When Adam receives an email from his cousin Ed requesting for a Google Play Gift card, he is happy to oblige. What happens next? 

When I opened my emails this morning there was one from my cousin Ed Westback. Over the years, I had lost touch with Ed, but as an undergraduate, I attended a university in the city where Ed lived with his family. During those years we would see one another on a regular basis as his mother — my aunt — would invite me to their home for meals. Ed was a couple of years older than me, but he introduced me to his friends and included me in many of their activities, like softball games and touch football. Ed also coached me on how to navigate the sometimes- difficult path of university life, and for this I was, and still am, grateful to him.

So, when I saw an email from him, I was rather glad.

“Hi. Are you well? I just wanted to make sure that you got this email as I’m unavailable on the phone. Can I ask you for a quick favor? Thanks, Your cousin Ed Westback”

At the time I received Ed’s email I was preoccupied. One of my horses needed surgery, and I was waiting for the person who was to drive him to the veterinary hospital in a town three hours from where I lived. My concern for my horse took precedence over all else, but I also wanted to help my cousin. I wrote back.

“Hi Ed. Good hearing from you. Sure; what is it you want/need? Adam.”

It wasn’t too long before I received Ed’s next email.

“Thanks, Adam, for responding. I need to get a Google Play Gift Card for a friend of mine who is diagnosed with stage 4 mesothelioma cancer; it’s her birthday, but I can’t do this now because I’m currently out of the country. I tried purchasing it online, but unfortunately had no luck. I was wondering if you could help me by getting it from any store around you. I’ll reimburse you when I get back. Please let me know if you can do this for me. Thanks! Ed”

I normally drive to a neighboring town every two days, for supplies — mainly food — for all our animals, so it wouldn’t be an imposition to carry out Ed’s request.

“I’ll go to the supermarket in the next town,” I wrote Ed. “I purchased a gift card for our nephew a few weeks before, and the display in the supermarket was enormous. I’ll let you know later this morning. Is the name Google Play Gift Card, or is that the generic name for all sorts of gift cards? How is it used? In what device? Also, how much do you want to spend? Adam”

It was obvious from my email that I hadn’t a clue as to what Ed was talking about, other than I had recently purchased a somewhat similar gift card for a nephew.

Ed wrote back almost immediately.

“The gift card is called Google Play Card, and the total amount I need is $300 ($100 denominations) from any store around you. When you purchase the cards, I need you to unpack them. There’s a silver design at the back of the card. Gently scratch it to reveal the pins. Then, take a foto and email the foto to me, so I can forward them to her. Ed”

Aside from his grammar and punctuation — both of which I corrected for the most part — I found Ed’s instructions confusing, but I had yet to find the gift cards and examine them.

“I’ll let you know what I find,” I wrote back.

“Thank you. Kindly keep me posted. Ed”

The person who was to take my horse to the clinic called to tell me she was going to be late, but not to worry, she’d be there in about an hour or two. As I had errands to do — and that now included buying the gift cards for Ed — I left immediately, so that I’d be back well before she arrived to board my horse onto her horse trailer.

When I entered the supermarket, I went to the display of gift cards and searched for the ones that said Google Play. Unaccustomed to buying such items, I was bewildered; there were so many — three billboards filled with gift cards from dozens of companies. It took me a while to find the Google Play Gift cards, and then I had to choose the correct denominations. With cards in hand, I proceeded to the cashier, to pay.

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“Do you really want these?” Claire asked. Claire was one of the cashiers with whom I was familiar as I shop there several times every week.

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“What do you mean?” I asked her.

“Well, Adam, these cards are sometimes used as a scam,” she told me.

“Thanks for the warning, Claire, but I really don’t have time today to discuss this,” I told her. “A cousin of mine asked me to buy him $300 worth of these cards, and that’s what I’m doing.”

Before I left the supermarket, I looked at the cards and read the instructions. I thought of putting them in an envelope and mailing them to my cousin, but then I remembered he asked me to scratch the silver whatever from off the back of the cards. Gingerly, I took apart the cards from their backing, for fear I might damage something vital. On the backs I saw a silver strip. This must be the silver design Ed meant, I said to myself, and cautiously I peeled them off, revealing a set of numbers underneath. Trembling, I took a photo of the exposed numbers with my iPhone and sent it to him in an email.

“I hope this is what you asked for,” I wrote Ed. “One card is for $200, the other, for $100.”

I left the supermarket, happy that I was sufficiently adept in being able to accomplish the favor my cousin asked of me and returned home. The driver who was to take my horse to the clinic arrived ten minutes after I did. I helped to put my horse onto the trailer. I then went back in my house and to my computer; to edit a story I had begun the day before.

After about an hour, I had yet to hear back from Ed. I began to wonder: had he received my email with the photo of the cards? I checked my iPhone, and the email to Ed appeared to have been sent, so why hadn’t he emailed me back that he’d received it?

Despite his telling me that he couldn’t be reached by phone, I called Ed, but his message tape was full.

Perhaps three hours later, I received an email from him.

“Were you able to purchase the cards? Please let me know as soon as possible. Ed”

I now began to question what I had done, for I suspected that not all was right. Rather than call Ed again, I called another cousin, one who I knew kept in touch with him.

“Pat, I received an email from Ed, asking me to buy him some Google Play Gift cards ….” but before I could explain further, Pat told me, “I received a similar email, Adam. It’s a scam.”

When I put down the receiver, I felt stupid. With five university degrees — including a PhD — if anyone should recognize a scam, it ought to be me, — yet, I hadn’t. I tried calling Ed to let him know that someone had hacked his contacts and was sending emails asking for Google Play Gift cards. My call went through this time, but he didn’t answer. I left him a voice mail, explaining what had happened and my suspicion about the hacking of his contacts.

When my real cousin — Ed — didn’t return my call — and Pat had told me he wasn’t out-of-town — I knew I had been scammed.

But why hadn’t my cousin returned my call? I knew I had called his number because Pat confirmed it when we spoke. The more I thought, the more puzzled I became. I began asking myself what if it really wasn’t a scam? What if my cousin used his own contacts to extract money from his friends and relatives? What if my cousin himself was the scammer?