by Peggy Robin
This morning I read this story in the New York Times online edition:
The caller ID said “Chase Bank,” and the man on the line said I might be a victim of fraud. His supervisor would explain.
“Please hold,” the caller said, “while I transfer you to my supervisor.”
It was a Wednesday in August, a little before lunch. The call came from a 212 number, which for a New Yorker could be almost anything — the school, the pharmacy, the roof guy — so I answered.
The caller asked for me by name and stated in measured tones that he was from Chase Bank and he wanted to verify transfers being made from my account to someone in Texas.
Wrong number, I said. I don’t have a Chase account.
But one was recently opened in your name, he replied, with two Zelle transfers. And minutes ago, someone tried to transfer those funds, $2,100, to San Antonio.
Now, this carried the whiff of plausibility. I’m one of some 150 million people who has access to Zelle, the payments platform that lets you send and receive money from your phone. But my scam radar was also fully operational and pinging.
“How do I know this isn’t a scam?” I asked, sounding like that guy in every movie who asks an undercover cop if he’s a cop.
He had a quick answer. Look at the number showing on your phone and Google it, he replied. “Now look up the Chase branch at 3 Times Square,” he instructed. “See the office phone number?” I did, and it matched the one on my phone’s screen. Then he added, “Here at Chase, we’ll never ask for your personal information or passwords.” On the contrary, he gave me more information — two “cancellation codes” and a long case number with four letters and 10 digits.
That’s when he offered to transfer me to his supervisor. That simple phrase, familiar from countless customer-service calls, draped a cloak of corporate competence over this unfolding drama. His supervisor. I mean, would a scammer have a supervisor?
The line went mute for a few seconds, and a second man greeted me with a voice of authority. “My name is Mike Wallace,” he said, and asked for my case number from the first guy. I dutifully read it back to him.
“Yes, yes, I see,” the man said, as if looking at a screen. He explained the situation — new account, Zelle transfers, Texas — and suggested we reverse the attempted withdrawal.
I’m not proud to report that by now, he had my full attention, and I was ready to proceed with whatever plan he had in mind.
Continue reading at this link:
https://www.nytimes.com/2025/09/18/nyregion/zelle-chase-banking-scam.html?unlocked_article_code=1.nU8.Y5uw.G6L95Ewx4vwV&smid=url-share [gift article - no paywall]
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I like to think I wouldn't have let it get that far. I've got a strict rule, and I never make exceptions: If I get a call from ANYONE at a bank, a utitlity company, a company I've orderd stuff from, or anyone at all whose name and phone number is not already in my contacts, I tell them I never discuss things like this by phone, and hang up. Or sometimes, I simply hang up without speaking a word (so they can't record and then clone my voice to manipulate it and make it sound like I'm agreeing to something).
Then, if I have any lingering sense that the call could be legit, I call up the company using the customer service contact info I have stored in my contacts list. If I don't have an account with the company, I look up the customer service number shown on the company's website.
If it's my bank, I call the bank officer at my local branch -- the one who gave me his card the last time I had in-person businesswith the bank.
I am not moved by any caller's insistence that I must act quickly. That sort of thing should ALWAYS set off alarm bells.
I don't want to sound smug -- I certainly don't think I'm smarter than the writer of this article. Just in this one case, though, I feel sure I would never have let things go so far.
Of course, the first and best reaction would be not to answer the phone to an unknown caller. Let it go to voicemail and then if they leave a number, I'll delete it and call the company on the number I've stored for my account with them in my contacts list.
Yes, that is definitely the way to go. OK, just a little smugness is warranted for anyone who does that from the get-go.
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Still Life with Robin is posted on the Cleveland Park Listserv and on All Life Is Local on Saturdays.
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