Chapter 4: Betrayed by a Friend

The main reason I got tricked was me. At the time, I was fighting with my wife—seriously, to the point of divorce. My emotions were raw, and I barely slept.

I was depressed. My thoughts spiraled: What if I never fix things? What if I just disappear? The pain was constant, like a weight pressing down.

A high school classmate I hadn’t spoken to in years saw my posts on Facebook. He messaged me, his words upbeat and friendly—almost too much so.

He said I should visit him to relax; he’d show me around for a few days. I hesitated, but the idea of escaping my problems sounded good.

I really did want to get away, so after some back-and-forth, I started chatting with this classmate. Every message felt like a lifeline, a way out.

His name is Kevin Ramirez—let’s call him Kev.

Kev said he was in Canada, doing export business, mostly Canadian specialties: maple syrup, crafts, skincare products, stuff like that. It sounded legit—almost boring, in fact.

He didn’t have many connections there, and he hadn’t seen our group of classmates in years. He said he missed those days.

He suggested I fly straight to Toronto, and he’d be my guide. The plan was simple, and I was desperate for a break.

I wasn’t thinking straight, didn’t even realize Canada borders the Midwest. I just wanted to get away from my life for a while.

I didn’t hesitate and agreed. Looking back, I wish I’d slowed down, asked more questions.

I landed in Toronto around nine in the morning, and Kev came to pick me up himself. The airport was busy, the air thick with the smell of coffee and jet fuel.

He was all smiles, waving a little American flag from the rental car. We hugged, laughed about old times, and headed off for breakfast at a greasy spoon near the airport—pancakes, hash browns, the works.

The first day was normal—he showed me around Toronto. That night, he asked with a sly grin:

“Want to check out the strip?”

I quickly waved him off. “I’m fighting with my wife, talking divorce—how could I be in the mood for that?”

“Alright then, I’ll take you somewhere else for fun.”

Kev took me to a bar or nightclub. Mostly drinking, with risqué stage performances. The music was loud, the air smelled like beer and sweat. We drank a lot, watched the show, and reminisced about high school.

By the time we left, I was pretty drunk.

Kev asked, “Want to go gamble?”

I waved him off again. “Not interested, and with all this fighting over money with my wife, I can’t afford to gamble.”

He didn’t push it. “Come on, it’s just money—I’ll introduce you to a business in a few days.”

Then he took me to another spot. More drinking, no performances, quieter. The music was softer, the lights dim.

We sat in a corner booth, the kind with cracked vinyl seats, and Kev leaned in close, lowering his voice like we were plotting something big.

He told me his business was doing well, and if I wanted to make money, I could be his agent in the States. Kev had the channels—I could sell Canadian goods in the US, make a hundred thousand a year, no problem.

If I hadn’t been so drunk, I’d have questioned that number. My gut said something was off, but I ignored it.

Or if I’d had a shred of caution—whenever someone suddenly offers you a way to make easy money, it’s always a scam.

Things wouldn’t have turned out so badly.

Sometimes I wonder how my life would’ve changed if I’d just said no and called a cab back to my hotel.