Who Wants to be a Five Millionaire?

In recent months I have received several very enticing business propositions. One was from the finance minister of Nigeria, another from the vice president of Zimbabwe, another from the treasurer of Etiwanda, and I just got one more from an auditing accountant in Zaragoza, Spain. Surprisingly, they were all more or less the same. Each had millions of dollars they were trying to move out of their countries, and needed an honest, reliable person such as myself to let them use my bank account and passport, and for that I'd get a cut of around $5 million.

The latest one, from Sola van Thomassen at Magnum Trust Inc., started: "The purpose of my writing to you is because I am searching for a foreign business partner who is in a position to assist me with my urgent business proposal, as time is not on my side; a partner who understands what confidentiality means and who has the necessary facilities I require in embarking on this important venture."

Wow! That's me! Mr. van Thomassen went on to inform me that they wanted to transfer "US$14.6 million from floating funds" when they discovered that the owner died without leaving an heir, and they offered me 20 percent for my assistance.

For some reason, none of my prior deals worked out, and I ended up sending thousands of dollars each time, none of which I ever saw again. But this one sounded legit. Then, my sweetie happened to find the correspondence on my computer.

"What do you think you're doing, you idiot!" she screamed.

"Don't tell anyone," I informed her, "but I've got a sweet deal going that will pay me nearly $5 million. Tax free! I'll be able to pay off all my credit cards and take you on a nice trip, to Fresno, maybe."

"Those are e-mail scams, you nincompoop! They've been going around for years."

"Really? Gee, it sounded on the up and up. It could fool anybody."

"Not anybody with some intelligence. I bet it wouldn't fool someone like Barry Shulman."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Come to think of it, I wouldn't be surprised if he sent out one of those letters himself. That's probably how he got the money to buy Card Player."

Ah, well, another opportunity gone down the drain. I just couldn't believe there would be people out there dishonest enough to try such blatant scams. Who, I thought, could possibly be that evil?

On cue, the phone rang. It was Ralph the Rattler. I hadn't played in his home game for 10 years now, but he hadn't given up and still called me every week. "We shall have a splendid game this week," he informed me. "Big Denny is arriving from Barstow, and also in attendance will be Break-Even Benny, Filthy Willy, Booger Boy, Happy Harry … "

"Forget it, Rattler," I cut him off. "I'm not interested in your crooked game, and besides, I'm too upset at something that just happened." I went on to describe the con artist e-mails I'd been getting.

This got the Rattler's attention. "Very interesting. Perhaps there is money to be made in such an endeavor."

"Nobody would be stupid enough to fall for something like that," I scoffed, neglecting to mention that I had – four times.

"It is my experience that poker players would," the Rattler argued. "I believe I shall transmit a letter of this type. Should you care to assist with such a letter, I am willing to offer you, say, 10 percent of the proceeds."

Well, I thought, I would just be providing literary services. Nothing illegal in that, is there?

A week later, the Rattler showed me the message he had composed. Correctly assuming that nobody would put any trust in a letter from Ralph the Rattler, he had re-formatted his name to Rolf de Rattelier. Mimicking the style of the letters I had sent him as samples, it read:

Autovía de Huesca,

Km. 7,2. Ciudad del Transporte,

C/M 50820, TURKESTAN

E-mail: [email protected]

Esteemed Friend,

My name is Rolf de Rattelier. You have perhaps heard of me. I am of world renown as being the highest-limit poker player in the world. I play with sheiks and billionaires in games as being so huge that we employ Mr. Doyle Brunson as a chip runner.

Last month brought to me my biggest win ever, amounting to the sum of US $14 million [$14,000,000.00]. It was in a very private and secret game with Arab royalty held in the Emirate of Turkestan, and my payment came in the form of a check signed by the crown prince. Unfortunately, I was also warned that it was forbidden for me to cash this check personally because I am too well-known as a professional gambler, and should the king to discover that his son had lost his entire weekly allowance to a gambler such as myself, I might be put to death. I urgently need to remit this money out quickly or it will be forfeited for nothing.

My need, therefore, is for having an outside party deposit this check. You have been recommended to me as a poker player who would be understanding of my situation and one whose integrity and discretion is beyond reproach. Should you be so kind as to send me your bank account number, your passport, and $500 for good-faith money to cover transaction fees, I will immediately deposit the entire sum in your account. Your fee for this service will be $5 million. Time must be of the essence, so please to make a prompt reply.

Scouring gaming newsgroups, the Rattler found e-mail addresses of about 2,000 poker players. He estimated he'd get eager responses from at least half, thus netting him about a half-million dollars. He got around 1,000 replies, all right. Unfortunately, none of the responding poker players had passports or even bank accounts, much less $500. Most didn't understand the technical details of what the Rattler was proposing, but they all had counterproposals asking to be staked in a tournament or in side games. "Just send me $500 and I promise to double it in a week," was a typical reply. A number of players such as Eskimo Clark asked for buy-ins for the $10,000 World Series championship. Frank Henderson demanded $25,000 to play in a Bellagio tournament. None of the respondents offered to send in any of their own money.

"Quite unsatisfactory," the Rattler hissed. "But I recognize my error. I shall attempt another mailing, this time, however, to a more sophisticated and affluent audience."

"Like who?" I asked.

"Prison inmates."