Amex card number and he could transfer money from his Amex card to mine. I refused to do that. When he called a Swiss number showed up on my phone. I googled it and it belonged to "The Grand Plaza Hotel" in Zurich, Switzerland. I emailed the hotel and warned them there might be a fraudster stying with them. they phoned me back 2 days later thanking me for the email and informing me that unfortunately they got it too late that he had already checked out.

I made a police report. I gave them the entire story, and it turned out there had already been a file on him. They knew he was a piano player and that he had travelled to Australia. I knew I had to break contact with him and that I would never see any of the money he promised me - but the most I mourned the loss of my books. I decided to treat his as a criminal but did not allow him access to my house. He kept making excuses until after the first week of July of why he could not see me, even though he came to London for Wimbledon.