The pig butchering scam that steals more than money: Inside a $75 billion global fraud
The pig butchering scam that steals more than money: Inside a $75 billion global fraud
From small-town America to Southeast Asia, the victims are everywhere—and the problem keeps growing.
Shan Hanes had a good life. At 53, married with three daughters, he was the CEO of Heartland Tri-State, a small bank in Elkhart, Kansas, managing $139 million in assets. He also served on the board of the American Bankers Association and had been invited to testify before Congress for his expertise in financial services in rural America. Then, in July 2023, his bank collapsed. Bank failures are rare in the United States, prompting an in-depth investigation by authorities. It soon became clear that in the weeks leading up to the collapse, Hanes had made 11 transfers from bank deposits, totaling $47 million, for “investments” in cryptocurrencies.
To this day, it remains unknown who first contacted Hanes on WhatsApp. What is known is that the conversation began in December 2022, apparently by mistake, and quickly evolved into a relationship centered around investments. The fraudster initially convinced Hanes to invest his personal funds. Later, claiming that additional funds were needed to release supposed profits, Hanes dipped into the savings he had set aside for his daughters’ education. As the financial demands continued—once for commissions, then for taxes—he resorted to stealing money from his local church. By May 2023, he had begun transferring millions of dollars from the bank’s deposits. In July, as mentioned, the bank collapsed.
In August, Hanes pleaded guilty and was sentenced to 24 years in prison. In November, the FBI announced it had recovered $8 million of the stolen funds—a small consolation.
One might assume that an educated, financially savvy person like a bank CEO wouldn’t fall for promises of easy money, especially from someone he met online. But this is precisely the power of a "pig butchering scam"—a term coined by Chinese authorities to evoke the image of fattening a pig over time before slaughtering it. In this analogy, the pig is the victim, while the fraudster carefully cultivates a relationship, building trust over weeks or even months. The “butchering” occurs when the scammer introduces the topic of investments, convincing the victim to transfer assets to crypto exchanges, digital currency brokers, fraudulent mining projects, or fake investment groups.
Victims of these scams are not weak or naive. They are often successful individuals experiencing vulnerability due to life events such as illness, divorce, or a midlife crisis. Many are married and well-educated—bankers, accountants, lawyers, managers, tech professionals, and even police officers. The scam is rooted in traditional romance cons but has evolved into a sophisticated pyramid scheme enhanced by the tools of the AI era.
Consider the case of Shreya Datta, a 37-year-old programmer from India who moved to Philadelphia to run a large technology company. She created a profile on the dating app Hinge, where she soon met “Ancel Mali,” a self-described wine merchant from France. Their relationship quickly progressed from text messages to phone calls and even video chats. They flirted for months. Mali deleted his Hinge profile as a sign of commitment, asked about the little details of her day, told her she worked too much, and even sent her flowers on Valentine’s Day. "He was bursting with charisma," Datta later recalled in interviews.
During one of their conversations about life and career, Mali casually mentioned his plan to retire early. Later, he shared his strategy: investing in cryptocurrency. “Do you really want to work until you’re 65?” he asked. Over time, Datta was convinced. As a programmer, she maintained some skepticism, so when Mali sent her a link to download a crypto trading app, she started cautiously, investing small amounts. The “profits” accumulated, and Datta was even able to withdraw some funds successfully. Her confidence grew, and within two months, she had invested $450,000—all her savings, including her pension. “You feel, ‘Wow, I can make even more,’” she said.
Eventually, her “profits” had doubled, and Datta decided to cash out. However, the platform demanded additional “tax” payments, raising her suspicions. With her brother’s help, she discovered that the platform was an elaborate scam and that “Mali” didn’t exist—his photos actually belonged to a German fitness influencer. “That’s when I realized it was all a scam and the money was gone,” she said. “I had post-traumatic symptoms—I couldn’t sleep, eat, or function. How could I have been so stupid?”
The German bodybuilder’s trap
She was not stupid—she was the victim of a terrifyingly sophisticated industry. Pig butchering scams begin with a routine, seemingly innocent message sent through platforms like WhatsApp, Telegram, LinkedIn, Twitter, Skype, Tinder, or others. From that moment, the scam takes a carefully planned and highly sophisticated turn, relying on extensive preparation, technological expertise, and psychological manipulation. A short, friendly message such as, “Hi Jesse, it was so nice to see you!” can mark the beginning of a devastating story.
When the victim responds—statistically, one in ten people do—and explains that the sender must have the wrong number, the scammer seizes the opportunity to start a conversation. The nature of the exchange varies based on the platform and the victim’s profile. On LinkedIn, for example, the scammer might pose as a SpaceX programmer and initiate a professional discussion. On Tinder, he might claim to be a lawyer looking for love. On Twitter, he could present himself as a PR executive searching for a girlfriend. Once trust is established, the scammer gradually introduces the topic of investments. Rather than directly asking for money, he typically encourages the victim to open an account on an investment platform, guiding them on how to invest and offering insider tips—an illegal but tempting tactic that fosters a false sense of partnership.
A report published in October by the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) detailed how criminal cartels are using machine learning and artificial intelligence to elevate pig butchering scams to new heights. Scammers now use deepfake technology to conduct face-swapped video calls, providing victims with highly convincing visual evidence. In Datta’s case, for instance, “Mali” leveraged AI tools to appear as Lars, the German bodybuilder whose images he had stolen. Generative AI also enables scammers to craft complex, customized, and high-quality scripts. Whereas scam messages once contained obvious grammatical errors and generic phrasing, today’s communication is seamless, articulate, and highly persuasive.
According to Interpol, these scams are carried out by coordinated teams specializing in different tasks. Some acquire databases, others scan social media for potential victims, and others create convincing fake identities, complete with professional histories, photos, and active social media profiles. Even accounting and HR teams are involved. The scale of this industry is staggering: A February 2024 study by the University of Texas found that since late 2020—when the pandemic triggered a surge in online scams—fraud centers in Southeast Asia have stolen more than $75 billion worldwide through pig butchering scams alone. This figure far exceeds UN estimates, which range from $7.5 billion to $12.5 billion per year. Initially, most victims were in China, but after Chinese authorities banned cryptocurrency trading, scammers shifted their focus to the United States.
The visual and textual sophistication of these scams helps build trust, but the deception wouldn’t be complete without a convincing trading platform. Here, too, scammers have evolved beyond the tactics of the so-called Nigerian prince, who simply asks for a wire transfer. In Datta’s case, the fraudsters built a fake crypto investment website that appeared entirely legitimate, complete with a two-step verification process. Other victims are directed to real trading platforms where scammers act as intermediaries with access to their funds. In some cases, scammers create near-perfect replicas of well-known investment platforms, complete with responsive “customer service” teams to further convince the victim.
According to Chainalysis, this type of scam increased 85-fold between 2020 and 2023. The Global Anti-Scam Organization (GASO), founded by a pig butchering scam victim, estimates that at least 1,838 people from 46 countries have lost an average of $169,000 each since June 2021. These figures are likely conservative, as many victims are too ashamed to report the crime. Recognizing this, Interpol issued a special notice in December 2024, urging authorities to stop using the term pig butchering and instead refer to it as a romantic sting. “The term dehumanizes victims, shames them, and discourages people from seeking help or providing information to authorities,” the notice stated.
18 hours a day and electric shocks
The financial and emotional devastation suffered by scam victims tells only half the story. These scams are built on the exploitation of another group of victims—people who have been kidnapped and trafficked by criminal organizations, then forced to operate scam centers against their will.
It may seem inconceivable, but international crime syndicates—including the Chinese mafia and Myanmar’s military junta—have created a parallel human trafficking industry to supply labor for these fraud operations. One of the most notorious figures in this trade is Wan “Broken Tooth” Kuok-koi, a Chinese mobster who, in 2020, established the first known cyber fraud center, the Dongmei Complex in Myanmar. The center was inaugurated with a public ceremony and a red ribbon-cutting event, symbolizing the chilling normalization of forced fraud labor. Since then, Dongmei has become a global symbol of exploitation, abuse, and human trafficking linked to pig butchering scams.
The recruitment process is particularly insidious. Criminal gangs in Southeast Asia post job advertisements on legitimate platforms, offering positions in “special economic zones” (SEZs) for internet and digital marketing professionals. The ads promise high salaries, attractive benefits, and good working conditions. Once candidates sign employment contracts, however, they realize they have fallen into a trap. Upon arrival, they are locked inside heavily guarded scam centers—often in Myanmar or Cambodia—where their phones and passports are confiscated. From there, they are forced to conduct cyber fraud on an industrial scale, working 18-hour shifts under threat of physical abuse, torture, or even organ harvesting if they fail to meet quotas. Some are bought and sold between different scam centers, with each new “owner” adding the cost of their sale to the victim’s debt, further delaying any hope of release.
Like the victims of pig butchering scams, the trafficked workers forced to perpetrate these crimes are often highly educated and tech-savvy. They are not the weak or desperate but bilingual professionals, including programmers, marketers, and teachers.
Take the case of Miracle (not her real name), an Indonesian tour guide who wanted to improve her income. She applied for a digital marketing job in Cambodia that promised a monthly salary of 1,500 Australian dollars, four meals a day, and company-paid airfare and visa expenses. She was assured that her proficiency in Mandarin and English made her an excellent candidate. However, upon arrival, she was locked inside a compound and forced to work around the clock creating fake profiles, identifying potential victims, and convincing them to invest in cryptocurrency.
“If I missed one target, I had to do 50 push-ups,” she later testified. “If I missed two, 100 push-ups. One of my colleagues was electrocuted by a supervisor for making a mistake.”
Ravi, a trafficking victim from Thailand, shared an even more harrowing account:
“They stripped me naked, tied me to a chair, and electrocuted my leg. I thought I was going to die. I spent 16 days in a cell because I disobeyed them. The only thing they gave me to drink was water mixed with cigarette butts and ashes.”
220,000 people trapped in scam centers
This brutal method has created an unexpected anomaly: human trafficking from wealthy to poorer countries. According to the International Justice Mission (IJM), which fights human trafficking, this is currently the fastest-growing form of trafficking. The International Organization for Migration (IOM) estimates that around 220,000 people from 40 different nationalities have been trafficked and forced to work in scam centers since the outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic.
The pandemic marked a critical turning point, creating fertile ground for the growth of the first scam centers in Cambodia, Laos, and Myanmar. Criminal organizations were highly motivated—border lockdowns had halted the flow of gamblers to the massive illegal complexes they had built in special economic zones, pushing them to seek alternative sources of income. At the same time, hundreds of millions of people were confined to their homes, heavily reliant on the internet, making them easy targets for online scams. Another vulnerable group emerged as well: millions of educated professionals who had been laid off, becoming potential victims of human trafficking.
“It breaks our hearts that we were able to do this to other people,” said Mark Santos, a 26-year-old from the Philippines and a marine engineering graduate, in an interview with TIME. “I think about them, about their situation—even though we didn’t see them, we felt what they felt. Everything they earned was lost just so we could generate an unfair income.”
Santos was trafficked to Myanmar by Chinese criminal organizations in October 2022 after responding to a job advertisement on Facebook. Fortunately, he was one of the few Filipinos rescued from a scam operation in Myawaddy, near the Thai-Myanmar border, in 2023. However, similar scams are now emerging in the Philippines, and in the past two years alone, two major raids have rescued more than 1,500 people from such facilities.
Troy, from Ohio, is a victim of a "pig butchering" scam who lost $25,000 in 2021. Today, he volunteers with the Global Anti-Scam Organization (GASO) to combat these frauds. Speaking to Calcalist, he shared insights into the operations inside scam centers.
“In the project I was part of, we discovered that scammers coordinate through Telegram groups,” Troy explained.
What does this mean?
“There are companies that sell face-swapping software, others that sell photo collections of Japanese people, and even companies offering packages of lifestyle photos to scam centers. These centers do everything they can to appear legitimate to potential victims. We also learned that they prefer targeting major U.S. cities—San Francisco, Los Angeles, San Diego, New York—but their reach is global. With the help of technology and the sheer volume of people working in these centers, they’re bound to catch someone.”
Who are they specifically targeting?
“The ideal victim is typically over 50 and a professional because they’re likely to have life savings. Contact usually starts through Facebook groups to obtain the victim’s WhatsApp number. If the scammer—referred to as the ‘finder’—succeeds, the case is escalated to a supervisor who attempts to carry out the fraud. If the finder fails to secure a WhatsApp number, they may be beaten. By the time they reach out to a victim, they’ve already done extensive background checks.”
What kind of background checks?
“They review the victim’s social media to see if they have a degree, photos of themselves in upscale homes, evidence of vacations, or hobbies like golf—anything that suggests wealth. Anyone who appears affluent becomes an ideal target. After the investigation, scammers also tailor their communication to match the victim’s language and interests.”
Crypto and Starlink fuel the problem
The rise of cryptocurrency has provided cartels with new opportunities to launder money. “Crypto is the catalyst that has enabled the rapid growth of cybercrime-based cartels due to the ease of cross-border transactions,” says the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC).
For those wondering how remote scam centers maintain strong communication networks, the answer lies with Elon Musk’s Starlink satellites. A raid conducted by Thai, Filipino, and Chinese police forces revealed that cartels rely on Starlink to ensure stable internet connections in isolated areas.
Unintentionally, the cryptocurrency company Tether, which issues the world’s largest stablecoin (USDT), has become a key player in the fraud ecosystem. According to the UNODC, USDT is the primary currency used in 84% of fraudulent transactions linked to pig butchering scams. “Organized crime has effectively created a parallel banking system using new technologies,” the report states.
Tether is not without controversy. Its operations have been the subject of multiple investigations over the years, and the company was even banned from operating in New York following a settlement with the state attorney general’s office. Investigations have focused on allegations of misrepresentation regarding USDT’s reserves and suspicions of illegal financial practices. While Tether denies these allegations, it has paid fines and agreed to increase transparency in its reporting. As part of the settlement, the company enlisted financial services firm Cantor Fitzgerald—its largest client—to oversee compliance.
A recent study found two crypto wallets containing $100 million in USDT, allegedly linked to pig butchering scams conducted at KK Park in Myanmar. This “park” functions as a fraud hub with ties to Myanmar’s military junta, and notorious crime boss Broken Tooth is believed to be involved. Despite the U.S. government blacklisting Broken Tooth in December 2020, enforcement in the region remains weak.
In the summer, Interpol announced a global crackdown, "Operation First Light 2024," which spanned 61 countries. The operation led to the arrest of 3,950 suspects and the identification of 14,643 more across all continents. However, the results were underwhelming. Authorities seized around 80 Starlink units and confiscated $137 million—just a fraction of the billions stolen from victims worldwide. Much of this illicit wealth remains hidden in unknown crypto wallets, continuing to grow unchecked.
