His son, Matteo, had called him from Milan two nights ago. “Papà, it’s urgent. I’m stuck at the Milan train station. My wallet, my phone—stolen. I’m using a friend’s phone. Please, send the money to this account. It’s for a hotel and a train home. I’ll explain everything.”
The voice was wrong. It was too polished, too calm. Matteo was a stutterer when panicked. But the name—Davide Rizzi—was the name of Matteo’s childhood best friend. The scammer had done his homework. modulo bonifico postale
He nodded, mute.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. But she didn’t type. Instead, she turned the screen slightly toward him. “Look at this. The IBAN. It starts with IT32. That’s fine. But the bank code? 1234? That’s a dead code. No bank in Italy uses 1234 since 1999.” His son, Matteo, had called him from Milan two nights ago