Up to this point, the crooks I've been telling you about have been idiots, preying on the week and the unwary. They have been people who gave themselves away by their misuse of the language, and their obvious insistence that I give them my money. This week, that is not the case. This week, something more sinister and, I am frustrated to say, successful.

When I first got the money orders in the mail from Comfort O, the company accountant for CrudeOilAndGasLTD, with Scott's instructions that he be informed when Jocinda's rent money arrived, I took them to the bank, and made it clear that I wasn't sure if what I had in my hands was genuine. An unfamiliar source, a pair of money orders for a significant amount, you never assume anything. The girl behind the counter was either new or clueless, because she was having trouble figuring out how to read it.

Remember, this is before Scott asked for any of it back.

She showed it to someone above her, who recognized it all immediately. "Yup, it's in U.S. Funds. You just deposit it," she told her, instructing the girl to push the proper buttons on her terminal, and handing me the slip to sign that I had authorized the transaction. Well! I'd had those little doubts, but this seemed to confirm its legitimacy. If the people at the bank said they were real, that was that. $1,011.85 each, for a total of $2,023.70.

Yes, I know, Crude Oil and Gas Ltd. With a hotmail address. I hadn't looked that hard yet.

It was the next day that Scott tried to get me to send money back. I called up the branch, told the answering service that their branch was involved in a fraudulant transaction, and left my phone number for the branch manager to call me back at. He called me about two hours later, and I gave him the rest of the details. He said that so long as I didn't spend any of the money, it would be fine, and it would just be debited from my account as soon as the verification process confirmed that they were counterfeit. He said he figured he didn't have to put a hold on the funds, because I was the one who called him. Sounded reasonable to me, I wasn't stupid enough to spend money that I knew wasn't really there.

He thanked me for letting him know, and told me I should inform the police, which I did, and they told me that until the money orders were confirmed counterfeit, a crime had not yet taken place. This sounds pretty stupid to me: the police won't get involved until someone else has confirmed the crime? But I agreed to inform them the moment I got word from the pencil pushers.

Fast forward about four to six weeks, and I get something in the mail from the bank. It's a single money order with a "counterfeit" stamp on it, and a record of the funds being debited from my account. It was somewhere in the neighborhood of $1,066.

Stop. Look at the number. That set off some bells in my head. Check the old numbers, like I did. On the original deposit date, they credited me with $985.75 US. I was more than happy to give back to the bank the money that wasn't mine. The bank, however, in its infinite wisdom, took not the amount originally credited, but the updated Canadian value of $985.75 US, even though they had just confirmed the money orders were worth exactly $0.00, in any currency. Well, maybe I could get a lira for the paper they were printed on. Four to six weeks later, this was a significant difference.

I gathered my papers, including the receipt for the original transaction, to prove my claims, and off to the bank I went. I didn't go to the tellers, I went to the woman at the information desk, and said I had to speak with the manager immediately.

"Was he expecting you?"
"No."
"What is this regarding?"
"Fraud."
"...He's at the Spruce Grove branch for a few days, but I can get you in to see the senior Financial Advisor."

I sat across from this guy, and explained my case. He made it absolutely clear that the reason for the difference was the changing exchange rate. Well, thanks, Sherlock. Hadn't quite figured that one out. I explained that the bank was aware that the money orders weren't worth their face value, and he agreed, and said that was why the money had been debited out of my account. Too much money, I said. No, exactly what was put in, he said: $985.75 US.

"Exchange rates don't mean anything to a sum of zero," I said.
"I don't understand what you're wanting me to do," he said.
"Keep the money that wasn't mine, give me back the money that was!"
"I can't do that, sir."
"..."
"I'm sorry you're not satisfied, sir."
"I'll be back with a news crew."
"Okay, sir."

I went home, gave myself time to think a little bit. Bringing bad publicity to a bank without minding all my "P"s and "Q"s (or "p"s and "q"s, which makes a little more sense) could have an extremely adverse effect on my life. My pay is direct deposit, I have a credit card, a loan, and I want to start a mortgage at some point. If a bank wanted to @#%& with me, they could do it. And don't think they wouldn't.

On the other hand, keep solid records of all of it, and keep the spotlight on them... If there's one thing that this Crooks series proves about me, it's that I'm patient and persistent: Wait for the second money order to come back, then give the manager the chance to deal with it, instead of someone who may not have the authority to right the wrong.

The second money order arrives, taking slightly more from me than the first, raising the total I've been ripped off to just a few pennies under $110. I live in Edmonton, in this heated economy. That's enough money to short the rent, or the car payment, or... you get the idea. I was okay, it wasn't enough to hurt me that month, but it's money that can go toward my credit card, or fuel my car twice and a bit, or any number of other things that we work to provide for ourselves.

Eventually, the manager returned, and I was there. I must say, I don't know why I was expecting a bank to be so willing to part with money they'd acquired.

"This is simply a matter of the changing exchange rate. The exchange rate isn't even constant throughout any given day, it can change in the course of an hour."
"They're worth nothing! Zero! Exchange rates do not apply to zero! Zero times anything is zero!"
"No, it's not zero. It's--"
"ZERO TIMES ANYTHING IS ZERO. This is basic math. I learned it in elementary, and basic arithmetic hasn't changed since then. Money doesn't disappear into nothingness, it goes somewhere."
"No, it doesn't disappear."
"Where is my money? Who has my money?"
"It's right there in front of you. It's worth less than it was when you deposited the money orders."
"You're not going to credit my account?"
"I'm afraid not. If you're not satisfied with this explanation (If? IF!?) here is the number you can call, for our customer service centre."

And the buck was passed.

Rule #1 about minding "p"s and "q"s, follow every course of action provided. Walk their lines, jump through their hoops, knock on the doors they tell you to, and when they pass the buck, you follow it. Otherwise, you risk being accused of making a mountain out of a mole hill, even if your bank has profited at your expense as a direct result of an act of fraud.

But I called the customer service centre, and explained what was going on. I had all the papers in front of me, as I had brought them all to my meeting with the manager. I gave her all the numbers I had, which she calculated to the exact same difference that I had, some $109 and eighty-something cents, and within five minutes of me dialing the number, she told me my account would be credited with all $109-eighty-something.

And that, my friends, is the only reason I have not named the bank.