Investing in Deception: How Friendship, Love, and Ambition Fueled a $150,000 Scam
This is a story I find deeply triggering, one that I’ve struggled to tell. But in reliving it, there are lessons to be learned about the perils of misplaced trust and the high cost of blind loyalty. It’s a story of deception, ambition, and heartbreak — a cautionary tale about the dark side of supporting friends in their entrepreneurial dreams. For the sake of privacy, names have been changed to protect the innocent.
It was the spring of 2019 when my long-time friend, *Lauryn, came to me with a business opportunity. Lauryn and I had been close for over 15 years, our bond forged in the trenches of grad school and solidified by shared life experiences. When she pitched her idea to me, I didn’t hesitate to listen. She was more than a friend — she was my sister, and I was eager to see her succeed.
Lauryn had been through a lot. Two years earlier, she lost her husband, becoming a single mother to two young children at just 39. As a widow, she faced challenges that would have broken many, but Lauryn was resilient. She was rebuilding her life, and I was invested in her success. That’s why, when she approached me about reviving her wellness business, I was all in.
Lauryn was no novice in the health and wellness industry. She had owned a natural body care line, taught fitness classes, and dreamed of opening her own wellness center. She was knowledgeable, passionate, and ready to take her business to the next level. So, when she met Zacharia Ali — a financier, businessman, and investor — at our local LA Fitness, she believed it was a divine connection.
All Smoke and Mirrors
Zac was everything Lauryn needed at that moment — a businessman with a wealth of experience, or so it seemed. He offered her intimacy, mentorship, and guidance. Lauryn fell for him, both as a romantic partner and mentor. Zac carried himself with an air of authority, his words laced with the promise of success and prosperity. He spoke of his business accolades and widespread connections. He informed her that he was divorced, had sadly lost a child in a car accident, and had moved to the area for a fresh start. He was a practicing Muslim from a prominent family in Philadelphia. He was well-connected and had successfully launched many companies, and now he wanted to do the same for Lauryn.
The First Red Flag: Trust, but Verify
When Lauryn introduced me to Zac, I was initially impressed. He spoke with authority about entrepreneurship, investing, and the importance of ownership in the Black community. He even attended my birthday party, where we discussed his ventures in South America, the Middle East, and the African diaspora. Over time, Zac and I exchanged messages about business opportunities, and he seemed genuinely invested in our shared goals.
Zac became more than just Lauryn’s romantic partner and mentor; he became a central figure in our budding business venture. He offered to use his extensive network to help Lauryn relaunch her brand, promising to turn it into an international success. The plan was ambitious but enticing: we would create a line of CBD-infused skincare products, tapping into the booming wellness market. I was hesitant but hopeful. Lauryn’s trust in him reassured me. In hindsight, I should have let Lauryn and Zac work together without getting involved.
Despite my initial reservations, I convinced myself that Zac’s impressive background and Lauryn’s enthusiasm were enough to move forward. I researched Zac’s company, Zar Capital, and found nothing alarming — just websites and social media endorsements that aligned with his stories. But I ignored the small voice inside that urged caution.
The Second Red Flag: If It Sounds Too Good to Be True, It Probably Is
Despite my initial excitement, a nagging voice in the back of my mind urged caution. I researched Zac and his company, Zar Capital. His online presence seemed legitimate — impressive even. His website detailed his supposed business ventures in South America, the Middle East, and across the African diaspora. But beyond the polished surface, something felt off.
Still, Lauryn was convinced. Zac had become her rock, helping her navigate the complexities of business and life after loss. She believed in him, and because I believed in her, I put my doubts aside. Under Zac’s guidance, we formed a business partnership: Lauryn would hold 50% of the company, Zac 30%, and I would take a 20% stake. It seemed like a fair arrangement, and over the next few months, Lauryn and I made substantial investments via wire transfer, totaling $110,000. We were instructed to send the money to a Navy Federal account for GC Worldwide under the umbrella of Zac’s businesses, CBD Switch Holding Corp and Zar Capital.
Another Red Flag: All New Opportunities Are Not Good Opportunities — The Moringa Mirage
As if the CBD venture wasn’t enough, Zac presented me with another investment opportunity: a business centered around the Moringa plant in Ethiopia. He pitched it as low-risk, with the potential for high returns and the added appeal of supporting Black businesses in Africa. He presented me with diagrams, mocks, financials, a business plan, and extensive research. I invested $40,000, and we formed a company called the Moringa Cartel. Through documented email presentations, Zac promised to establish operations in Ghana, help with the business plan, and set up the website. I was excited about the prospects, but the excitement was short-lived.
Trust Your Gut
Once the money was sent and the paperwork signed, unease set in. I noticed discrepancies, like the fact that our business was registered in Nevada, even though we were all based in the Mid-Atlantic region. I decided to dig deeper, using the state of Nevada’s business portal, Silver Flume. What I found left me reeling: only the company formed between Lauryn, Zac, and me existed as a domestic corporation. My name wasn’t listed anywhere, and neither was Zac’s. Lauryn was the sole officer of the company. As for the Moringa Cartel, it was nothing more than a name reservation that had expired three months after its formation. On paper, my $100,000 investment had vanished into thin air.
“All Skinfolk Ain’t Kinfolk”
The pandemic hit, bringing unforeseen challenges. Despite this, I consistently reached out to Zac for updates. I pleaded with Lauryn to help, assuming her closer relationship with Zac might yield answers. But her relationship with Zac had soured, and she informed me that her new venture with a national television show prevented her from pursuing any legal action for at least a year. I was on my own.
I demanded that Zac dissolve my participation in the business and return my funds. His response was vague, promising to return the money once his partner returned from overseas. But days turned into weeks, and I received nothing but silence. Then, instead of the money, I received a cease-and-desist letter — a blatant attempt to intimidate me. My attorney dismissed it as legally invalid, but the damage was done. I realized too late that I should have involved legal counsel from the start.
Desperate, I contacted the Prince George’s County Financial Crimes Division and met with a detective. Lauryn accompanied me, providing proof of her own financial losses. The detective initially suspected she and Zac were working together to scam me, but her evidence showed otherwise. Still, the State’s Attorney’s office couldn’t help; our losses, though significant to us, didn’t meet the threshold for prosecution.
The Aftermath
The full scope of Zac’s betrayal came to light when I discovered another woman who had fallen victim to his schemes. Through social media, I connected with a young lady on Facebook who had also been scammed by Zac. Her story mirrored Lauryn’s — she, too, had trusted him, invested in his ventures, and been left with nothing but broken promises. She had been physically and romantically involved. The end result was a broken heart and $60,000 poorer. Her story was both devastating and validating. We were not alone, but that did little to ease the pain.
In total, I had invested $100,000 — $60,000 in the CBD skincare line and $40,000 in the Moringa Cartel. But the financial loss was just one part of the devastation. The betrayal cut deeper. Lauryn, the sister I had trusted implicitly, had unknowingly led me into the arms of a predator. Zac had exploited her vulnerability, using our friendship as a tool to manipulate and deceive.
I was left with nothing — no money, no business, and no means of contacting Zac. Emails bounced back, texts went unread, and calls went straight to voicemail. I had been swindled out of $100,000, and there was no way to recover it. Heartbroken, Lauryn had lost $50,000 and wanted nothing more to do with the situation.
Lessons Learned
Looking back, the signs were there. But I ignored them, blinded by the desire to support a friend in need and the allure of a promising business opportunity. I’ve since learned the hard way that when something seems too good to be true, it usually is. In the end, I had to come to terms with the trauma of losing everything because I let my desire to help a friend cloud my judgment. I was emotionally invested in Lauryn’s well-being, but I failed to do my due diligence on Zac. I trusted blindly and paid a heavy price.
Conclusion
In the end, the story isn’t just about a lost investment or a failed business venture. It’s about the importance of critical thinking, the danger of blind loyalty, and the painful reality that not everyone who enters your life has good intentions. I was betrayed by a man I barely knew, but also by my own willingness to believe in the impossible.
Let this be a reminder: Protect your dreams but protect your heart and your wallet even more. This experience has left me scarred, but it has also made me wiser. I share this story not to shame myself or Lauryn, but to warn others. In the world of business, and in life, there are those who will prey on your goodwill and ambition. The best defense is vigilance — ask questions, trust your instincts, and never let excitement cloud your judgment.
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