Chapter Two – First Blood

 The messages came at midnight, Toronto time. Janet was still at her desk in the high-rise, a whiskey glass beside her, cigarette smoke curling toward the ceiling fan. The green dot appeared, and Unknown began to type.

Unknown: You want the beginning. The first one that worked.

Janet Brown: Yes. Start from the start. Who you were before this.

A pause stretched, then the words came in bursts.

Unknown: I worked in a bank. Thought it was supposed to be a career. Instead it was the same loop every day — get up before dawn, fight through traffic, sit under fluorescent lights while some supervisor measured my breathing. Colleagues drove me nuts: gossip and backstabbing over who got the better desk. Then the drive home, traffic again, a stiff drink, and the whole thing repeated.

Unknown: I had empathy, but not for them. For the people who walked in broken. Divorced. Overdrawn. Begging for a loan. I could see how badly they wanted to believe someone cared. And I realized — caring is a voice. You sound the way they need you to sound.

Janet Brown: That’s when you started experimenting?

Unknown: Exactly. I learned I could change my voice. Higher, lower, younger, older. A worried nurse. A desperate cousin. A boy with a cold. People filled in the blanks themselves.

Unknown: The first scam was the grandparent play. You know it?

Janet Brown: Of course. “Grandson in trouble.”

Unknown: That’s the one. I made the call, nasal, shaky. “Grandma, it’s me… I need help.” The woman didn’t question it. I said I’d been in an accident, broken nose, police station. I needed five thousand for bail, right away. She asked no questions. Just wanted to know where to send it.

Unknown: When the money hit the account, I realised I’d made more in one call than in two weeks at the bank. And I didn’t have to answer to any supervisor.

Janet: Did you feel guilt?

Unknown: Not then. She had savings. She loved the idea of rescuing someone. I gave her a story, and she paid for it. It was cleaner than what the bank did with hidden fees.

Janet leaned closer to the phone screen, considering her next angle. She typed:

Janet Brown: How did you choose your person? I mean, you’d have to have some idea they’d bite.

Unknown: It was easy the first time because it was an older bank customer. I knew her, knew her behaviour. Knew she’d be impulsive and overreact. She came in every month when her statements arrived, convinced the bank had messed something up. She didn’t think things through. And she liked talking to me. Lonely, I guess.

Janet Brown: So it wasn’t random.

Unknown: No. Never random. You learn who’s soft, who’s brittle, who’ll answer the phone with hope in their voice. That’s the art — not the script, not the money. Picking the right one.

Janet tapped ash into the tray, feeling her pulse quicken.

Janet Brown: After her, what changed?

Unknown: I started building a system. Patterns. Time of day was important. Late mornings, when older people were home, or early evenings, before their kids called to check in. Always avoid weekends — too much family around.

Unknown: I refined the script. You keep it short, panicked, emotional. “I need help, Nana, but don’t tell Mom and Dad.” That line — don’t tell them — locks the victim in. They’re now part of a secret. They feel chosen.

Unknown: And you never let them think. Keep control of the tempo. Cry a little, cough, make it sound like a bad connection. Urgency is oxygen. Without it, they start asking questions.

Janet Brown: How often did it work?

Unknown: More than it should. If ten answered, three would bite. Sometimes only one. But that one made it worthwhile. Five thousand, ten thousand. Enough to make the traffic, the supervisors, the bank, all feel like a bad dream.

Janet Brown: And the victims? Did they ever call you back, realise?

Unknown: By the time they figured it out, the money was gone, laundered through accounts that didn’t exist by morning. Their shame worked for me. Most never told anyone. That was the part I counted on — silence.

The green dot pulsed steadily on the dark screen, as though the scammer were daring Janet to push further. She sipped her whiskey, tasting the bitterness.

Janet Brown: And you kept at it. Over and over.

Unknown: Of course. Once you see how easy it is, why stop?

Janet Brown: You make it sound mechanical, like pulling a lever. Did you ever slip?

Unknown: Everyone slips. My first mistake was arrogance. I called the same household twice in three months, forgot to change enough details. The grandmother answered again, and this time she hesitated. Said, “Is this about that car accident?”

Unknown: My heart froze. I almost hung up, but I doubled down instead. Changed my voice, made myself the police officer, said we had caught the man who had scammed her before and needed her cooperation. She bought it — wired another three thousand.

Unknown: That was when I learned the most important lesson. Victims don’t want to believe they’ve been fooled. If you give them a new story that makes them feel smart, they’ll cling to it. That’s how you keep them.

Janet Brown: So the cover-up became another con.

Unknown: Exactly. A mistake turned into a payday.