Imagine Losing Your Life Savings to a Scam Planned By Your Boss - This is My True Story

When I landed my first job at 22, fresh out of campus, I was determined to become financially independent. There was something unsettling about relying entirely on a monthly salary for my upkeep. As my career took off, so did my dreams.

The problem was that I did not know which path to take. Should I start a business, invest in something that earns passively, or buy property? Property was out of reach since Ksh25,000 a month in Nairobi can only take you so far, so I settled for the easiest option: saving my money in the bank. 

Looking back now, I wish I knew better.

The Search for an Investment

After years of irregular saving, I had built up a few hundred thousand shillings. I had no real plan for the money, and because my savings were in the same account as my expenses, I often dipped into them for random things — weekends out, small indulgences, and emergencies that were not really emergencies.

By the time I turned 27, I was restless. I wanted stability. I wanted to make my money grow.

My first idea was to buy a small car and register it for Uber. I spent weeks researching the business: earnings, maintenance costs, fuel, and insurance. The numbers made sense, but the human side did not. Finding a trustworthy driver who would not only make daily remittances but also take care of the car felt like gambling. I shelved the plan.

Next, I thought about starting a kinyozi, but I quickly realised I had neither the passion nor the time to run one. Still, I was determined to invest before turning 30. I just did not know where to start.

That was when he appeared.

Enter “Aizak” — The Charismatic Boss

I will call him Aizak (his name rhymes with that of Abraham’s son from the Bible). And just like the story of Abraham, there was an offering — except in my case, I was the sacrifice.

Aizak joined the media house where I worked as an editor. From the start, he was the kind of boss everyone liked: charming, funny, approachable. He treated his juniors well and often bought snacks for the entire office. Over time, we became friends. We would hang out outside work, talking about life, career, and money.

One Saturday afternoon, while catching up at Westgate, I mentioned my idea of investing in an Uber car. I wanted his opinion.

He listened keenly, then said, “That is not a good idea.” He explained that in the taxi business, only those who drive their own cars make real money. Otherwise, you spend your time fixing the car, paying for fuel, and chasing drivers who never remit what they owe.

It made sense. I dropped the Uber plan immediately.

Then he told me about a business he was planning to start — a small loans company. He said I could join him as a partner, with a 30 percent stake worth Ksh200,000, while he covered the rest of the capital.

It sounded like an opportunity. I had worked with him for almost a year and trusted him completely. He spoke with confidence, the kind that makes you believe he knows exactly what he is doing.

The Setup

We came up with a business name, registered it, and started looking for clients. I managed the records, tracking all loans issued, repayments, and even the M-Pesa confirmations he forwarded. He told me he would handle opening a joint bank account for transparency, but that never happened. I did not think much of it at the time, but that was red flag number one.

For three months, the business seemed to run smoothly. He regularly updated me, and I was convinced we were on to something promising. When it was time to meet and review our books, everything began to change.

The Games Began

Our first meeting was postponed because he said he had been sent to Tanzania for work. The next one failed because his car had been impounded. The following week, his sister had been involved in an accident. Each time, there was a new excuse.

I started getting uneasy. I asked to withdraw my investment and move on. He never ignored my calls, but each conversation ended the same way, with another promise and another story.

Weeks turned into months. When I finally involved the police, he made a few small repayments — Ksh5,000 here, Ksh10,000 there — just enough to buy time.

That was when I started digging into his background, and what I discovered shocked me. I found out that I was not his first victim. In fact, I was not even his fifth. He had previously scammed a colleague who had entrusted him with money to import electronics, but he never delivered. Another had paid him to help buy a second-hand car, only to realise later that the logbook belonged to someone else. He had even served as a middleman in a supplies deal, collected the goods, and vanished without paying the supplier.

He was not just dishonest — he was practiced at it. I had unknowingly fallen into the hands of a professional conman who had turned trust into a career.

The Lessons I Learned

Losing Ksh200,000 hurt. It was not just the money but the sense of betrayal. It was money I had built slowly, shilling by shilling, believing I was finally stepping into my investor era.

But looking back, I learned three priceless lessons:

1. Never mix friendship and money without paperwork.
   Trust is not a substitute for a written agreement.
2. Do due diligence — even on people you think you know.
   Search their background, ask around, and verify everything.
3. Always involve a lawyer in business partnerships.
   It might feel “too formal,” but it could save you millions.

That experience taught me to be more cautious, but it did not kill my ambition. I still believe in partnerships, only now I insist on transparency and structure. Because the truth is, not everyone who talks like a mentor is one. Sometimes, they are simply wolves in nice shirts.