Esteban Tanner really thinks I'm wonderful. He wants to give me a honking-huge mortgage at an interest rate much, much lower than the national average. I know he really wants to do this, because he's e-mailed me about it twice. This is an unconditional offer and Esteban doesn't even care if I have rotten credit. And he's a Regional CEO! Wow! What a deal!
Of course, I don't know what company he's the Regional CEO of. And I don't know what makes me so special that he's willing to loan me over $400,000 at such a great rate. And since when did financial institutions not care about your payment record?
But still, how can I resist? All I have to do is click on the link provided and fill out an approval form.
Yet, remarkably, I think I'll pass. Because I'm willing to bet that good 'ol Esteban is a scammer. A click on that link just might attach a nasty little piece of software to my computer that will let this scammer see stuff that I e-mail, like my credit card numbers, passwords or bank account numbers. Or maybe the link really does take me somewhere, to a fake application form that invites me to fill in the blanks with such info as my Social Security number, my name, address, and—gee, ya think?—credit card and bank account numbers.
Can you say "identity theft?"
A scammer's best friends are human vanity and human desperation. Scammers target people who are such deep financial trouble that they're willing to grasp at straws. And they target people who will swallow the idea that somehow they're so special that they deserve a too-good-to-be-true deal. But when you get one of these so, so exciting e-mails, resist the pitch. No one is that special.
Not even me. Not even you!
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