Lying Lips and Deceitful Tongues: A True Story of a Romance Scam, Her Losses, and How She Fought Back

By Isabella Petersen

This is the story of a woman stricken with grief by the unexpected loss of her husband. Unbeknownst to her, this grief, which she suppressed because she was a "very strong and fearless person," became very vulnerable and fell victim to a network of intrigue and lies. Penney-a strong, independent woman, who would be the very last person one would think who would fall prey to a scam-proves that if it happened to her, it could happen to anyone.Having met someone through a recommended dating site, on the one and only time she searched, she met the "man of her dreams." Little did she know that "Michael" was not who he projected to be, and she would become involved in a network of numerous lies, deceits, and a very professional organization of scammers and hackers.After eighteen months and the loss of her money, she discovered the scam. It was at that time she took control of her life and fought back.This is the story of how the impossible became the possible. How she pressured law enforcement who were reluctant to investigate/prosecute her case based upon their own experiences and results until she uncovered important information that inspired them to fight for her.She was "on a mission" to achieve results. These scam investigations never have a happy ending, so she was told, but Penney wouldn't accept that answer. She wanted justice and would not stop until these criminals were apprehended.Read how she discovered the criminal world of scammers, the Sakawa Boys of Ghana and a little-known fact about this country.More importantly, you'll read how prayer and her faith played the biggest part of her discoveries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098053581

Book preview

Chapter 1

Background

Where do I begin to tell my story about how I fell in love with a scammer (unbeknownst to me) who controlled and ruined my life for over two years before I was able to regain my own dignity and fought back to bring these criminals to justice? Everything I am about to tell you is 100 percent true. I have changed some of the names of those involved in the investigation for obvious reasons and of those who have gone through the same type of scam or similar, who cannot, for various reasons, expose their identity. I respect them immensely and would never do anything to jeopardize my relationship.

There is still an ongoing criminal investigation into this crime, and I do not want that to be jeopardized by revealing names. Basically some or all of the criminals involved may still be in hiding.

Those who know me would never ever believe that I could become a victim, but I did. Do not underestimate how vulnerable a person can be, no matter how strong of character they are. I am a classic example.

But first let me tell you how my story began, and then perhaps you can sympathize with me rather than chastise me.

I guess it all began in about 1986 or 1987 when I accidently walked into this handsome man, at least I thought he was handsome, with the bluest of eyes, wearing a maroon-colored golf shirt at my place of employment. I was employed by a major airline and worked at an airport location. As I was turning the corner to return to my office, I literally walked into this man. I never saw him again; that is until around 1989.

I transferred from one airport to the other and was now working at JFK and had been appointed as a construction coordinator to work with a crew that would be rebuilding our offices since the terminal where we all worked was involved in a major construction overhaul. Guess who was the foreman for the project? You guessed it! Maroon shirt.

At the time, I was dating someone else, and I knew nothing about him. He and his subforeman, and I became very good friends through this construction project. Through our friendship, it became known that he was married, and he even met my then boyfriend at the construction site. I never met his wife, although I saw them once as they were off to catch a flight.

As time went on, our friendship grew, and he was promoted to a superintendent’s position and left JFK Airport, the place of the construction site. He promised to keep in touch, and he did. At the same time, my relationship with my boyfriend was just about ending. I had had enough of his antics and decided to finally end it. What a relief that was. I was free from any of the nonsense I was dealing with and was so looking forward to a normal life. Hah, that was never meant to be. Nothing in my life, from this time forward to present, has been normal.

I received a call from my friend, Vincent, and he asked if I wanted to meet him for dinner. His wife was a chef and worked nights, so he was available. I agreed to meet him because to me, it was a business-related meeting, and there was nothing romantically involved between us. We met at the restaurant and were having a fun dinner, talking about the craziness at the airport and what he was missing. Well, lo and behold, Vincent told me that he was going to marry me. What? Never! You’re married, and I am not going out with a married man. End of story. He insisted that he was planning on leaving his wife, and that eventually we would marry.

Guess what he did? Three months later, he informed her that the marriage had ended, and that he wanted a divorce. There was a fourteen-year-age difference in this relationship, and I think this had an impact on their marriage. I guess they were going in different directions. He never said a negative word about her, and he really liked and respected her. I felt horrible for her. She has since remarried.

We started dating and planning our future together. I told him about the brief encounter we had of which he denied until I told him about the maroon shirt. Kismet, I guess.

It took over two years, but we were finally able to marry. Of course, like everything else, there has to be a story with our wedding. Vincent had a townhome in a wonderful town called Pawling, in Dutchess County, New York. We both worked in New York City, so it was convenient for us to stay at my apartment while we worked and played on weekends in Pawling. What a life.

I am very close to my family and lost my mother nine years prior to our plans to marry. Emotionally, I could not have a special day without my mother, so we had planned just a small ceremony at a local restaurant, which is owned by one of our friends. Well, this friend told that friend who told that friend, and eventually there were about thirty people who wanted to see us marry, as well as my immediate family. Pawling is a small enclave with many horse farms. Many of our friends are either breeders or caretakers on these farms. In addition, the sheriff of Dutchess County was one of Vincent’s very good friends and golfing buddy.

All of our friends knew that I worked for an airline and many times would contact me for assistance with their own personal travels, so it wasn’t unusual when I received a call from Mike, manager of a thoroughbred horse-breeding farm. I’m an A-type personality, so when I am working, my business mode is always front and center. After our initial greetings, I asked him how I could help. Well, he was the bearer of bad news. It seems that the restaurant Backstreet’s had burnt to the ground the night before. Nothing was salvaged, and in three days, we were getting married, and that was supposed to be our wedding venue. Of course I first thought of our friends and their loss, and then I realized how this was affecting our plans. What were we to do? That was the purpose of his call. He offered to have the ceremony and reception on the horse farm that he manages. It is a 460-acre estate, and at that time, it had a $14 million home along with a Victorian-style home that operates as the office for the farm with, of course, lots and lots of horses. It is beautiful and so picturesque. The owner agreed, and all Mike needed to know is if we wanted to use it. Wow, how could you say no? But it now requires me finding a caterer and prepare for the wedding all within three days which we didn’t have to do prior to the fire. Nothing is ever easy.

Back in the day, there weren’t cell phones only beepers. I now had to inform Vincent as to what had happened. I called his then boss, who was a personal old friend from childhood days, to ask him to relay the message to Vincent about the fire. I was later advised that when Gary (my husband’s boss) was relaying the message, Vincent responded with something like, That isn’t funny. Are you sure? One hundred percent. Gary wasn’t aware of the consequences of what he had just learned, but he now knew. Gary was more concerned than Vincent. Vincent’s response was don’t worry, she’ll have it all under control. I always handled every crisis with strength and fortitude. I was unbreakable.

Sure enough, three days later, everything was under control, or at least it appeared to be that way. I’ve never been married before, and this was my first time at age almost forty-seven. I never had the chance to relax or plan a nice leisurely breakfast with champagne and croissants on my wedding day. Here I was picking up a cake, delivering this, doing that, and I had to have my hair done.

I finally arrived home to be greeted by my entire family. They were waiting for me. What’s this everyone gets to see the bride before the ceremony? I had thirty minutes to prepare for my wedding. Unbelievable. Well, I did it. So much for worrying about how much I was going to miss my mother! She would so much have wanted to be there. She never pressured me into getting married. Actually, she told me when I was in my teens, you never have to be married to be happy, and that’s how I lived my life. She was a woman way ahead of her time.

Just as we were about to leave, we received a call from the best man; he was lost. Oh no! Vincent gave him directions to the farm rather than to our home to avoid any further delay and off we went, family and all.

It was the most beautiful sunny crisp day in March, not a cloud in the sky, and the snow, almost two feet of it, was pure white. No traces of the ugly slush that accompanies the snow as it melts. It was a gorgeous, gorgeous day, and our law enforcement friends decorated the property with wedding bells and balloons at the gated entrance. How sweet.

The sheriff’s department even sent their crime scene photographer to take pictures. Of course the photographer was a friend, but I never knew that, that was his job, and we hadn’t planned on taking any pictures.

Everything was perfect, well almost. Change of plans. The owners were now visiting for the weekend, so we couldn’t use the mansion, so it was decided that the old Victorian house would be the wedding chapel, and there was no best man, so we waited and waited.

Finally, Vincent said we couldn’t wait any longer. We were to proceed without him, and Vincent asked Mike to be the best man. 1A that’s what Mike called himself. That’s a horse-racing term which means you’re not the first pick. Mike signed the marriage license, and we’re off. Oh, not so fast, the best man just arrived all apologetic and was ready to jump right in. To this day, he never really knew that legally he wasn’t our best man. This was his first time, and he was so honored that we couldn’t tell him the truth. Our friend can best be described as a Damon Runyon character, and it was best to leave that little secret to ourselves.

The ceremony proceeded, and all were happy. Didn’t I mention that this was a thoroughbred horse-breeding farm? Well, in the midst of everything, our friend, the manager of the breeding barn, had to orchestrate the breeding of a broodmare. My uncle wanted to see how this was done, so off he went to the breeding barn. My nieces and nephew at this point wanted to explore the property, so off they went to see the horses. No breeding barn for them. That was off limits. If you haven’t experienced this, it is a site to behold, and my friend, the manager, holds the stallion as he mounts the mare and holds him until he does his stuff. Did I mention that the manager is a she? She was a top breeder, even won Horse Breeder of the Year in New York, same year as Funny Cide. And she accomplished this without any #MeToo movement. I am honored to call her my friend.

My Uncle John, was fascinated with what he had seen. He marveled over Patty’s strength to hold that horse. To this day, he still talks about that event. My brother, on the other hand, questioned as to whether I should proceed with the wedding given the circumstances. He thought the fire was a foreboding omen. I’m glad I never listened to him.

My brother and I were very close as adolescents. We may have had our differences, but we always loved one another and still do. Like I said, we are a very close family even down to our cousins, all of them. Everyone still keeps in touch although so many lives have taken us in different directions and far from each other.

When we were growing up, our cousins were our best friends. We all lived down the block from each other, and who did we play with? Jacki, Jill, Jeri

(Teri wasn’t born yet.) Life was simple. Who could be happier?

I remember my mother telling me the story about how I was named. Mom always wanted a daughter, and she wanted to call her Penny. When I was born, my mother’s dream was realized. We were the very best of friends forever. When she died, I was devastated, but I had to be strong for everyone else since it was such a shock and totally unexpected. She was the matriarch of her family and the strength that they needed in times of trouble. They couldn’t see how it affected me. As I write these words, tears are streaming down my face as I think of how much I miss her. It’s been thirty-four years, and her loss still has such an impact on me.

Back to my naming. When it came time for my birth to be recorded, the nurse asked my mom how she wanted my name spelt. Was there any other way? The nurse recommended P-E-N-N-E-Y like J. C. Penney. Bingo! That’s perfect, and that is how I got my name. Well, on my first Christmas, J. C. Penney had an ad in the newspaper which advertised J. C. Penney’s Xmas. Mom couldn’t let that go unnoticed, so Mom cut out Penney’s Xmas and placed it on my first tree.

When Uncle John returned from his adventure, he questioned Mike about the history of the property. Mike explained that the property was once J. C. Penney’s estate, and the Victorian house that we were in was his home. Vincent overheard the conversation and wanted to tell me and my dad. He never knew this little tidbit, and he was the master of useless information as he called himself. He was afraid that it would upset me. Actually, it had the reverse affect. When he told Dad and I, I just smiled the biggest smile I could paste across my face. No tears. It just means Mom is here. It gave me chills as I’m sure it has given you. The Lord works in mysterious ways! If the restaurant hadn’t been destroyed, we would have never been here. Mom was with me every step of the way. And she still is.

I was so grateful to Mike for thinking of us and offering his assistance. Well, if you doubt anything of what you’ve read, think about this. The subject came around to Mike’s input into this fiasco. My business card was kept in the restaurant. Everyone knew it was there and would contact the restaurant for my info if they needed to contact me. They never knew my last name; they only knew Vincent’s. The card with my information went up in flames, just like the restaurant. What to do? Mike called our airline’s reservation center and stated that he had an emergency and had to get in contact with a supervisor by the name of Penney (don’t know last name) who works at JFK and is a blonde. What are the chances of anyone locating me with that type of description? Well, they did, and the rest is history.

Try asking for that help in today’s world. Forget about it, as they say in New York. Well, that was how I started my marriage. Whenever I tell the story, people are in awe, but every word is true. Oh, the pictures from the crime scene photographer are beautiful. And no crime was committed.

Chapter 2

The Middle

So I guess you think that life was just peachy keen after this fairy tale beginning.

NOT. As anyone who has been married knows there are ups and downs in every marriage, and we sure had our share.

Our life was the furthest thing from being a fairy tale adventure. Yet, we did have fun. Through all the ups and downs, we laughed, and shared everything with each other. There were no secrets, and we talked about everything.

Vincent and I were very different in so many ways, but we shared the same values. His friends seemed to be more important to him than I was (although I really didn’t believe that). He just was a guy’s guy, and he had to spend time with his friends more than I thought he should. He was a man’s man, you know, a Clark Gable type. Yet he was also very sensitive. If there was a commercial on TV that featured abused animals, he quickly turned it off because it would upset him. At times, it brought him to tears. Believe me, none of his friends ever saw that side of him ever, especially the men who worked for him. He was a very tough boss, sometimes unreasonable, so I’ve been told.

We both were very independent, and we didn’t need each other’s company to satisfy our personalities. If I wanted to do something and he didn’t, well, I did it anyway without him. And the same worked for him. Naturally we discussed the situation before any action was taken. No drama or stressful situations in our lives. I’m sure people talked, but I didn’t care. It worked for us. I know this was unusual, but remember I was accustomed to doing things alone, so it didn’t faze me.

I would also add that I was and still am extremely flexible and easygoing although I don’t seem to project that image until you get to know me. Vincent would say that I was the most even-tempered person he has ever met. I never compromised my values, and if I really didn’t want to do something, I wouldn’t, very simple.

I was once told by a friend that I am a better friend than she was. That was very true. Mom would sometimes get angry with me because I always wanted to help those who she knew were taking advantage of me, yet on the other hand, she was so proud because I genuinely wanted to help anyone in need, and I did.

Although I am an A-type personality, very business-oriented and business-focused, at home, I was very mellow. Vincent, on the other hand, was a sitter, a true couch potato. He would arrive home from work, grab his book, sit, and read. Not that I blamed him, he had a tough job, and nothing else mattered at that point except his book. That was his form of relaxation. I was the one always doing something around the house. That never bothered me. I enjoyed puttering as he would call it. I was accustomed to being alone and independent, and this is how I functioned. Vincent’s goal for when he retired was to play golf and read. That’s it.

As Vincent was approaching retirement, he wanted a home with property rather than a townhome where we presently lived, so he could putter around. As time went on, we purchased a lovely little chateau on 3.47 acres in Pawling. It was a perfect getaway from our city life. Eventually Vincent retired.

As life happens, our time living in the city ended, and we moved to Pawling as full-time residents. It was a big adjustment for me since I was a city girl my entire life, but I loved my home. It was fun decorating and painting and all that stuff involved in making your home a reflection of who you are.

Life was good as they say until…Vincent and I decided to celebrate our ten-year wedding anniversary with a trip to Boston. Boston is one of my favorite cities, and we were planning on having a delicious Italian dinner in Massimino’s Restaurant in the North End. We had been there before on a prior trip and were so looking forward to returning and devouring their superb cuisine with a nice bottle of wine to celebrate our anniversary.

We arrived in Boston in time for a late lunch, checked into our hotel, and then walked to Faneuil Hall and stopped at the Black Rose. After a leisurely lunch, we planned on visiting some of the shops on the concourse and then return to the hotel.

As I exited the building and proceeded to window shop, I suddenly felt sick. I mean it just hit me like a ton of bricks. I saw a watch I admired in the window of Coach and told Vincent I wanted to look at it. I’m a watch person. Love watches. I have over thirty and change my watch according to my attire, so I was focused on purchasing this watch.

I went in, saw the watch, immediately left the store, and told Vincent I was sick and we had to get back to the hotel. I was burning with fever and had the chills. I mean I was deathly ill in a matter of minutes. For me to not buy that watch and state that I wanted to return to the hotel, Vincent knew something was seriously wrong. To this day, I regret not buying that watch. Throughout our marriage, we always joked about me and that forbidden watch. Oh well.

I slept for a few hours and then dressed for dinner, but I was still so sick I couldn’t eat. This is so out of character for me. We cut our dinner short and returned to the hotel. The next morning, I was still sick, and now I had a nosebleed. Bad sign. I mentioned to Vincent that we should go to the emergency room to get some antibiotics, and he was adamant that we return home to see our physician. And so we did.

The physician wasn’t sure of the diagnosis, but the only thing he could confirm is that my blood platelets were down to 11,000. Very bad sign. I was diagnosed with a blood disorder called ITP (idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura) in 1985 which periodically has reared its ugly head. In 1993, my spleen was removed to control this disorder, and since then I have been in remission until today. Off to the hospital and hours of waiting. Here we were celebrating our tenth anniversary, no bottle of wine, as I sat on a gurney, awaiting the results of X-rays only to be told that I had pneumonia, and that I was being admitted to the hospital to try and correct my ITP problem. Unfortunately my stay lasted for five days to combat my platelet problem. They thought they had corrected the problem.

That is easier said than done. I had to endure another trip to the hospital before things would change. The second time occurred about a week later while Vincent was away on a planned golfing trip to Nevada with his friends. I insisted he take the trip. What would he accomplish by sitting home when there was nothing happening except my needing to rest and recuperate? However, I was once again admitted to the hospital after he was gone because I had a twenty-four-hour nosebleed.

This upset him. He wanted to return home, but I was against it. There was nothing he could do. It would have bothered me more if he had returned home. Besides, there were friends who were watching over me.

It was now determined that the only hope of increasing my platelets was with an infusion chemo drug, which had been proven to be successful. Part of this disorder is idiopathic, which means they don’t know