Emma Monroe’s phone rang. Eighty years old, a former professor of philosophy, she liked to believe she hadn’t lost any of her sharpness over time. She answered the phone before the second ring, noting that she didn’t recognize the caller ID.
“Hello?” she said.
“Is this Mrs. Monroe?” asked a gruff voice with an undertone of menace.
“Yes, it is. How many I help you?”
“I’m with the power company. Did you know you’re overdue on your bill?”
“My goodness. I’m sure I’ve paid it. This sounds serious,” she said, as her voice rose in pitch, with a slight flutter.
“You bet it’s serious, and you haven’t paid it, and two technicians will be at your house in 40 minutes to turn off your electricity. You can avoid this by arranging to pay your balance now, and calling our billing department at the following number immediately: 800-555-7226.”
“Oh my God! This is awful. I need my electricity. However, my hearing isn’t as sharp as it used to be. Could you repeat that number for me?” The voice did so.
The time had come to take control of the conversation. Mrs. Monroe had recognized right off the bat that the call was a scam, and this last bit clinched it. Why was she only hearing about this at the last minute? Why would two technicians be needed when surely one, or even none, would suffice? And lastly, what was the power company’s plan if she didn’t answer her phone? Some role reversal was in order.
“Thanks,” said Mrs. Monroe, her voice suddenly steady and an octave lower. “That’s enough for me to get a voiceprint.”
“Voiceprint? What do you mean?”
“You know how no two fingerprints are alike? Voiceprints are the same. I work with the FBI, and we’ve just rolled out a pilot program. All I have to do next is match your voiceprint to one in our files, and we can take it from there.”
“I’m not in the system. No way you’ve got my voiceprint.” She could hear the tremor and worry in the voice. It was hooked now, and all that remained was to reel it in. Adopting the tone that had formerly caused many of her unprepared students to quake, she pounced.
“Don’t be naïve. The FBI computers analyze millions of phone calls a day. If you own and use a cell phone, we’ve got you in our database.”
“Wh-wh-what’re you going to do with this?”
“You’ve really stepped into it this time, my friend. Once we’ve identified you, two FBI agents will be at your house in 40 minutes to arrest you. You can avoid this by turning whistleblower, and calling our fraud line at the following number immediately: 877-382-4357.”
The voice, now quavering with panic, said, “oh my God! This is awful. C-c-can you repeat that number for me again?”
“877-382-4357. Remember, you have 40 minutes. The clock is ticking. Are you going to call?”
“Y-y-yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Mission completed, Mrs. Monroe ended the call, and allowed herself a small victory smile. Scammer schadenfreude.
Jon Matthew Farber is a pediatrician in Northern Virginia. A member of the Mystery Writers of America, he has had previous works published in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, and Mystery Magazine, among others.
If you enjoyed this story, show your support on Patreon.
