Did I Get Scammed by a Crypto Bro??? PART 2
Part Deux
I was recruited by Bijan* (named changed) to sell multi-million crypto-backed loans. He brought me to a conference and wowed everyone with his pitch—including me. Read Part I here.
After the conference, we had the option to attend a bunch of different “side events.” Side events were apparently where all the fun was had: they boasted open bars, buffets, and chances to mix and mingle.
One side event was at Carousel, a much beloved club in Bushwick, where I live. Carousel opened just last year, and had a write-up in the Times. Now Manhattanites flocked there on weekends, so my friends and I only went on weeknights. (Thank God today was a Wednesday!) Carousel had a 70s theme, complete with wood paneling, disco balls, and mood lighting. Basically, it was Eric Foreman’s basement meets Studio 54.
As soon as we got inside, a kid named Abishek (name has not been changed) told us the code to the open bar. Within 90 seconds, Bijan and I were swilling Hendricks martinis (mine dirty, his not) and making friends.
People weren’t whipping out their LinkedIn QR codes as fast and furious here. It was more of a hob-knobby vibe. I found myself locked into a convo with a guy who, “luckily got on the ground floor of Bitcoin.” He had just returned from a fitful six months in Capri. Next up, he and his wife were building a wellness center in Costa Rica, where he planned to lead people in ayahuasca ceremonies.
Abishek came over to tell us about how he just raised $50 million in crypto backing for his company.
“I have to go back to India in a few months,” he sighed. “My parents won’t let me stay here, and besides—my Visa in running out.”
I found myself wondering if any vestige of this existence would soon find me. Capri was still a pant in my world, and “margin call” was just a Zachary Quinto movie. Yet I found myself fantasizing about how I would spend those $50K commissions that Bijan kept mentioning.
First, I’d freeze my eggs. Then, I’d pay off my student loans. Then, I’d take my mom on some sort of trip…
It was getting past 10, and I was drunk. I Venmo’d the bartender his tip (s/o Koby at Carousel! Name has most deffly NOT been changed <3) and told Bijan I was heading out.
“I’ll walk you home!” he said, jumping up. The Costa Rica guy frowned—he was in the middle of telling us how he took DMT and saw the Star of David.
“You don’t have to,” I stammered, but Bijan insisted.
It was the hottest day in Brooklyn since 1888. Now that the sun had set, the temperature had dropped to 91, but it was still like walking on the surface of Mars. My neighborhood, while always loud and zany, felt extra wild tonight. A telephone cable snapped above our heads and landed, sparking, on the street, a dangerous black snake. The fire hydrants were gushing water into the street (as they inexplicably do in summer) but tonight, a grown man was bathing in one. A bicyclist nearly ran me over as we crossed the street by Maria Hernandez. Bijan called out to him that he should apologize, and he cursed him out in Spanish.
As we walked on, Bijan told me that his girlfriend, Juni, had asked about me.
“She wanted to know if we were going to hook up, or if it would all be professional.”
“I think I’d prefer if we didn’t muddy the waters,” I said swiftly. I also told him the truth: I’m not into people in open relationships. “Hooking up with someone who is is like interning for a company you’ll never work for.”
Then, worrying he might shut down and ghost me, I babbled that I still respected him, and felt I could learn a lot from him, and really wanted him for a mentor.
He walked me all the way to my door. Then he asked to use the bathroom.
This was annoying, because my bathroom is deep in my bedroom. Now he was going to meet my cat, see my unmade bed, my clothes on the floor, my journal open on my bed, with his name scribbled on the recent pages, and all my intimate filth that I had no time to stow away.
After he flushed, I stiffened like a porcupine in the wild, trying to make the vibe as unsexual as possible.
But he didn’t try to kiss me, he just pet my cat and left. “Keep studying,” he advised.
But then…
It was still crypto week in NYC. On Saturday night, my good friend Juliana and I went to Gran Torino for a nightcap.
Juliana knew all about Bijan. She had patiently read through my texts describing his pitch. She had been cautiously supportive, as we always with each other. We used each other to parse through feelings, be it about a guy, a work problem, a friend or a roommate. “Got it queen, but don’t let yourself get scammed!” was her official take this time.
Tonight, we sat at a table outside, beside a pair of thirtysomething guys. One was Aussie, the other a Kiwi. After some banter, they told us they were in the crypto space.
The Aussie was here from Singapore, and he had attended the Permissionless conference.
“I was there, too!” I answered importantly. “I’m trying to break into this space!” I showed them Bihan’s LinkedIn.
“That’s weird,” muttered the Kiwi. “We only have three connections. If he is what you say is, we should have 300.” They found the website to be vague and sketchy, as well.
Within moments, both guys and Juliana were using the dreaded word: scammer.
The Aussie was more optimistic, the least rush-to-judge of all. “Here’s how you test if he’s a scammer: tomorrow, you ask to talk to three people he’s closed loans for. You want to make sure that those loans are for real.”
So the next day, I followed the Aussie’s advice. I had been seeking proof all along, because so far Bijan was the only face of the entire company for me. All I had to go on was his word. I had asked to speak to other sales people, which he had given vague consent to (“let’s see how it goes.”)
This time, I framed my request as though my brother suggested it (not a random Aussie crypto bro). He’s overprotective, lollll, I texted. Obviously I trust you!
Here is what he said back:
I sent a screenshot to the Aussie, with whom I had connected over Twitter.
“Looks like you’ve found out if he’s a scammer or not,” he wrote back.
When I asked him what the angle could be, he sent me a list of crypto scams. Bijan’s sounded most like this one:
Advance Fee Loan Scam
•Mechanism: Victim is offered a loan at incredible terms (e.g., 2% interest). Before disbursement, they’re asked to pay a “processing fee,” insurance, or escrow fee upfront in crypto or other irreversible methods.
•Red flag: Legit lenders never ask for fees before disbursing funds, especially in crypto.
“I will say this for him,” the Aussie went on, prepared to show some clemency, “This guy does have his face on his LinkedIn profile. Most scammers wouldn’t dare.”
I wasn’t sure, especially considering Bijan had a PhD in finance from a reputable school. All I knew was that the over-reaction was sus, unwarranted, and a little bit bruising. I decided to just leave him on read, because I believe silence is golden. If you lash out at me, you get the last word, but you also have to live with your angry echo. I extend kindness and curiosity to everyone, and I imagine the memory of that is another punisher of sorts.
My life went back to normal. My LL offered me some listings. I asked to pick up some brunch shifts at work. I was surprisingly not in mourning over the dream of earnings tens of thousands of dollars through crypto.
But I do wonder if he’ll come back for $1 oyster night on Thursday.