It was Christmas Eve, and everything was exactly as it should be. Brayden and I had returned from a Roman spa by the Strand, feeling utterly relaxed. The tree was decorated, presents wrapped, and we were dressed for dinner out. All was calm and bright, until my phone buzzed.
A notification from Chase Bank informed me that someone had attempted to order £6.99 worth of Domino’s pizza in Liverpool. Odd, given that I’d spent the afternoon in a eucalyptus-scented haze nowhere near Liverpool. Moments later, my phone rang. No Caller ID.
“Hi, this is Nigel from Chase Fraud Department.” Nigel. Not a name that inspires confidence, but the alert had just popped up, so I stayed on the line. He explained that someone had tried to set up a standing order for £350 to Amazon. “Was that you?” Certainly not, though given my spending habits, it was almost plausible.
Nigel then asked for my account balances “to secure them for the record.” A crafty script, but something about his tone—a little too barrow boy—made me suspicious. When I hesitated, he sent me a message that appeared within my Chase app. It was unsettlingly convincing. Still, I stalled, unwilling to hand over information.
Nigel pushed on, asking me to Google Chase’s fraud number to verify his identity. The difference? One digit. Braden, now beside me, mouthed “hang up.” But I hesitated, still worrying about the alert, my savings, and—absurdly—our dinner reservation. That’s what they prey on: insecurities and the pressure of the moment.
Eventually, my stalling paid off. Nigel decided I was a bad mark and hung up. Previous scammers had responded to exposure with foul abuse—graphic terms involving farmyard animals and suggestions best left unprinted. Nigel, however, vanished silently.
I immediately called Chase using their official number. A kind agent, Finny, patiently helped me secure my accounts. On Christmas morning, I transferred the last of my funds out of Chase. The app messages were a mystery, and Chase offered no explanation or apology, despite similar scams being reported online in the last two years. I'm now moving most of my money out of their bank.
This scam struck at a particularly vulnerable time—cosy Christmas Eve, the tree twinkling, and dinner plans waiting. I was dealing with a potential financial disaster yet simultaneously fretting over losing our table. It’s absurd, but that’s how they get you. Scammers rely on emotional distraction, exploiting trust and pressing just the right buttons.
If someone calls you about money out of the blue, it’s almost certainly a scam. Hang up. If it’s important, they’ll contact you in another verifiable way. While phones are wonderful for connecting us with loved ones during the holidays, they’re also a gateway for those who mean harm, financially and emotionally.
That night, I was shaken by how close I’d come to losing substantial sums—my VAT savings, tax reserves—money I couldn’t replace. I was fortunate to have Brayden beside me, offering support and sanity. Many people aren’t so lucky.
This Christmas, be vigilant. Protect your finances and your peace of mind. Scammers are relentless, but a simple rule will keep you safe: never trust unsolicited calls about your money. Tell them to go away. Enjoy your festive calls with family and friends, and let’s make 2025 scam-free.
Happy Christmas, and beware the Nigels of this world. They’re no match for a well-informed Yorkshireman.
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