It was a calm January morning when Manuel Fernandes from Orda, Candolim, got the call.
“Hello, sir. Your bike is ready and has been dispatched. You’ll receive it shortly,” said the voice on the other end—polite, professional, and oddly reassuring.
The call didn’t raise any red flags. After all, Manuel had indeed sent his bike to a service center in Madhya Pradesh for repairs a few weeks ago. Everything checked out.
But just before hanging up, the caller added something strange.
“Sir, for a smoother delivery process, I’ll send you an app. Just install it, and we’ll take care of everything.”
Now, Manuel wasn’t completely new to technology, but like many of us, he wasn’t suspicious of every APK file that came his way, especially not when it was wrapped in polite language and a believable reason.
The app was sent via a link. Not from Google Play. Not from a known source. Just a plain APK file.
“But why this app?” Manuel asked, hesitation creeping into his voice.
“It’s just a delivery confirmation tool, sir. We use it for customer support. You’ll only need to send ₹1 to verify,” the voice assured.
What’s ₹1, anyway? Manuel shrugged. He downloaded it.
The Calm Before the Storm
The bike arrived. On time. In good shape.
Everything seemed fine until it wasn’t.
A few days later, Manuel was checking his messages when something odd caught his eye. A debit alert. Then another. And another.
By the time he added up the numbers, it hit him like a punch to the gut.
₹2.6 lakh. Gone.
Drained out of his bank account between February 2 and 3.
He called the number. Switched off.
He tried to uninstall the app. Too late.
That tiny, innocent-looking APK had done its job.
It had lured him in, quietly watched, captured information, and let the scammers walk away with lakhs while he was still sipping his morning tea.
The Reporting & The Realization
The next stop was the Calangute police station. Manuel, clearly shaken, explained everything.
The police filed an FIR under the IT Act and launched an investigation.
But in these cases, even the most diligent officers often find themselves chasing ghosts across digital shadows.
Manuel wasn’t alone, though.
A few weeks earlier, in Goa itself, a retired principal had lost ₹1.4 lakh after clicking a link sent by a scammer pretending to be a soldier.
And over in Rajkot, someone pretending to be in the Army offered a bike for cheap, only to con the buyer out of ₹1.3 lakh.
The Pattern Is Clear, But Are We Listening?
These scams don’t look like fraud at first. They come disguised as service guys, delivery agents, Army personnel, or tech support.
The conversations are simple:
“Sir, just install this app.”
“Ma’am, please send ₹5 to verify your number.”
“It’s for faster delivery.”
And in that short window between trust and transaction, everything collapses.
So, What Can We Do?
Here’s where it becomes less about Manuel and more about us.
Would you have installed that app? Would you have sent that ₹1?
It’s easy to say no in hindsight. But we’ve all been there—rushed, trusting, or simply trying to get things done.
The only way to stay ahead is to slow down.
- Never install apps outside official stores.
- Never send even ₹1 unless you know who you’re dealing with.
- Always ask: “Is this request normal, or am I being rushed?”
- And if someone says, “It’s just for verification,” it’s probably not.
The Bottom Line
Manuel didn’t lose ₹2.6 lakh overnight. He lost it in a moment of trust. And that’s exactly what scammers bet on—your trust, your distraction, your willingness to believe.
In his words, as he left the police station that day:
“It was just about getting my bike home. Who knew it’d cost me this much?”
Let this be your reminder—scams don’t always start with greed. Sometimes, they start with routine and end with regret.
