Michelle: A study found that since 2008, consumer fraud has shot up by over 60%. But here's the real shocker: the most likely person to be conned isn't who you think. It's often the person who is most confident they can't be. Mark: Whoa. That’s a bit of a paradox. The more you think you're immune, the bigger the target on your back? That feels deeply unsettling. Michelle: It's the central, chilling idea in Maria Konnikova's book, The Confidence Game: Why We Fall for It . . . Every Time. She argues that con artists don't just prey on the foolish or the greedy. They prey on a fundamental human need: the need to believe. Mark: And Konnikova is the perfect person to write this, right? She has a Ph.D. in psychology from Columbia, mentored by the famous Walter Mischel of the marshmallow test fame, but she's also a journalist. So she has both the academic rigor and the storytelling chops. Michelle: Exactly. She was inspired to write it after watching a movie and wondering why there wasn't a definitive book on the psychology of the con. So she wrote it. And it's a deep dive into the unsettling reality that we are all potential marks. Mark: Okay, so when you say "we are all potential marks," that's a bold claim. I like to think I’m pretty savvy. I can spot a phishing email a mile away. Michelle: And that's exactly what a con artist loves to hear. Because the game isn't about tricking your logic; it's about seducing your confidence. So Mark, when you think of a con artist, what comes to mind? A shady character in a trench coat? Mark: Something like that. Maybe a fast-talker, someone who seems a little too slick. But Konnikova’s saying that’s a stereotype, isn’t she? Michelle: Completely. The greatest con artists are the ones you’d never suspect. They are, as one writer called them, the "aristocrats of crime."

Michelle: To understand this, we have to look at the story of Ferdinand Waldo Demara. This guy was perhaps one of the greatest impostors of the 20th century. Mark: The Great Impostor! I've heard of him. But the stories sound like something out of a movie. Michelle: They basically were. But let's focus on his most audacious con. It's 1951, during the Korean War. Demara has stolen the identity of a real doctor, Joseph Cyr, and managed to get himself commissioned as a surgeon lieutenant in the Royal Canadian Navy. He's stationed on a destroyer, the HMCS Cayuga, off the coast of North Korea. Mark: Hold on. He's a surgeon on a warship? With zero medical training? How does that even happen? Michelle: Through sheer, unadulterated confidence. He looked the part, he talked the part, and in a high-stress environment like a military ship, people are looking for authority and competence. He projected both, so no one questioned him. But then, the ultimate test arrives. A Korean junk boat approaches their ship, carrying nineteen severely wounded soldiers. Some have chest wounds, others have amputations needed. Demara is the only "doctor" on board. Mark: Oh my god. This is a nightmare. What does he do? Confess? Michelle: He locks himself in his office with a medical textbook and a bottle of rum. He reads up on the procedures he needs to perform, then walks out and, for the next 48 hours, operates on every single one of those soldiers. He performs major chest surgery, sets bones, amputates a leg... all while appearing calm and in command. Mark: That is absolutely insane. He's just reading a textbook while cutting someone open? How did the crew not see through this? Michelle: Because his confidence was a shield. He acted with such authority that the crew just followed his orders. They saw a hero, a miracle worker. In fact, a young press officer on board was so impressed he wrote a story about the "miracle doctor of the Cayuga," and it got picked up by newspapers around the world. Mark: So his con was so good it made him famous. That’s the ultimate irony. How did he get caught? Michelle: The real Dr. Joseph Cyr, practicing quietly back in Canada, saw his own name and face in the paper, attached to these heroic stories from Korea. He blew the whistle. But here’s the most telling part: the Royal Canadian Navy didn't press charges. They were too embarrassed. They just quietly dismissed Demara to make the problem go away. Mark: Wow. So the shame of being conned was more powerful than the need for justice. That says a lot. What kind of person can pull this off? Michelle: Konnikova dives into the psychology here. She talks about the "dark triad" of personality traits often found in con artists: psychopathy, which gives them a lack of empathy; narcissism, a grandiose sense of self-importance; and Machiavellianism, the tendency to be manipulative and deceptive. Mark: So are all con artists psychopaths? Is it a brain-wiring thing? Michelle: Not necessarily. Konnikova is careful to point out that these traits exist on a spectrum. A lot of successful CEOs, politicians, and surgeons have high levels of these traits. The difference, she argues, is often opportunity and rationalization. Neuroscientist James Fallon, for example, discovered his own brain scan had the markings of a psychopath. But because he had a loving childhood, he became a successful scientist instead of a serial killer. For a con artist, a moment of vulnerability in their target, combined with their ability to rationalize their actions, is all it takes. Mark: And what about the victim, the "mark"? Is there a type? Michelle: That’s the biggest myth the book debunks. There is no "type." Konnikova shows that anyone can be a mark. In fact, victims of investment fraud are often well-educated, wealthy men. The common denominator isn't intelligence or greed; it's circumstance. People are most vulnerable during times of major life transition—a death, a divorce, a job loss. Or even positive changes, like a marriage or a new baby. During these emotional moments, our rational defenses are down. Mark: That makes so much sense. When your world is in chaos, you're desperately looking for a story that makes sense, a person who can offer a solution. Michelle: Exactly. And that's where the con artist steps in. They don't sell you a product; they sell you a story about yourself. A story where you're smart, you're in control, and you're about to get everything you've ever wanted.

Mark: Okay, so we know who the players are. But how does the game actually start? How does a con artist pick their target and reel them in? It can't just be random. Michelle: It's not. Konnikova breaks down the con into stages, and the first is called "the put-up." This is where the grifter identifies a mark. They are masters of intuitive psychology, able to read a person's desires and vulnerabilities in an instant. Mark: Like a predator scouting its prey. Michelle: Precisely. And there's no better example of this than the case of Sylvia Mitchell, a New York psychic who went by the name "Zena the Clairvoyant." In 2008, a professional dancer named Debra Saalfield walked into her parlor. Debra was at rock bottom. In the span of two days, she had lost her job and her boyfriend. She was heartbroken, lost, and emotionally raw. Mark: The perfect mark. Michelle: The perfect mark. Mitchell took one look at her and knew. She did a basic reading, but then leaned in and said she had "important information" for Debra, but it would cost $1,000. Already, she's testing the waters. Debra, desperate, agrees. Mitchell then spins this elaborate tale about Debra being an Egyptian princess in a past life, and that her attachment to material wealth is creating negative energy. Mark: An Egyptian princess? Come on. That sounds ridiculous. Michelle: To us, yes. But to someone in Debra's state, it's a story that gives her situation meaning. It's not just a bad breakup; it's a cosmic struggle. Mitchell then tells her she needs to perform an exercise to release this attachment. She needs to write a check for $27,000, to prove she can let go of money. Mitchell promises she'll get it back. Mark: And she does it. Michelle: She does it. The next day, the fog of emotion lifts, and Debra realizes what she's done. She tries to stop the check, but it's too late. Mitchell has already cashed it. Mark: That's terrifying. It's like a human version of a phishing email, looking for that one person who's in just the right emotional state to click the link. Michelle: That's a perfect analogy. Because after the "put-up" comes "the play" and "the tale." This is where the con artist uses emotion and storytelling to completely bypass your logical brain. Konnikova tells a wonderful little story about the French poet Jacques Prévert. He saw a blind man on the street with a sign that said, "Blind man without a pension." People were ignoring him. Mark: A very straightforward, factual sign. Michelle: Right. Prévert went over, flipped the sign, and wrote a new message on the back: "Spring is coming, but I won't see it." Mark: Oh, wow. Michelle: The man's cup was overflowing with money by the end of the day. The first sign was a request for help. The second sign was a story. It created an emotional connection, a sense of shared experience and loss. That's what a con artist does. They don't sell you a scheme; they sell you a narrative that you desperately want to be a part of. Mark: So it's less about the logic of the scam and more about the emotional resonance of the story? Michelle: Exactly. Konnikova cites research showing that our emotional brains process information much faster than our rational brains. We feel first, and think second. A good story hooks our emotions, and once that happens, we'll find ways to rationalize anything that doesn't fit. We become, as Konnikova puts it, "processors of social information before we are processors of facts." We're wired for story.

Michelle: And once you're hooked by that story, it becomes almost impossible to let go, even when things start to go wrong. This is the next stage of the con: "the breakdown." Mark: The breakdown? That sounds ominous. Is this where the scheme starts to fall apart? Michelle: It is. But the con artist uses this to their advantage. This is where they introduce a complication, a small loss, a minor setback. The natural reaction for the mark should be to pull out. But instead, they often do the opposite: they double down. Mark: Why? Why throw good money after bad? Michelle: Two powerful psychological principles are at play here: cognitive dissonance and the sunk-cost fallacy. Cognitive dissonance is the discomfort we feel when we hold two conflicting beliefs. For example: "I am a smart person," and "I have just been tricked." To resolve that discomfort, it's easier to change the second belief—"I haven't been tricked, this is just a temporary setback"—than to change our core belief about ourselves. Mark: And the sunk-cost fallacy is the idea that once you've invested time, money, or emotion into something, you can't walk away, because then you'd have to admit that everything you've invested so far was a waste. Michelle: Precisely. And this is where the con becomes truly cruel. Konnikova tells the story of Mervyn Barrett, a highly respected, 30-year veteran of a British crime reduction charity. He was even considering a run for police commissioner. Mark: So, a man who is an expert on crime and criminals. The last person you'd expect to be conned. Michelle: The very last. A young, charming volunteer named Matthew de Unger Brown joins his charity. He tells Barrett he should run for police commissioner and offers to be his campaign manager. He claims to be from German aristocracy and says his mother, a Baroness, will fund the entire campaign. He even produces a letter from her. Mark: This is already sounding too good to be true. Michelle: Barrett is skeptical at first. But Matthew is brilliant. He even "confesses" to a past conviction for tax evasion, which, paradoxically, makes Barrett trust him more. It seems like an honest admission. Matthew shows him fabricated poll numbers, fake social media growth, and convinces Barrett to give him access to his private bank account for "campaign expenses." Mark: Oh no. Michelle: Of course, the think tanks were fake, the polls were fake, the social media followers were bots. Matthew drains £84,000 from Barrett's account, leaving him with just £4,000 of his life savings and £16,000 in unpaid bills. Mark: Wow. So it's not just about losing the money. It's about losing your self-respect. The con artist is counting on your ego to keep you quiet. Michelle: That's the final stage: "the blow-off" and "the fix." The blow-off is when the con artist disappears. The fix is the psychological trap they leave behind. Barrett was a public figure. How could he possibly admit that he, an expert on crime, had been so thoroughly fooled by a young volunteer? The shame is overwhelming. It's the same reason the Canadian Navy didn't prosecute Demara. The reputation management becomes more important than justice. Mark: So the con artist isn't just stealing your money. They're stealing your story about yourself. And that's a loss people will do anything to avoid acknowledging. Michelle: Exactly. They make you a complicit partner in your own deception, and then a willing partner in the silence that follows.

Mark: This is all fascinating and terrifying, Michelle. It feels like we're all walking around with these psychological backdoors just waiting for the right person to come along with the key. What's the takeaway? How do we protect ourselves? Do we just have to become cynical and distrust everyone? Michelle: That's the brilliant part of Konnikova's conclusion. She says no. Trust is the glue of society; we can't function without it. Becoming a cynic is its own kind of prison. The defense isn't to build walls against the world, but to build a stronger understanding of yourself. Mark: Self-knowledge as a shield. Michelle: Yes. Know your emotional state. Are you going through a major life event? Are you feeling lonely, anxious, or desperate for a change? That's when your guard is down. That's when you're most vulnerable to a compelling story that promises a way out. The book argues that our desire for a good narrative, for meaning, is the con artist's greatest weapon. Mark: So if a story feels too perfect, too neat, that should be a warning sign. Michelle: It should be a moment to pause. And Konnikova offers one very concrete piece of advice. If someone is rushing you, creating a sense of urgency, scarcity, or a "now or never" opportunity, that is the single biggest red flag. Whether it's an investment, a romance, or a psychic's demand for cash. True opportunities can withstand scrutiny. Cons cannot. The best thing you can do is step back, slow down, and talk to someone you trust who is outside the emotional bubble of the situation. Mark: It's a powerful reminder to check in with ourselves. To be the protagonist of our own lives, but also to be a skeptical editor of the stories we're told. We'd love to hear from our listeners. Have you ever encountered a story that felt just a little too perfect? Share your thoughts with the Aibrary community. Michelle: This is Aibrary, signing off.