The Tale of the Phantom Book Group (and the dangers of A.I.)

I still can’t figure out whether A.I. will be good or bad for the world in the long run. Will it usher in a dystopian hellscape or a modern Shangri-La? Or maybe neither, and it’s all overhyped hogwash.

But one thing I do know: A.I. has already been a boon for scammers and phishers. The evidence can be found in my email inbox, which has seen an impressive spike in con artistry.

I’m getting a lot of one particular type of scam. It’s not the classic Nigerian prince scam. It’s a new one. It’s the “we’re-holding-a-book-group-featuring-your-wonderful-book-and-we-want-you-to-donate-to-our-food-and-drink-budget” scam.

Pretty specific, I know. But I’ve gotten dozens of such emails – or variations on that theme - as has almost every author I know.

I recently fell for one of the emails. Well, sort of. I knew there was a 99 percent chance it was a scam, but I wanted to play out the scenario so I could write about how the grift works, and what lessons, if any, I could extract.

In short, this essay cost me $50 to write.

The email came a few weeks ago from a man named Lief. He wrote:

“I’m Leif, the organizer of Hitchhiker’s Guide to Booze and Books, a growing community where readers share the books that have left a lasting impression on them. We’d love to feature Thanks A Thousand at our next gathering.”

Lief claimed to be from Seattle, and his photo made him look like a lesser-known Hemsworth brother. He said my book – in which I thank a thousand people who had anything to do with making my morning cup of coffee possible - would “resonate deeply” with his attendees. They were having a meeting in a couple of weeks – 47 people had already signed up, with 11 attending via Zoom.

At this point, I figured Lief’s email had at least a 50 percent chance of being a scam. I’d gotten dozens of similar emails in the last few months that eventually ask for money in exchange for exposure to their supposedly huge following.

We can thank A.I. for the rise in this type of email. A.I. has made it easier to automate the emails and write the pitches in semi-grammatical English. A.I. is great for customizing the ass-kissing. The scammers often praise my books in well-written but stilted language (e.g. “your books combine wit, wisdom, and an infectious sense of curiosity, which are exactly the kind of stories our readers delight in exploring and sharing.”)

I responded to Lief, saying, “Thanks a thousand, Lief!” (got to stay on brand). “Feel free to feature the book. Though I’m not interested if it costs me money.”

Don’t worry, Lief responded. It won’t cost any money. All he needed was a photo, a bio, and a one-minute video saying hello to his avid readers.

So maybe it wasn’t a scam after all? I sent him the materials. He wrote back that we were all set. And then came the “just one more thing” request. Lief informed me that sometimes authors voluntarily contribute some money to offset the refreshment costs. Would I consider such a donation?

Ah, there it is. The “refreshment budget.” It’s not always refreshments. Other phantom book groups ask for money for the “design budget” – the posters and fliers to advertise the book group. The lazier scammers simply ask for a small fee in exchange for exposure to their thousands of passionate followers.

My scam-dar went from “maybe” to “no shit it’s a scam.” But I still wanted to see where this went. How far would “Lief” take it? How creative would he be? If I asked for proof, would he send me an AI-generated video of AI-generated readers eating AI-generated hummus?

I told Lief I would contribute $50. (My son Jasper was appalled that I pledged $50 instead of $10. Frankly, I’m annoyed at myself, too. But I didn’t want to seem cheap to my likely scammer. Something to discuss with the therapist.)

Lief was excited. He sent me instructions for wiring the money. Oddly, his bank account was a foreign account, not one based in Seattle. Also, oddly, the name on the account wasn’t Lief. It was someone named Faruq. I Googled Faruq’s full name. Only one person with that name showed up, and he lived in Nigeria. Weird!

I didn’t want to wire the money, thinking Lief/Faruq could somehow use my wire to hack into my account. I counteroffered, “What about PayPal instead?” Lief agreed and said someone from the “refreshment team” would contact me with PayPal information.

The next day, much to my son’s exasperation, I sent the money to the “refreshment team.” Lief emailed me a thank you – and then he hit me with yet another “just one more thing.”

Lief asked: Could I take a screenshot of the PayPal receipt and send it to him? This is important, Lief explained, because he shows the screenshot to the book group, and it proves to them that I’m a mensch (he did not use the word mensch, by the way, but that was the gist).

I was puzzled. What information did the PayPal receipt contain? How could it help Lief hack into my account? I’m still not sure. Ideas welcome.

I ignored Lief’s screenshot request — which made Lief and the refreshment team very vexed. They sent me increasingly urgent emails demanding the receipt. “We’re really in need of it, I apologize if it’s inconvenient …it is as important as anything.”

I responded, “I can do better than a receipt -- I can tell the community in real time that I contributed $50! Straight from the horse’s mouth. Please send me the Zoom link for the book club meeting and I will show up.”

Lief went silent. Lief never sent a Zoom link. The date of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to Books and Booze meeting came and went. I emailed Lief several times afterward, asking for details – what did people like about the book? What refreshments were there? Were they delicious? Virtual crickets.

So how do I feel about being knowingly, willingly scammed? Well, my book is about finding gratitude in unexpected places, so let me try that.

I’m grateful that I was able to experience this, so that I could write about the scam and warn others. In fact, let me pause to mention a couple of tip-offs to the rip-offs: The scammers often use the format “USD” instead of “$50.” They use British spelling, such as “organiser.” And the A.I. writing includes a lot of dependent clauses at the beginning of sentences, such as those starting with the words “Whether it’s.”

I’m also grateful that the experience gave me a chance to think about the future of scams in the Age of A.I. It’s a safe bet they’re just going to get more sophisticated, thanks to deep fake videos and more astute personalization.

Which makes me wonder: How can we fight the scammers? Part of the solution lies in greater customer awareness, which is why I’m writing this piece.

Perhaps we should increase our in-person, three-dimensional, offline interactions. It’s harder to scam people when you can see their faces. Not impossible, but harder.

I also feel that fighting scams should not rest entirely on consumers' shoulders. We need help from the government and corporations. For instance, I’d like clearer mandatory labeling about whether something has been created by A.I. Spain, for instance, has imposed tougher penalties for failure to label A.I. content.

I’d love to hear from anyone else out there who has had brushes with A.I.-enhanced scams. I imagine it’s not just authors they’re scamming. That would be weird and a bad business decision. And I’d be happy to answer any questions about my experience (as long as the question is not “What is your routing number?”) Thanks a thousand!