I still can't believe I gave him 200,000 RMB.

Not because I thought I was too smart to fall for something like that, but because -- even as I was getting scammed -- it didn't feel like a scam.

It felt like helping a friend. And then reality flipped sideways.

Let's call him Mark. Everyone in Shanghai's beer-and-events circuit knew him. Tall guy, good energy, a bit chaotic. Dutch. Branded himself as the "potato guy." He had this little business supplying frozen bar snacks. He did events, had shops at one point, and knew everyone. You've probably eaten his snacks. Or, at least, potatoes sold under his name.

I met him through the usual Shanghai expat blender: mutual friends, events, drinks. We were both from the Benelux bubble -- me from Belgium, him from the Netherlands -- and we'd been in the city long enough to have a shared shorthand. He knew people, I knew people. He'd done business here. That meant something. Or so I thought.

What got me wasn't the pitch. There was no big promise of returns, no sales deck, no urgency. It started with small stuff. "Hey, can you help me out with 10,000 RMB? Banking issue. Temporary. Just need to pay a supplier." That kind of thing. He said his accounts were frozen -- something about company payments getting flagged. Honestly, it sounded believable. If you've run a business here, you've seen stranger.

I said yes. He said he'd pay me back in a week. Then he asked for another 20, then 30, then more. I was traveling at the time, and the requests kept coming. Each one framed as a temporary stopgap -- just to get past the next hurdle. He showed me documents, screenshots, messages with "shareholders" from the Netherlands. Looking back, most of it was fake. But at the time, I didn't know what a fake Hong Kong bank transfer slip looked like. I do now.

Eventually, I said: look, if you need a real sum, let's make it official. We drafted a business loan agreement for 180,000 RMB. Company-stamped, on paper. It made me feel better. Made it feel legit. Stupid, right?

That brought the total to 200,000.

Around then, things got weird. The repayment kept getting delayed. His tone started shifting. Then he vanished. When I got back to Shanghai, I started asking around. First one person, then two, then ten -- all with the same story: Mark had borrowed money from them too. For the same reasons. With the same fake docs.

Some gave 500 RMB. Others gave 50,000. One was a supplier who signed a warehouse contract directly with him, not the company. Another was an employee. Everyone thought they were the only one.

He'd scammed us all. Gently, politely, over beers and bar snacks.

We went to the police. That part's tricky. Technically, he hadn't promised returns. Technically, he'd used a little of the money for the business. Technically, we were just "friends helping friends." The police said it wasn't fraud.

Then Mark crashed his scooter.

Instead of being low-key -- because he was probably drunk -- he picked a fight with the cop who showed up. In Baoshan district. That got him five days in administrative detention. It also triggered a visa review: he was here on a work permit, and suddenly the authorities wanted to know if his employer still stood behind him. They didn't. He was deported.

That created a window. We rushed to get the police to act before he left the country. A few of us filed formal complaints, hoping that maybe -- maybe -- he'd be held long enough for something to stick. But the cases were slow, and the bar for fraud was high. He was smart about staying just within the line. He signed contracts. He used the company chop. He sprinkled just enough of our money into actual business expenses to make it all look like a bad loan, not a scam.

He left China a free man.

In his last week, he made the rounds. Hit up the bars that used to buy from his company. Told them not to bother settling invoices—just let him drink for free. And they did.

Now he's in the Netherlands. One week after landing, he was already texting a friend in Shanghai asking for 1,500 RMB. And someone gave it to him.

That's the worst part. He's good at this. He's not a cartoon villain. He's the guy everyone liked. The guy at the event. The potato guy. And that's how he got us.

I don't think this story could've happened in the same way back home. Shanghai's expat circles are tight and transient. When you meet someone from your home country who's also been here for years, speaks a bit of Mandarin, knows the same weird bars -- it builds fast trust. Too fast. And there's this unspoken thing among foreigners here: if it all goes to shit, you can always leave. That attitude cuts both ways.

So yeah -- ask questions. Talk about money. And if a guy ever tells you his company bank account is frozen, maybe just buy your snacks somewhere else.

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Editor's Note: This story is based on a real experience shared with us by a member of the Shanghai community. Names and identifying details have been changed. We've only heard one side of the story, and this is not an investigation or legal judgment -- just one person's account of what happened, told in their own words.