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It was September move-in week, and the sycamore leaves had just begun to turn gold. Emma Lane stood outside her dorm, gripping the handle of her suitcase as she dialed the number labeled "Big Bro" for the third time. "Bro," she groaned into the receiver, her voice dripping with strategic sweetness. "My favorite brother in the entire world. Listen, my Venmo is literally at zero, and the ladies at the dining hall are starting to give me pity looks." There was a two-second beat of silence on the other end before a cool, deep voice replied, "How much?" Emma's eyes lit up. She did the math at lightning speed. "Ten hundred bucks. Or, honestly, five hundred bucks would work. My sorority has a huge event this month, and I still haven't cleared my cart at the campus bookstore..." "Send me your number," he said, keeping it brief. "You're a lifesaver. I love you," Emma chirped. She hung up and refreshed her app, and sure enough, a notification popped up for a $1,000 transfer. The memo simply read: [Get a real meal.] Without giving it a second thought, she screenshotted the transaction and posted it to her Instagram Story. The caption read: [Shoutout to the best big brother for feeding me.] The image showed the transfer record. She had blurred out the exact amount, but the memo "Get a real meal" stood out clearly. In less than three minutes, her notifications blew up. Her roommate, Ava Young, commented: [Wait, isn't your brother abroad right now? Did he suddenly move time zones?] Her best friend, Erika Potter, from high school remarked: [Since when did you get such a sweet brother? Last I checked, your actual brother only messaged you to make fun of your weight.] Emma froze. A strange, prickling sensation crawled up her neck as she realized something was off. With trembling fingers, she tapped open her call history. The number she had dialed wasn't her brother's. It was off by a single digit. She had just fleeced a total stranger.