ONCE UPON A TIME I RECEIVED AN EMAIL FROM MICHAEL THOMAS.
Michael claimed to be a Washington Mutual Bank official in Atlanta, Georgia.
He confided that years earlier, he set up a secret account for a man getting a divorce. But the man had recently died, and there—in that secret account—sat more than ten million dollars!
Michael said he found me through “an agency that helps seek people by their email.” Hmm. Anyway, he explained that the account holder had used an alias, and if I would claim to be his next of kin, Michael’s lawyer would draw up paperwork and the funds would be sent to my private bank account.
Michael would “trust me” to forward eighty percent of the money to him, allowing me to keep the remaining twenty percent.
I’ll get back to Michael in a minute.
Skipping ahead
When I started writing my first novel, Peter, a writer friend, suggested I join a writer’s group. There, he said, I’d get feedback on my writing, and I would in turn critique other writers.
The next evening I sat in on such a group. Boy, was I charged. These were real writers. Everyone had prepared a critique of something one of them had written.
When the meeting was over, the facilitator asked me to send her a sample of my writing. (Not just anybody gets into her group!)
I’d whip something out.
I went home energized—and intimidated. Those people knew their stuff. They saw problems I didn’t know were problems. Passive sentences, clichés, head hopping, too many to be words.
Huh?
I hoped those writing books I’d ordered would arrive soon. I’d need them.
I don’t remember what I wrote, but it wasn’t up to snuff. Too much head hopping? Too many to be words?
“Do you have anything else?” the woman asked. A benevolent teacher trying to coax me into giving the correct answer—“Anything at all?”
“There’s Scamming the Scammer.”
I sent her a few pages, and she wrote back, “Bill, you are a writer. Welcome to our group.”
Back To My Soon-To-Be Best Friend, Michael
Michael’s plan was not to deposit ten million dollars into my bank account, but to drain it of every penny. It’s called a Nigerian Scam. Thousands of people have been bilked of their entire savings and some folks have actually gone to Nigeria, never to return.
I planned to reverse the arrangement by having Michael send me money. I opened a new email account and became Martha, a rich Beverly Hills heiress.
Michael found me beautiful, and for two months we corresponded.
I copied each of the 37 exchanges (as they occurred) to more than 50 friends who were free to write back (to me only) with their—often hilarious—comments.
The series was totally screwball; full of allusions that went over Michael’s Nigerian head. For example, I told him my dog was missing, so I hired a neighbor, Jim Neighbor, the soundman for the movie Lassie Come Home, to call in the dog.
The whole thing is loaded with sexual innuendos, intrigue, deception, love, greed, double crosses, offshore bank accounts, bizarre allusions, and of course, photographs.
Next Week: Chapter 1. Scamming the Scammer
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THE DEVIL ORDERS TAKEOUT — Award-winning thriller (that Scooby loved).
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THE KILLER WHO HATED SOUP — Award-winning mystery (that Scooby really loved).
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THE KILLER WHO WASN’T THERE — Award-winning mystery (that Scooby’s still reading).
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