“Could you tell me your mother’s maiden name, your address and your date of birth?”, said the lady on the phone in perfect English. “Su-sure”, I stuttered. Glass of Bailey’s shaked in my hand as I started giving her the info.
I was eighteen and had won a major NLH tournament for USD 200K. The problem now was that I had been using using my brother’s account. I had read about this thing happening to other players as well. Most had got their winnings, unfortunately, some had not. I needed this money to be transferred firstly to my brothers bank account, and then to mine. Full Tilt’s 50-100 games were basically screaming for me to invest these dollars on them. There were no room for mistakes. It was crucial, that as far as the lady on the other end of this call knew, I was my brother. This was a bluff that had to go through.
“Perfect! And I understand you wanted to make a large withdrawal from your account?” Lady asked me. “Mmm, yes. Mmm, could I please withdraw at least 50 thousand per one transaction?” I pleaded. “Just a moment! I have to put you on hold” she replied.
“OF COURSE SHE KNOWS, ´Mmm, could I please? ` What the hell was that? This isn’t why we drank all Baileys for. You idiot. They can hear your tender teenage voice; don’t you get it? Why didn’t you have your brother call instead?”
“Well they could’ve asked about hands played in the final table…”
“Oh, that’s right you genius. This lady in the accounts team seems to know a shit ton about poker”
“She? Are you even sure about that? Maybe it’s a devious plan to get your guard down? Have you thought about that? Come to think of it, I bet that there’s a huge guy with skull tattoos behind that phone. And he’s probably monitoring you through your laptop cam too. They know. Game over kid. You fucked it up.”
I hear footsteps behind my door. “MOM” a spider sense that only an 18-year old can possess starts vibrating. “You still haven’t taken out the trash!” She yells and firmly grabs the door handle.
“This woman is going to cost me 200 thousand. Holy fuck, she’s going to destroy it all.”
I shove my glass of Baileys under the table and with the other hand I keep my phone close my ear. Door opens. I can see from the corner of my eye that she is about to say something. My brain is screaming to me: “GET HER OUT OF HERE NOW”
“I bet I could knock her out safely”
“Punch your own mom, really?”
“I mean, 200 thousand…”
“True. But surely there are better lines of action.”
“Of course, but how?”
“What is the one card you can always play with mom?”
As Mom is starting to say something I turn around and whisper to her “I’m on the phone with my girlfriend, we might be breaking up” and mimic the ´shush´ signal and after that demonstrate a tear dropping from my eye. Mom gives me a loving and understanding look and quietly closes the door.
“You’re going to hell.”
“True, but Jesus laid pretty hard ground rules for the rich to enter Heaven anyway. Better have those tears dropping on a brand-new Porsche baby!”
“Sir, sorry for the wait, are you there?” phone-lady asked.
“We have made the necessary changes to your account and you’re now free to withdraw anything up to 50 thousand per transfer” she says.
Full Tilt here I come.