RainbowEx trading scam: woman with a medical condition loses everything
The next morning, my dad called, waking me up, his voice filled with worry. “Turn on the TV. Look at what is happening. Is that your group?” he asked. Still groggy, I grabbed the remote. As soon as I saw the broadcast, I felt stunned, as if the ground vanished beneath me. I tried to calm myself, hoping it was fake news.
- 7 days ago
November 8, 2024
Thousands of Argentinians fell victim to a cryptocurrency scam. | Photo courtesy of Krzysztof Hepner on Unsplash
AZUL, Argentina — For months, I believed I found the answer to ease my expenses through a financial tool that promised relief. Instead, it was a scam, leaving me stranded and stripped of the resources I counted on. Now, I am staring into an uncertain future, unsure how I will manage essential costs or even buy the basics to get by. I feel paralyzed and desolate, with no clear way forward.
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Turning to an investment group to make ends meet
In July, I met a friend for dinner and conversation. Midway through, he paused, saying, “Give me two minutes—I need to make a trade.” Earlier, he mentioned joining an investment group, which piqued my curiosity. I asked if I could watch, following his steps carefully. The process seemed straightforward, and he mentioned seeing good returns. Intrigued, I asked how to join, and he shared the contact of the group’s coordinator. I reached out immediately.
As they explained the investment dynamics, it felt like a miracle unfolding. I was in a difficult place—recently separated and struggling with a health issue that kept me from formal employment. My myocarditis led to repeated rejections after pre-employment medical exams, leaving me without income. Bills and medication costs piled up, and this investment opportunity seemed like the answer I needed, so I jumped in, filled with hope and enthusiasm.
I quickly incorporated the trading into my daily routine. Each day, on varying schedules, I received a notification signaling the time to trade. A person from Singapore named Ali, affectionately called “La China” in the group, sent alerts through a Telegram channel with nearly 7,000 members. At her cue, I dropped everything to buy or sell the cryptocurrency she specified. It felt like a straightforward process: no decision-making, just following instructions. Once done, I sent a screenshot to a smaller WhatsApp group for local verification.
I started by earning around $20 daily, which eventually grew to $40, then $70. This income covered my medical bills, rent, and food. I felt a sense of pride, having found a solution to my financial challenges despite my health limitations. To me, this was not financial speculation or avoiding work. Rather, it offered an alternative to make ends meet, given my situation.
The RainbowEx scam: a costly trap
In my town of Azul, I could not discuss the trades openly. Years ago, a local trader scammed many people, leaving a deep-seated skepticism toward any investment ventures. The few times I mentioned RainbowEx, people responded with, “Ah, like Curatola,” referring to the notorious scammer. After hearing those comments, I kept my involvement quiet, handling everything privately through messaging groups. Despite others’ distrust, I felt secure. It proceeded exactly as promised, and my earnings looked good. I even heard that in San Pedro, nearly the entire town was investing. Many people left low-paying jobs to focus on this, as the returns proved significantly higher than their paychecks.
One Sunday in October, someone shared a photo of a television screen in our large Telegram group, warning of a scam involving RainbowEx. That same day, we traded a newly launched cryptocurrency, reaping huge profits. The excitement over our gains quickly drowned out any concern about the news story. Messages and screenshots of our earnings filled the chat. I felt thrilled, having earned $800 that day alone.
The next morning, my dad called, waking me up, his voice filled with worry. “Turn on the TV. Look at what is happening. Is that your group?” he asked. Still groggy, I grabbed the remote. As soon as I saw the broadcast, I felt stunned, as if the ground vanished beneath me. I tried to calm myself, hoping it was fake news. However, on Telegram, they disabled comments, and in the smaller WhatsApp group, everyone shared screenshots of the news. They asked, “Is this true,” yet no official response came.
The truth hits: “Others reported they could not withdraw their funds. Everything felt like a trap”
That night, as usual, the trading alert arrived. For the next few days, everything on the platform seemed normal, leaving me torn between hope and suspicion. I noticed they also disabled screenshots in the Telegram group. We could not post, only read instructions. Uncertain of what was real, I kept trading. The truth hit when others reported they could not withdraw their funds. Everything felt like a trap. My $3,200 might not seem like much to some, but to me, it was everything.
The financial stability I finally achieved disappeared. Now, I am caught in overwhelming chaos, unsure how to pay my bills. The thought of borrowing from my parents embarrasses me deeply, but I might have no choice. The sadness pulls me toward depression. I know I have to reinvent myself, but right now, I cannot see how. Those in the WhatsApp group flaunted flashy lifestyles and may have been tied to the scam. I feel utterly helpless and angry, with nowhere left to turn.
Now, I barely sleep, and when I do, I almost wish I would not wake up. Mornings are the hardest, forcing me to face a reality I cannot bear. For a week, I stayed home because every conversation left me in tears. I do not want anyone to see me like this. I even stopped going to my doctor-recommended Pilates classes.
Some people urge me to keep fighting; others say to let go and move on. Yet, I worry about how to pay rent. It feels humiliating to be in this position. I feel ashamed. Part of me wants to sell everything and leave the country, disappear entirely, or wander somewhere with just a backpack, free from obligations to banks, doctors, or anyone.
