Scam

What I Learned After Being Hacked

I like to think of myself as a savvy woman of the world. Heh-heh. Of course, this is an illusion, but for the most part I thought I did a decent job of adulting. From a young age my city girl antennae were attuned to oncoming dangers of all sorts (apologies in advance for Star Trek references). Muggers, street hustles, pickpockets… I was immune, protected by a force field of distrust that kept me out of trouble but often prevented me from connecting with my fellow humans, already a problem for us introverted. A few shield malfunctions occurred over the years, mostly related to falling in love. After each crash, I’ve been able to repair damage. Two weeks ago, I learned that after a decade in the relative peace of the Hudson Valley, my cloak of self-protection has come undone.

To cope with the assault of spam calls that are a tragic aspect of modern life, I never answer a call unless I see a number I recognize. I keep my ringer off unless I am expecting a call, at the risk of missing calls I would enjoy from friends or family. I have found this to be an effective weapon against most annoyance. I’m sorry if that was you trying to connect.

So, I cannot fully explain what happened to me two weeks ago, except that it was late on a Friday afternoon, after a tiring workday, and maybe I hadn’t had enough chocolate. Defense shields were down to 20%.

My cell phone buzzed; an unknown number from Albany, the metropolis forty minutes north of us. I looked at my phone and was overtaken by the low-grade paranoia/paralysis we all feel: the “what if I’m missing something important” bee sting, the same impulse that keeps us scrolling on Instagram, through posts we enjoy and ads laser-targeted to our buying habits.

I don’t know anyone in Albany. But it occurred to me in that split second of paranoia/paralysis insanity that this call might be from some part of the network to which our local hospital belongs. There is a report circulating that our hospital may not last long here, a serious worry as my partner and I have visited the emergency room a number of times and all our regular doctors have offices there. Were these doctors already relocating? Whaaawazhappening?!

I answered the phone. The pleasant male voice said that he was calling from my bank. Charges flagged as possible fraud. The voice described the charges. I did not make these purchases. Hackles raised, alarms blared.

My normal fully functioning, fairly rational not-Friday-at-5pm mind would have recalled that my bank never makes such calls. Instead, if I make a purchase that is unusual, or sometimes when I travel overseas or even out of state, a debit charge might be declined as suspicious via text message and then, if replying to the text message doesn’t clear things up, I have to call the bank to let them know where I am. Sometimes I remember to call my bank in advance of travel. This doesn’t always help—often a purchase still gets rejected. Any deviation from my regular habits of grocery shopping, lunch yummies at our nearby extravaganza food emporium, meals at local restaurants, occasional splurges at local stores (shop local!), and payments for weekly Pilates and yoga classes and my Italian tutor typically sends my bank’s computer matrix into a tizzy.

And so, even though my bank never initiates such a phone call, this pleasant male voice had my attention. It was as if a laser had sliced a hairline into my skin, leaving me open to infection.

I listened as the male voice explained that I needed to grant access to my account to remove the fraudulent charge. It was not a small amount. I had just received a payment for services and I had bills to pay. Our mortgage was due. By now, I was agitated, not quite panic but getting there. Reason vs paranoia were now in a pitched battle for brain dominance. This is bullshit, a scam, call your bank right now! No, maybe the bank has changed its fraud strategy, listen to the pleasant voice! After all, the voice knew my debit card number and my name and where I lived. The voice told me not to worry, that everything would be resolved. Rational voice said this is not right and super fucked up, hang up now! I hung up. Friendly male voice called back. And then, People Pleaser voice kicked in, telling me that I should be more trusting. It was war inside my head. Into that hairline slit, a deeper blade forced its way inside.

Both voices won. The scammers got money. In that same instant, I realized I’d been fleeced. I hung up. I called my bank and of course they did not initiate the call, as they never do. I collapsed into hysteria, a full-on meltdown. The bank froze my accounts and by Saturday I was in the process of restoring financial and mental sanity. As of this moment, I am still trying to recoup the money the scammers finagled out of me via an ongoing fraud dispute.

The amount of money is significant, but this loss alone wouldn’t break me. What lingers is the feeling of violation—and an unwelcome reminder of my vulnerability. Also, in the aftermath of bank account repair, a sober acknowledgment that to the large companies that run our financial transactions, we are nothing more than user names, pin codes, account numbers, and routing numbers. The dystopic idea that one day we will all have chips in our brains is probably something that Meta and Amazon and Elon Musk are racing to bring to market right now.

The computer systems we now rely on to manage our lives cannot protect us from moments of human weakness and confusion. The very qualities that make us caring, trusting, compassionate humans leave us open to attack. I have since spoken to several friends who have been victims or almost victims of similar scams and they all describe a similar sensation: the paranoia/paralysis that overtakes otherwise rational savvy people. Accounts can be replaced, stolen money returned. I have appreciated the kindness of individuals at the bank who have been helpful. But I noted that they also wasted no time trying to pitch me on getting a bank credit card. I smiled, and politely declined. What I’d like is zeroed-out credit card balances and full repayment of my kid’s college loan. What I’d really like in this moment is to return to the barter system.

HELLO HUDSON VALLEY! On THURSDAY DECEMBER 4, I’ll join John Kearns and Lucy Sante at the PARK THEATER in Hudson as part of a literary series curated by Jane Ormerod. I’ll be reading stories that I’ve published on this Substack and on Sari Botton’s Oldster and Memoir Land. I hope you’ll join me! The Park Theater is a lovingly renovated performance space with a cozy front bar serving local brews, cocktails, and non-alcoholic drinks. Further info here: https://www.viewcy.com/event/literary_night_a_gal_20

HELLO SARASOTA, FLORIDA! I’ll be leading a memoir-writing workshop at the wonderful Bookstore 1 in Sarasota, Florida in late January 2026. This will be a redux of my workshop from last year, re-scheduled for the evening to accommodate folks who couldn’t attend last year due to work schedules. In addition to helpful staff and exciting events, the store features an excellent Banned Books table. Here is a link to purchase tickets for this workshop:

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/memoir-writing-workshop-with-new-york-times-bestselling-author-julie-metz-tickets-1963631773494?aff=ebdsoporgprofile

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THANK YOU for reading and I’d love to hear from you! More posts most Fridays at noon. I hope you’ll subscribe (paid subscriptions help support independent writing on Substack!) and share with other readers. A free and open press has never been more important, especially as we experience life under an administration in Washington that is no friend to writers or readers.

You can find out more about my memoirs Perfection and Eva and Eve here and purchase here.

I work privately with memoir writers. You can reach out via my website: juliemetz.com.