How The BEC-er Stole City Funds!
“In 2020, the IC3 received 19,369 Business Email Compromise (BEC)/ Email Account Compromise (EAC) complaints with adjusted losses of over $1.8 billion. BEC/EAC is a sophisticated scam targeting both businesses and individuals performing transfers of funds. The scam is frequently carried out when a subject compromises legitimate business email accounts through social engineering or computer intrusion techniques to conduct unauthorized transfers of funds.”
-IC3 Internet Crime Report 2020
Special Thanks to Mike G. for lending his excellent voice over talent on this!
Every whom down in Whom-ton liked working a lot…
But the BEC-er who lived just north of Whom-ton did not! The BEC-er hated to work. And all the Whoms down in Whom-ton, well…they were all dorks. Now please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the cause. It could be his head wasn’t screwed on just right. It could be, perhaps, that his hoodie was too tight. But I think that the most likely cause of all may have been that his heart was three sizes too small.
But, whatever the cause, his heart or his hoodie, he stood there that day, hating those Whom goodies. Staring down from his house with a strange robber’s frown, at the warm lighted windows below in that town. For he knew every Whom down in Whom-ton beneath; because he was also an identity thief with a breach.
“The town is transacting!” he cursed with a scowl. “Their saving and spending, I must defraud them, but how?” Then he smirked, as his perpy fingers nervously typed, “I must find some way for some money to swipe.”
For tomorrow he knew... that the town wasn’t stopping. They’d build a park and fix potholes, they’d clear out their stash, with the money they’d saved from taxpayer cash. They’d pay contractors to work and the children would play, while the cars on the road drove a road that was paved. He couldn’t have this, no this just would not do, the BEC-er said to himself from his house with a view.
Then he got an idea, a twisted idea. The BEC-er got a terrible, awful idea!
“I know just what to do!” the BEC-er laughed very high. And he turned on his laptop and got on wi-fi. And he chuckled and clucked, “What a great schemey trick! With this mouse and computer my scam will be sick. All I need is an email,” the perp said while browsing. Then he found a public official, who was in charge of housing.
“Wanda Whom,” said the scoundrel, who was taken by glee. “with an email of Wandawhom@whom-ton.me. I’ll make a slight change and no one will know, when the m become n’s and my plan is a go.” So he made a fake email, that looked something like this...
...he made the fake email to fulfil his wish.
By online directory he looked far and wide, for a target to target of who would be tried. Someone in finance with wire authority…a bookkeeper, an accountant; he found someone name Dorothy.
“Oh this plan, yes this plan, is coming together,” this was all said before he received a letter. In it was written a note from the municipality, letting him know of a project of hospitality. A new homeless shelter would be built in the spring, to house all the homeless who were suffering. Instead of an omen to keep him from felony, the BEC-er thought it a way to satisfy his jealousy.
“TYPE TYPE TYPE,” his dog Mark heard. And so the typing continued that day, in an email to Dorothy, of which he would say, “Dear Dorothy this is Wanda, hope you are good. The homeless shelter needs more money, please help…if you could. The contractor just told me they have a new account. So please would you dear, please send them a wire… quickly now quickly before the mayor inquires. The numbers quite simple I’ll spell it now…”
The BEC-er finished his email and went to hit send, and no part of his body or soul would cringe. It was now just a matter of time, before Dorothy found the communication and helped with his crime. He sat back in his dark gamer’s chair, with his dog Mark and himself just sitting there.
About four o’clock his phone started to blurt, and upon checking it he saw a high balance alert. Dorothy had sent it, his plan hadn’t failed. With lots of Whom-bucks the BEC-er went pale. His hoodie was up and triumphant was he, when he found the wire in the bank (all the money but the fee).
“I can buy all the hoodies and wear them a lot, I can get lots of crypto while those homeless Whoms rot. And they’ll never find out that I did it with glee. They will never find out that it was even me!”
The BEC-er decided to move all the money; from mule to mule, he found it all funny. Each one on the way would be blamed for breach, while, in two or three weeks he would be on the beach! A mai-tai, margarita, or cold island brew to celebrate his success; yes, one of those would do.
A few days later [BEC-er has the funds]…
“The paper has come,” BEC-er said to his dog Mark. “I’m on page 1, though they do not say who. I’ll read of my crime, all the way through.” And he read the whole thing, beginning to end. He read the whole thing…again…and again…
The city didn’t have more funds to allocate, the homeless didn’t have a warm safe place they could locate. The guilt of this all started to creep, upon the BEC-er who started to weep. Reading again, the news story touched his heart, there was more to the story, this was only the start.
“Though a shelter would have been good for those out in the cold, I’ve thought of a solution that is somewhat more bold.” The mayor of Whom-ton had come up with a plan. “You whom’s better listen, my plans kind of grand!”
He went on to say that those with warm homes had a lot. And at least for a season, they could help those who had not. “Volunteer one and all, let us know who you can take in, for in our Whom-anity we are all kin. We will make the best of the crime that has elapsed, because without it our society will collapse. And I offer my sympathy to the thief out there, who is probably lonely and hurting, but who, I hope, still cares.”
And the BEC-er, with his BEC-hoodie warm by the stove, sat stunning and stunning: “How could it be so? They made it without planning! They helped without thought! They homed the homeless with not all a lot." And he sat there stunning four hours until his stunner was sore. Then the BEC-er thought of something he hadn’t before.
“Perhaps charity,” he thought, “is better than fraud. Perhaps charity…maybe…is something less flawed.”
And what happened then? Well…in Whom-ton they say, that the BEC-er’s small heart grew three sizes that day! And the minute his heart didn’t feel quite so minor, he knew exactly what to do with the funds from the wire. He cruised to the bank with a transfer in sight, and he sent all the funds back to make all things right. He went to the Whom cops and turned himself in; and the judge locked him up in jail for ten. But he was out in three because of good conduct…he was out…he was free…though he was an ex-convict.
He had no where to go, so he walked down the street. The man of his past, he did not want to meet. His house was now gone, as well as his cash. He had admitted to all, even parted with his stash. Who Whom would take him in after what he had done…that’s when he saw the homeless shelter…standing welcoming in the sun.