In late November 2024, I got an email through my DePaul address offering what seemed like the internship I’ve been waiting for: a remote personal assistant gig paying $450 a week. The email offered flexible hours, minimal tasks and — best of all — no commute. I’d been referred by “another student,” though their identity was apparently under strict lock and key. (Mysterious! Professional! Slightly weird, but okay.)

By December, I was “hired.” My tasks included helping manage a busy schedule, answering phones, running the occasional errand and writing “thank you” notes. Think “The Devil Wears Prada” minus the Prada — ie: in my pajamas.

My first assignment? Open a separate bank account. The reason? They’d be sending me large sums of money to forward as “donations” to different companies. If that sounds sketchy to you, congrats — you’re smarter than December me. But at the time, I chalked it up to business privacy or tax reasons or “rich-people things” I didn’t understand.

Then they emailed me a check for $1,000. My bank flagged it immediately as suspicious. I was panicked, stressed and trying to be a good intern, so I offered to talk on the phone. They said they were hard of hearing. I suggested Zoom, since I know beginner-level ASL. They said they were out running errands. I asked again who the student was who referred me. They said they wanted to remain anonymous.

Still, I persisted, eventually opening a new bank account elsewhere. That’s when things got really weird. They sent me nearly $5,000 in fraudulent checks and said I needed to learn how to use Bitcoin because — get this — the donations were for orphans.

Orphans. Who, apparently, need cryptocurrency.

At that point, even I — stressed, tired, trying to make a good impression — couldn’t ignore the neon signs, flashing “SCAM!” I told them to leave me alone and that I knew they were fake. I never heard from them again, thankfully.

But then I remembered: They already had my address. My email. My workplace. My school. I was terrified. So I went to the police in early December and explained the whole thing. The officer smiled and basically said, “Well, they didn’t actually steal anything from you, so there’s nothing we can do.” I left feeling more embarrassed than before I walked in.

I’d wanted the internship. I wanted the experience. I’d wanted something to put on my resume. Instead, I got a crash course in how vulnerable we really are — even with a .edu email address.

Unfortunately, I’m not alone. Maftuna Zokirova, a sophomore at Loyola University, had a similar experience. “I received an email from what appeared to be my school’s official email, but it was not,” she said. “I texted my friend to verify it wasn’t a scam. She initially thought it was fine. Unfortunately, I didn’t double-check for myself. 

“A few moments after I had given away my information, my friend followed up with ‘never mind’ — and that’s when my heart dropped. I realized I had been scammed,” Zokirova said.

She, too, was shocked and worried.

“I wished I could turn back time and avoid giving away my personal information,” Zokirova said.

Chris Green, director of writing and publishing internships at DePaul, said there are several warning signs students should look out for. 

“Red flags for fraudulent internships would be similar to the flags for fake job offers: requests for personal or bank information up front; all communication happens via text, chat apps, email … no phone or video interviews,” Green said. 

He continued: “The recruiter uses an unofficial or mismatched email address; the company has little or no online presence; internship or job descriptions are vague, with high pay for entry-level work; emails and internship/job postings contain grammatical errors or typos; no verifiable company address or employees on LinkedIn.”

Check, check and check.

After some research, I found the identity they were using belonged to a real woman. The names on the checks traced back to a deceased husband and an elderly wife in Florida. I tried to reach out and warn them, but I never heard back — probably because they thought I was the scam.

I later found out they wanted to make me into a “money mule,” which is someone who moves illegally-acquired money on behalf of someone else. Instead of an internship that I can put on my resume, they wanted me to put a charge on my criminal record.

If you do fall for something like this (and I hope you don’t), you’re not powerless. Green says that at DePaul, you can contact the Dean of Students Office and DePaul’s Information Security Team. 

Beyond that, he said, “You could report the scam to the Federal Trade Commission, to the job board or website where you found the listing, and/or you could even report it to the state attorney general and the FBI’s Internet Crime Complaint Center.”

“No one is too smart to get scammed,” Zokirova said. “It’s unfair that scammers deliberately target students who are just trying to get through school.” 

Always verify job or internship offers. Double-check the email address. Ask to talk on the phone or over Zoom — and insist on it. Look up names. Ask questions. And don’t assume your school email is protected. If it’s on your resume, it’s public. Scammers are counting on your ambition and trust to get you to act fast.

So here’s my PSA: If it sounds too good to be true, it is.

Related Stories:

• Scammers are sneaking into DePaul student group chats
• Phishing emails lure DePaul community into false opportunities 
• FBI warning: employment scam targets college students