I was lonely, and believed her despite all the red flags waving in my face. What made it so believable was her tactic of telling me where she was and sending pictures along the way — the San Diego Zoo, Catalina Island. One Friday night, we cooked a meal together through texts and screenshots.
I did have suspicions. I tried vetting her with the LAPD fraud division but came up empty. I tried Google’s reverse image search, but 10 photos revealed nothing. After those cursory efforts, I let down my guard completely.
Daisy suggested I invest in some gold options — a hedge in an uncertain economy. She sent me a screenshot showing she had earned $78,000 in trades the previous night on a website called SunX.
SunX.io is a legitimate website that has had its reputation tarnished by cybercriminals. “SunX has discovered that malicious individuals and groups have been forging official websites, creating fake apps, fraudulent customer service channels, and imitating our social media communities to carry out illegal fundraising, investment scams, and Ponzi-like activities,” the company said in a statement on its website.
But I had no idea I was dealing with a fake site until it was too late.
Levine at his computer, next to an AI-generated image of “Daisy”
David Walter Banks
One night at dinner, I told my daughters, Jenny and Jessica, about Daisy. I showed them her pictures.
“How do you know she’s real?” Jenny asked. “I hope you’re not doing any kind of trading with her.” She was freaking out because the father of a friend had fallen into an internet romance, lost all his money and committed suicide. I was blind to all the warnings.
Daisy pushed me to start trading. I told her I was willing to risk $20,000 from money invested with my financial adviser of 20 years, Richard Ross. I told Richard I needed $20,000 to buy a new car. My relationship with Daisy turned me into a prolific liar.
The first night I invested, I almost did handstands when I seemed to make a profit of $1,920. Daisy convinced me to withdraw another $70,000 on September 4. I told Richard I wanted to set up a fund to help Jenny’s photography business.
A week later, on September 11, of all days, disaster struck. I lied and told Richard I was withdrawing the rest of my $133,000 in investments for a son-in-law to look after.
Meanwhile, at my grandson’s soccer match, Jenny and Jessica tried to intervene. “Dad, the moment you hit send, your money is gone,” Jenny warned. I would have none of it.
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