He explained everything.

A drinking buddy confessed. Alexander. He says he works at a startup based on a scam, which appears too clever to be a lie.

Alexander (assuming he developed the story) or the startup's creator must have been a genius.

This is the story of an Internet scam that targets older individuals and generates tens of millions of dollars annually.

The business sells authentic things at 10% of their market value. This firm cannot be lucrative, but the entrepreneur has a plan: monthly subscriptions to a worthless service.

The firm can then charge the customer's credit card to settle the gap. The buyer must subscribe without knowing it. What's their strategy?

How does the con operate?

Imagine a website with a split homepage. On one page, the site offers an attractive goods at a ridiculous price (from 1 euro to 10% of the product's market worth).

Same product, but with a stupid monthly subscription. Business is unsustainable. They buy overpriced products and resell them too cheaply, hoping customers will subscribe to a useless service.

No customer will want this service. So they create another illegal homepage that hides the monthly subscription offer. After an endless scroll, a box says Yes, I want to subscribe to a service that costs x dollars per month.

Unchecking the checkbox bugs. When a customer buys a product on this page, he's enrolled in a monthly subscription. Not everyone should see it because it's illegal. So what does the startup do?

A page that varies based on the sort of website visitor, a possible consumer or someone who might be watching the startup's business

Startup technicians make sure the legal page is displayed when the site is accessed normally. Typing the web address in the browser, using Google, etc. The page crashes when buying a goods, preventing the purchase.

This avoids the startup from selling a product at a loss because the buyer won't subscribe to the worthless service and charge their credit card each month.

The illegal page only appears if a customer clicks on a Google ad, indicating interest in the offer.

Alexander says that a banker, police officer, or anyone else who visits the site (maybe for control) will only see a valid and buggy site as purchases won't be possible.

The latter will go to the site in the regular method (by typing the address in the browser, using Google, etc.) and not via an online ad.

Those who visit from ads are likely already lured by the site's price. They'll be sent to an illegal page that requires a subscription.

Laziness is humanity's secret weapon. The ordinary person ignores tiny monthly credit card charges. The subscription lasts around a year before the customer sees an unexpected deduction.

After-sales service (ASS) is useful in this situation.

After-sales assistance begins when a customer notices slight changes on his credit card, usually a year later.

The customer will search Google for the direct debit reference. How he'll complain to after-sales service.

It's crucial that ASS appears in the top 4/5 Google search results. This site must be clear, and offer chat, phone, etc., he argues.

The pigeon must be comforted after waking up. The customer learns via after-sales service that he subscribed to a service while buying the product, which justifies the debits on his card.

The customer will then clarify that he didn't intend to make the direct debits. The after-sales care professional will pretend to listen to the customer's arguments and complaints, then offer to unsubscribe him for free because his predicament has affected him.

In 99% of cases, the consumer is satisfied since the after-sales support unsubscribed him for free, and he forgets the debited amounts.

The remaining 1% is split between 0.99% who are delighted to be reimbursed and 0.01%. We'll pay until they're done. The customer should be delighted, not object or complain, and keep us beneath the radar (their situation is resolved, the rest, they don’t care).

It works, so we expand our thinking.

Startup has considered industrialization. Since this fraud is working, try another. Automate! So they used a site generator (only for product modifications), underpaid phone operators for after-sales service, and interns for fresh product ideas.

The company employed a data scientist. This has allowed the startup to recognize that specific customer profiles can be re-registered in the database and that it will take X months before they realize they're subscribing to a worthless service. Customers are re-subscribed to another service, then unsubscribed before realizing it.

Alexander took months to realize the deception and leave. Lawyers and others apparently threatened him and former colleagues who tried to talk about it.

The startup would have earned prizes and competed in contests. He adds they can provide evidence to any consumer group, media, police/gendarmerie, or relevant body. When I submitted my information to the FBI, I was told, "We know, we can't do much.", he says.

Are you one of these Zoom dogs?

The Person Who Is Apparently Always on Mute

Waffles thinks he can overpower the mute button by shouting loudly.

The person who believed their camera to be off

Barkley's used to remote work, but he hasn't mastered the "Stop Video" button. Everyone is affected.

Who is driving for some reason, exactly?

Why is Pumpkin always late? Who knows? Shouldn't she be driving? If you could hear her over the freeway, she'd answer these questions.

The Person With the Amazing Bookcase

Cicero likes to use SAT-words like "leverage" and "robust" in Zoom sessions, presumably from all the books he wants you to see behind him.

The Individual Who Is Unnecessarily Dressed

We hope Bandit is going somewhere beautiful after this meeting, or else he neglected the quarterly earnings report and is overcompensating to distract us.

The person who works through lunch in between zoom calls

Barksworth has back-to-back meetings all day, so you can watch her eat while she talks.

The Person Who Is A Little Too Comfy

Hercules thinks Zoom meetings happen between sleeps. He'd appreciate everyone speaking more quietly.

The Person Who Answered the Phone Outside

Frisbee has a gorgeous backyard and lives in a place with great weather year-round, and she wants you to think about that during the daily team huddle.

Who Wants You to Pay Attention to Their Pet

Snickers hasn't listened to you in 20 minutes unless you tell her how cute her kitten is.

One who is, for some reason, positioned incorrectly on the screen

Nelson's meetings consist primarily of attempting to figure out how he positioned his laptop so absurdly.

The person who says too many goodbyes

Zeus waves farewell like it's your first day of school while everyone else searches for the "Leave Meeting" button. It's nice.

He who has a poor internet connection

Ziggy's connectivity problems continue... She gives a long speech as everyone waits awkwardly to inform her they missed it.

The Clearly Multitasking Person

Tinkerbell can play fetch during the monthly staff meeting if she works from home, but that's not a good idea.

The Person Using Zoom as a Makeup and Hair Mirror

If Gail and Bob knew Zoom had a "hide self view" option, they'd be distraught.

The person who feels at ease with simply leaving

Rusty bails when a Zoom conference is over. Rusty's concept is decent.

How a misplaced item may change your outlook

Losing your wallet means life stops. Money vanishes. No credit. Your identity is unverifiable. As you check your pockets for the missing object, you can't drive. You can't borrow a library book.

Last seen? intuitively. Every kid asks this, including yours. However, you know where you lost it: On the Providence River cycling trail. While pedaling vigorously, the wallet dropped out of your back pocket and onto the pavement.

A woman you know—your son's art teacher—says it will be returned. Faith.

You want that faith. Losing a wallet is all-consuming. You must presume it has been stolen and is being used to buy every diamond and non-fungible token on the market. Your identity may have been used to open bank accounts and fake passports. Because he used your license address, a ski mask-wearing man may be driving slowly past your house.

As you delete yourself by canceling cards, these images run through your head. You wait in limbo for replacements. Digital text on the DMV website promises your new license will come within 60 days and be approved by local and state law enforcement. In the following two months, your only defense is a screenshot.

Your wallet was ordinary. A worn, overstuffed leather rectangle. You understand how tenuous your existence has always been since you've never lost a wallet. You barely breathe without your documents.

Ironically, you wore a wallet-belt chain. You adored being a 1993 slacker for 15 years. Your wife just convinced you last year that your office job wasn't professional. You nodded and hid the chain.

Never lost your wallet. Until now.

Angry. Feeling stupid. How could you drop something vital? Why? Is the world cruel? No more dumb luck. You're always one pedal-stroke from death.

Then you get a call: We have your wallet.

Local post office, not cops.

The clerk said someone returned it. Due to trying to identify you, it's a chaos. It has your cards but no cash.

Your automobile screeches down the highway. You yell at the windshield, amazed. Submitted. Art teacher was right. Have some trust.

You thank the postmaster. You ramble through the story. The clerk doesn't know the customer, simply a neighborhood Good Samaritan. You wish you could thank that person for lifting your spirits.

You get home, beaming with gratitude. You thumb through your wallet, amazed that it’s all intact. Then you dig out your chain and reattach it.

Because even faith could use a little help.

Sometimes doing everything correctly isn't enough.

In 2020, I could fix my life.

After failing to start a business, I owed $40,000 and had no work.

A $1.2 billion startup on the cusp of going public pulled me up.

Ironically, it was getting ready for an epic fall — with the world watching.

Life sometimes helps. Without a base, even the strongest fall. A corporation that did everything right failed 3 months after going public.

First-row view.

Apple is the creator of Adore.

Out of respect, I've altered the company and employees' names in this account, despite their failure.

Although being a publicly traded company, it may become obvious.

We’ll call it “Adore” — a revolutionary concept in retail shopping.

Two Apple execs established Adore in 2014 with a focus on people-first purchasing.

Jon and Tim:

• The concept for the stylish Apple retail locations you see today was developed by retail expert Jon Swanson, who collaborated closely with Steve Jobs.

• Tim Cruiter is a graphic designer who produced the recognizable bouncing lamp video that appears at the start of every Pixar film.

The dynamic duo realized their vision.

“What if you could combine the convenience of online shopping with the confidence of the conventional brick-and-mortar store experience.”

Adore's mobile store concept combined traditional retail with online shopping.

Adore brought joy to 70+ cities and 4 countries over 7 years, including the US, Canada, and the UK.

Being employed on the ground floor, with world dominance and IPO on the horizon, was exciting.

I started as an Adore Expert.

I delivered cell phones, helped consumers set them up, and sold add-ons.

As the company grew, I became a Virtual Learning Facilitator and trained new employees across North America using Zoom.

In this capacity, I gained corporate insider knowledge. I worked with the creative team and Jon and Tim.

It's where I saw company foundation fissures. Despite appearances, investors were concerned.

The business strategy was ground-breaking.

Even after seeing my employee stocks fall from a home down payment to $0 (when Adore filed for bankruptcy), it's hard to pinpoint what went wrong.

Solid business model, well-executed.

Jon and Tim's chase for public funding ended in glory.

Here’s the business model in a nutshell:

Buying cell phones is cumbersome. You have two choices:

1. Online purchase: not knowing what plan you require or how to operate your device.

2. Enter a store, which can be troublesome and stressful.

Apple, AT&T, and Rogers offered Adore as a free delivery add-on. Customers could:

• Have their phone delivered by UPS or Canada Post in 1-2 weeks.

• Alternately, arrange for a person to visit them the same day (or sometimes even the same hour) to assist them set up their phone and demonstrate how to use it (transferring contacts, switching the SIM card, etc.).

Each Adore Expert brought a van with extra devices and accessories to customers.

Happy customers.

Here’s how Adore and its partners made money:

Adores partners appreciated sending Experts to consumers' homes since they improved customer satisfaction, average sale, and gadget returns.

**Telecom enterprises have low customer satisfaction. The average NPS is 30/100. Adore's global NPS was 80.

Adore made money by:

• a set cost for each delivery

• commission on sold warranties and extras

Consumer product applications seemed infinite.

A proprietary scheduling system (“The Adore App”), allowed for same-day, even same-hour deliveries.

It differentiates Adore.

They treated staff generously by:

• Options on stock

• health advantages

• sales enticements

• high rates per hour

Four-day workweeks were set by experts.

Being hired early felt like joining Uber, Netflix, or Tesla. We hoped the company's stocks would rise.

Exciting times.

I smiled as I greeted more than 1,000 new staff.

I spent a decade in retail before joining Adore. I needed a change.

After a leap of faith, I needed a lifeline. So, I applied for retail sales jobs in the spring of 2019.

The universe typically offers you what you want after you accept what you need. I needed a job to settle my debt and reach $0 again.

And the universe listened.

After being hired as an Adore Expert, I became a Virtual Learning Facilitator. Enough said.

After weeks of economic damage from the pandemic.

This employment let me work from home during the pandemic. It taught me excellent business skills.

I was active in brainstorming, onboarding new personnel, and expanding communication as we grew.

This job gave me vital skills and a regular paycheck during the pandemic.

It wasn’t until January of 2022 that I left on my own accord to try to work for myself again — this time, it’s going much better.

Adore was perfect. We valued:

• Connection

• Discovery

• Empathy

Everything we did centered on compassion, and we held frequent Justice Calls to discuss diversity and work culture.

The last day of onboarding typically ended in tears as employees felt like they'd found a home, as I had.

Like all nice things, the wonderful vibes ended.

First indication of distress

My first day at the workplace was great.

Fun, intuitive, and they wanted creative individuals, not salesman.

While sales were important, the company's vision was more important.

“To deliver joy through life-changing mobile retail experiences.”

Thorough, forward-thinking training. We had a module on intuition. It gave us role ownership.

We were flown cross-country for training, gave feedback, and felt like we made a difference. Multiple contacts responded immediately and enthusiastically.

The atmosphere was genuine.

Making money was secondary, though. Incredible service was a priority.

Jon and Tim answered new hires' questions during Zoom calls during onboarding. CEOs seldom meet new hires this way, but they seemed to enjoy it.

All appeared well.

But in late 2021, things started changing.

Adore's leadership changed after its IPO. From basic values to sales maximization. We lost communication and were forced to fend for ourselves.

Removed the training wheels.

It got tougher to gain instructions from those above me, and new employees told me their roles weren't as advertised.

External money-focused managers were hired.

Instead of creative types, we hired salespeople.

With a new focus on numbers, Adore's uniqueness began to crumble.

Via Zoom, hundreds of workers were let go.

So.

Early in 2022, mass Zoom firings were trending. A CEO firing 900 workers over Zoom went viral.

Adore was special to me, but it became a headline.

30 June 2022, Vice Motherboard published Watch as Adore's CEO Fires Hundreds.

It described a leaked video of Jon Swanson laying off all staff in Canada and the UK.

They called it a “notice of redundancy”.

The corporation couldn't pay its employees.

I loved Adore's underlying ideals, among other things. We called clients Adorers and sold solutions, not add-ons.

But, like anything, a company is only as strong as its weakest link. And obviously, the people-first focus wasn’t making enough money.

There were signs. The expansion was presumably a race against time and money.

Adore finally declared bankruptcy.

Adore declared bankruptcy 3 months after going public. It happened in waves, like any large-scale fall.

• Initial key players to leave were

• Then, communication deteriorated.

• Lastly, the corporate culture disintegrated.

6 months after leaving Adore, I received a letter in the mail from a Law firm — it was about my stocks.

Adore filed Chapter 11. I had to sue to collect my worthless investments.

I hoped those stocks will be valuable someday. Nope. Nope.

Sad, I sighed.

$1.2 billion firm gone.

I left the workplace 3 months before starting a writing business. Despite being mediocre, I'm doing fine.

I got up as Adore fell.

Finally, can we scale kindness?

I trust my gut. Changes at Adore made me leave before it sank.

Adores' unceremonious slide from a top startup to bankruptcy is astonishing to me.

The company did everything perfectly, in my opinion.

• first to market,

• provided excellent service

• paid their staff handsomely.

• was responsible and attentive to criticism

The company wasn't led by an egotistical eccentric. The crew had centuries of cumulative space experience.

I'm optimistic about the future of work culture, but is compassion scalable?

Three Arrows Capital's Google search volume rose over 5,000%.

Three Arrows Capital, a Singapore-based cryptocurrency hedge fund, filed for Chapter 15 bankruptcy last Friday to protect its U.S. assets from creditors.

• Three Arrows filed for bankruptcy on July 1 in New York.

• Three Arrows was ordered liquidated by a British Virgin Islands court last week after defaulting on a $670 million loan from Voyager Digital. Three days later, the Singaporean government reprimanded Three Arrows for spreading misleading information and exceeding asset limits.

• Three Arrows' troubles began with Terra's collapse in May, after it bought US$200 million worth of Terra's LUNA tokens in February, co-founder Kyle Davies told the Wall Street Journal. Three Arrows has failed to meet multiple margin calls since then, including from BlockFi and Genesis.

• Three Arrows Capital, founded by Kyle Davies and Su Zhu in 2012, manages $10 billion in crypto assets.

• Bitcoin's price fell from US$20,600 to below US$19,200 after Three Arrows' bankruptcy petition. According to CoinMarketCap, BTC is now above US$20,000.

What does it mean?

Every action causes an equal and opposite reaction, per Newton's third law. Newtonian physics won't comfort Three Arrows investors, but future investors will thank them for their overconfidence.

Regulators are taking notice of crypto's meteoric rise and subsequent fall. Historically, authorities labeled the industry "high risk" to warn traditional investors against entering it. That attitude is changing. Regulators are moving quickly to regulate crypto to protect investors and prevent broader asset market busts.

The EU has reached a landmark deal that will regulate crypto asset sales and crypto markets across the 27-member bloc. The U.S. is close behind with a similar ruling, and smaller markets are also looking to improve safeguards.

For many, regulation is the only way to ensure the crypto industry survives the current winter.