Ken, 72, has lived at number 3 for thirty-one years — the last four of them alone, since Eileen died. Retired postman, tidy garden, feeds half the street's cats. This month, a fixed-rate savings bond he and Eileen opened years ago has matured: £28,000, currently sitting in his current account while he decides what to do with it.
On Tuesday morning, the phone rings.
The young man is polite, well-spoken, and — Ken notices — patient, which makes a nice change. He's calling from the investment division of a bank whose name Ken has known his whole life. He knows Ken's full name and address. He seems to know the bond has matured, "as your provider will have notified us." And he has something for savers in exactly Ken's position: a fixed bond paying 9% a year, guaranteed, capital fully FSCS-protected. "Considerably better than the 4-ish percent the high street will offer you, Mr Morgan— sorry, Mr Harris, forgive me."
One thing, though. The allocation for this tranche closes at 5pm today. "I'd hate for you to miss it over paperwork. I can hold your place with a first transfer of £10,000 — you can add the rest once your welcome pack arrives."
The man chats about the weather, about Ken's garden. It's the longest conversation Ken's had since Sunday.
Decision point
What should Ken do?
If you chose: Transfer £10,000 to hold his place
Cash in hand now
Debt risk
Peace of mind
The money is gone by Wednesday
This is a clone firm scam — one of the costliest fraud types in the UK. Everything that made it convincing is standard kit: the real bank's name (cloned), Ken's details (bought or leaked, then dressed up as legitimacy), the FSCS reassurance (a protection that does not apply to money you transfer to criminals), and the 5pm deadline (urgency exists to outrun the phone call to your daughter).
The £10,000 goes to an account that's emptied and closed within days. The "welcome pack" may even arrive — glossy, professional — because it costs the scammers pennies and buys time to ask for the remaining £18,000. Banks can sometimes recover or reimburse authorised push payment fraud, but there are no promises, and the 9% was never real: no legitimate product pays double the market rate, guaranteed, to strangers on the phone.
If you chose: Ask for the details in writing and a number to call back
Cash in hand now
Debt risk
Peace of mind
The trap with a safety-catch painted on it
This feels like due diligence, which is exactly why the script welcomes it. The callback number they provide rings their own desk. The brochure they send is their own artwork. The "colleague in compliance" who confirms everything is the man at the next table. Verifying a caller using information supplied by the caller is asking the fox to vouch for the fox.
Real verification only works from the outside: the firm's number from the FCA register or the back of a genuine bank card — looked up independently, never from the call, the email, or the brochure. One more tell hiding in plain sight: the caller knew "the bond had matured." Providers don't notify other firms of your maturing savings. The detail that sounded most legitimate was the most impossible one.
If you chose: Hang up, check the FCA register, and call the real bank on its official number
Cash in hand now
Debt risk
Peace of mind
Exactly right — and worth seeing why it works
Hanging up costs nothing: no legitimate opportunity ever punishes you for sleeping on it — deadlines that expire within hours are a fraud signature, not a sales technique. The FCA register (checked via the FCA's own website, not any link supplied) shows whether a firm is authorised — and for clone scams, often carries a published warning naming the exact impersonation. Calling the real bank on the number from its official site or a genuine card settles it in ninety seconds: "we have no such product, and we didn't call you."
One human note the checklist doesn't capture: scams like this succeed not because victims are foolish but because the call is pleasant — warm, patient, interested in the garden. Loneliness is a vulnerability the scripts deliberately target. The defence isn't intelligence; it's the rule, applied every time regardless of how nice the voice is.
Curious? You can tap the other choices to explore every path — each one teaches something different.
What Ken actually did
Ken — and he'd want this told honestly — very nearly stayed on the line. The man was pleasant. The bank was one he trusted. He had the online banking open, £10,000 typed in, thumb over the button.
What saved him was habit, not suspicion: he mentioned it to his daughter Claire on their usual evening call, mostly as good news. Claire, who works with Sarah Morgan at number 12 and had heard her talk about the scam checklist, went quiet, then said: "Dad. Guaranteed, high return, deadline today, out of the blue. That's all four."
They checked the FCA register together over the phone. The real bank was there — and so, under warnings, was a notice about fraudsters cloning that exact division, using that exact pitch. Ken rang the real bank's fraud line the next morning; they confirmed no call had been made. He reported it to Action Fraud, and the nice young man, when Ken didn't transfer by 5pm, rang twice more — considerably less patient — then never again.
Where it leaves him: £28,000 intact and moved into proper savings while he takes his time deciding — with MoneyHelper's free guidance booked, at Claire's insistence. He's told the story to half of Morgan Close, on the theory that embarrassment shared is somebody else's £10,000 saved. The cats still get fed.