Cloned Boy
Professional
- Messages
- 1,017
- Reaction score
- 793
- Points
- 113
A True Story of Social Engineering by "ShadowTech".
This is not just a story about hacker attacks. This is a confession of a man who mastered the art of social engineering - manipulation that allows you to "hack" people without touching their devices. ShadowTech shares a true story about how he became part of a cybercriminal organization, carried out the largest attack on Dallas businesses, and ended up in federal prison.
This topic is not an excuse for crimes, but a warning. The more you know, the harder it is to deceive you.
Important: All video information is for educational purposes only. We do not promote or encourage any illegal activity. We urge all readers to exercise caution on the Internet.
What you will learn:
Hello, my dear friends. Today I have a special material for you, from our series "Confessions of the Digital Underground". We started with the story of Ghost Protocol, a team hunting for forgotten bitcoins. Then we delved into the dark world of phone scams with the confession of an operator named Sipher.
And today I will tell you the story of the one known on the darknet as ShadowTech. This is not just a story about a hacker, this is a story about how an ordinary guy, a talented IT freelancer from Austin, turned into a master of social engineering. A man who can make you give up your most valuable thing with one phone call. What makes a person cross this line? What does it feel like when your voice becomes a weapon?
And most importantly - what price do you have to pay when this game is over? You will learn about the most daring operation of the Phantom Zone team - an attack on Dallas businesses that brought in almost 300 thousand dollars, about betrayal, imprisonment and an attempt to start life anew. But this story is more than just a crime chronicle. It’s an inside look at the methods scammers use every day against ordinary people and companies.
Knowledge that can protect you and your loved ones. And perhaps that’s the paradox… The man who once used people’s trust against them is now helping to protect themselves from people like him. Sit back, check if your door is locked, and don’t answer any unknown calls for the next hour. We’re going on a journey through the dark side of human psychology, where your greatest enemy is.
It’s not a hacker program, but a human voice on the other end of the line. Because the most dangerous hacker attack doesn’t start with your computer, it starts with your trust.
I was a freelancer in Austin until July 10, 2015, when I took a job that changed my life. Austin, Texas. A city of startups, music, and endless opportunities for people like me. 27-year-old techies. Ambition, but no strings attached. I lived in a small studio apartment in the East Riverside neighborhood. Nothing fancy. A desk, a bed, a powerful computer, and a view of the city that never sleeps.
The perfect place for a man who made a living from home. My real name doesn’t matter. Online, I was known as ShadowTech. In real life, I was just another IT freelancer taking jobs on Upwork, Freelancer, and a few niche forums. Web development, server setup, the occasional bit of white hat hacking if a client wanted to test the security of their site.
Nothing criminal. Regular work for regular money. By July 2015, my bills were being paid, but barely. The freelance market was becoming increasingly crowded. Clients were paying less and less, and competitors from countries with lower prices were taking over easy projects. I started looking for something more lucrative, where my skills could be applied in an unconventional way.
July 10, 2015. Friday. The Austin heat was unbearable. My air conditioner was blasting as I sat at my computer, scrolling through new jobs. I didn’t usually go to Darknet forums to look for work, but something compelled me to check a few specialized job boards that day, and there I saw a post that said, “Need someone to test the effectiveness of a phishing campaign.
Pay $500 in Bitcoin per test. Experienced only.” I froze. It was a turning point. Part of me knew this wasn’t the gray area I’d occasionally worked in anymore. This was downright black territory. But another part of me, louder, was whispering, “Just one time, $500 for a simple job. No one will get hurt.” I responded to the post, and a few hours later we were chatting in encrypted chat.
The guy on the other end introduced himself as “Nexus.” He was brief and businesslike. We need to test how many people will fall for a phishing email purporting to be from their bank. List and email are there. Letter is ready. Your task is to launch the company and collect statistics. No withdrawal of funds, only data collection. Sounded almost legal. Almost like real security testing.
I agreed, received instructions and spent the weekend setting up servers. On July 17, the emails were sent to 500 recipients. The email looked like the bank's logo, the right fonts, convincing text about "suspicious activity" and the need to confirm the information. Inside was a link to a fake login page, indistinguishable from the real one. By the end of the day, 137 people clicked on the link. 98 entered their usernames and passwords. When I sent the report to Nexus, it responded almost instantly.
Impressive. 90% conversion. Here's your $500. There's more work to do if you're interested. $500 appeared in my Bitcoin wallet within an hour. Easy money. Too easy. I told myself it was an experiment, that I was simply testing people’s security awareness. But deep down, I knew I had crossed a line. Two weeks later, on August 25, I took on another Nexus job.
This time, I was supposed to call a bunch of people, posing as their ISP tech support, and coax their login information into their accounts. I was supposed to record the calls to analyze the success of my approach. The first call I made was to a middle-aged woman in Houston. I was sure she would see through it within seconds. But she didn’t.
My voice was calm and professional. I talked about a “routine security update,” about how “we need to verify your information so there are no service interruptions.” And she gave me everything—username, password, even the last four digits of her credit card—to verify my identity. When I hung up, I was shaking not from fear or shame, but from adrenaline.
From the realization of the power I had just felt. She believed my every word. I could make her do anything. By the end of the day, I had successfully processed 8 out of 10 intended targets. Nexus was more than pleased and transferred me $800 instead of the promised $500 — my first bonus in this new world. “You have talent, ShadowTech,” he wrote, “people trust you.
This is a rare gift. In September and October, I took a few more such orders. The scheme was always the same — calls or letters on behalf of banks, providers, technical services. And each time, everything became easier. I learned to adapt to the interlocutor, change my tone, find an approach. With businessmen, I was brief and businesslike, with the elderly, I was patient and attentive. With techies, I used professional jargon, creating the illusion of my own Cheka.
By December 2015, I was earning more money than ever before. My apartment was transformed, new appliances, designer furniture. I could afford to dine at Austin’s best restaurants. But more than that, I was getting sucked in deeper. I remember the exact moment I realized I couldn’t go back to my day job.
On December 15th, I was sitting at La Condesa in downtown Austin, sipping on an expensive misqal and scrolling through reviews of my real jobs on freelancing platforms. The projects that had once seemed interesting now looked boring and pointless. $20 an hour to code websites? After $800 for a few hours of social engineering? That night, Nexus sent me another message.
Time to level up. Go to this address tomorrow at 8 p.m. The password was amber sunset. The link led to a secure vault on the Dark Web. Little did I know that behind that door, there was a whole team of people just like me waiting for me. I didn’t know I’d soon be involved in operations that would bring in hundreds of thousands of dollars, and I certainly had no idea what awaited me five years later. I was sitting in my stylish apartment, looking out at the lights of Austin at night, and feeling like the world was at my feet.
I’d earned my first dirty money, but that was just the first step. I realized I could do more, and someone was already waiting for me on the Darknet. March 12, 2016, I opened a chat room that would become my new home. I remember that evening in great detail. It was raining outside my renovated Austin apartment, a rarity for March. I was sitting at my new dual-monitor computer.
One of my first dirty money purchases. It was exactly 8 p.m. when I clicked on the Nexus link and entered the password. Amber sunset. The chat window opened, and I saw a list of nicknames. About 20 people. WireGhost, BlackMamba, Nexus, and others. Some were clearly online, others were offline. I didn't know then that I was looking at people who would change my life.
“Welcome to ShadowTech,” Nexus wrote. “This is Phantom Zone. This is where we plan and coordinate.” That night, I learned that Phantom Zone wasn’t just a chat room. It was a 23-person organization specializing in social engineering and phishing. They’d been working together for more than two years, targeting small and medium-sized businesses across America.
Everyone had a role. Techies, call-in voices, analysts, coordinators. And now they wanted me to join. “You’re a natural voice,” Nexus told me. “People trust you, and with your technical skills, you can be both a developer and an implementer.” The proposition was simple. Work with us, get a percentage of every successful operation. No strings attached, no contracts, just mutual benefit.
I agreed, of course, and within a week I was participating in my first joint operation, an attack on a small coffee shop chain in Seattle. The scheme was elegant. WireGhost created phishing pages that imitated their processing company page, and I called managers on behalf of the security service and directed them there to update the data.
In three days, we gained access to their payment system and withdrew a little over 18 thousand dollars. My share was 3 thousand. By the summer of 2016, I was fully integrated into the team. Each day began with checking encrypted messages, discussing new goals, analyzing successes and failures. I improved my skills by studying psychology, linguistics, manipulation techniques.
I learned to change accents, imitate different dialects, adapt to the victim's psychotype. By 2018, I could make anyone reveal their secrets to me. One of my favorite techniques was simple - I called a company employee, introduced myself as an IT specialist and said that "suspicious activity" was noticed in their system. Then came the key phrase - "I can solve the problem, but I need your help.
You don’t want to be accused of a data leak, do you? Fear worked flawlessly. I remember exactly May 17, 2018, we carried out an operation against a marketing agency in Chicago. I called their CFO, posing as a bank employee. In 12 minutes of conversation, I convinced him to transfer $ 61 thousand to a reserve account due to suspicious activity.
When a person transfers money himself, this is an ideal scheme. No signs of hacking. By the end of 2019, our team was at its peak, 27 people, streamlined processes, stable income. We were like a corporation, only in the shadows. I moved to a penthouse in downtown Austin, bought an Audi RS-7, traveled the world. But I always wanted more. Small operations no longer brought the same adrenaline.
I was hungry for something big, something bold, something that would test my limits. That’s how the idea for Dallas was born. The largest operation in the history of our team. A series of coordinated attacks on dozens of businesses in one region. We were on top, but I wanted more. I wish I had realized then where all this would lead me. On September 1, 2020, we chose Dallas, and it was our biggest gamble.
Dallas was not a random choice. We spent months studying different regions, analyzing local businesses, their connections, the level of protection. Dallas was a perfect fit. A growing market, many new companies, not very strict security protocols, but most importantly - interconnectedness. Many small businesses worked with the same banks, used the same accounting systems, had the same suppliers.
The plan was ambitious - 14 companies in 21 days. Restaurants, clothing stores, two startups and a small investment firm. We expected a total of about $ 250 thousand. The largest operation in the history of our team. The preparation took all of August. WireGhost created phishing pages and set up servers, BlackMamba studied the companies' financial flows, Voxtric prepared fake documents.
I worked on voice scripts, honing every intonation, every phrase. Each target had its own approach. The operation began on September 7. The first targets were two restaurants in downtown Dallas. I called on behalf of their processing company, reported an attempt at mass fraud and directed them to a phishing page to change their credentials.
By the evening, we gained access to their payment systems and withdrew $17,000. On September 12, we took on clothing stores. Another legend is representatives of the updated supplier platform. I called managers, told them about the new portal where they can get discounts, and asked them to register. Of course, all the same data was required to confirm their identity - another $23,000.
By September 15, we hacked the systems of half of the intended targets. The money was flowing like a river. $17, $23, $39, $52,000. We were on our way to the $250,000 goal. The toughest target was an investment firm on the 20th floor of a tower in downtown Dallas, they had good security, experienced IT staff. But we had a secret weapon, knowledge of the corporate hierarchy.
I called not the CIO, but his deputy, introducing myself as a consultant hired by the director to do a secret security audit. It worked flawlessly. He gave me everything I asked for, afraid to let the boss down. On September 18, we crossed the $200,000 mark. Nexus offered to end the operation, but I insisted on continuing. We were so close. It was my mistake.
By September 22, the total had reached $286,000. We celebrated, sending each other messages of congratulations, planning how we would spend the money. I transferred my share of $58,000 through several dummy wallets, bought more crypto, then transferred some to an offshore account. Standard procedure. But something had changed. I noticed it about a week later.
WireGhost, usually the most active in our chats, had become silent. He responded briefly, delayed reports, missed daily checks. On November 15, 2020, I noticed that WireGhost was too quiet. I shared my concerns with Nexus. He agreed. Something was wrong. We started checking, changing communication channels, testing new security protocols, looking for traces of leaks. Nothing. But my intuition was screaming danger.
Dallas was too loud, too successful. We had attracted attention. On November 27, I received an encrypted message from BlackMamba. VG has been talking to the feds. Confirmed. Get offline. I immediately logged off, deleted all my apps, transferred my cryptocurrency to new wallets. But it was too late. At 6:12 a.m. on December 3, 2020, my door shook with a blow.
A team of FBI agents in full gear burst into my penthouse. I didn’t even resist. As I was being led out in handcuffs, I saw him in the hall. Wire Ghost. Real name: James Larson, 34, a tech specialist from Portland. He stood next to an agent in a suit, not looking me in the eye. You could have just disappeared. I told him. Why turn everyone in?
He finally looked up. There was a strange mixture of guilt and relief in his eyes. I had a baby, ShadowTech. I wanted to start over. The arrest was just the beginning. Over the next months, the FBI uncovered almost the entire structure of the Phantom Zone. Nineteen of the twenty-seven members were arrested. We were charged with computer fraud, identity theft, money laundering, organized crime.
The list was long. My preliminary hearing was on February 17, 2021. The evidence was overwhelming. Call records, chat screenshots, financial transactions. WireGhost handed it all over. The court offered a deal. Plead guilty, testify against the others in exchange for a lighter sentence. I refused. It might have been my last moment of pride.
On March 17, 2021, the judge handed down the sentence. Two years in federal prison. A $150,000 fine. Five years of supervised release. As I was led out of the courtroom, I looked at Wargost, who had testified against us all. He only got six months of house arrest and probation. I felt no hatred, only emptiness. The prison door had slammed shut, and my story was just beginning.
Prison started on March 17, 2000, '21. But I didn't break. FCI Bastrop is a federal prison a fraction of the way out of Austin. Low concrete buildings, barbed wire, watchtowers, this is where I would spend two years of my life, from March 2021 to April 2023. I will never forget the first day.
Standard intake procedure, uniform, introduction to the rules, physical exam, placement in a cell. My neighbor was Eric, a former bank employee who got three years for embezzlement. He recognized me from the news. So you're the hacker from Dallas? I didn't correct him about the hacker. Technically. We never hacked systems in the literal sense. We just convinced people to voluntarily give us access.
But who cares? The result was the same. The first weeks were the hardest. Loss of freedom, lack of privacy, strict routine. I, who was used to controlling every aspect of my life, suddenly found myself in a place where I couldn’t even decide when to take a shower. On April 12, 2021, I received the first letter from my lawyer. The property that could be proven to be acquired with legal income was kept in my name.
Everything else was confiscated. My penthouse, my Audi, my watch collection, most of my investments - everything went to pay the fine and compensate the victims. The strangest thing is that I didn’t feel much regret. Money and things had always been just a by-product. The main thing was control, power, a sense of superiority. And now all of that was gone. I decided to use my time wisely. I enrolled in an educational program, began studying legal cybersecurity.
Ethical hacking. Maybe after my release, I could find a job as a consultant, helping companies protect themselves from people like me. On September 2, 2021, I accessed a computer for the first time at the prison’s educational center. Of course, without access to the Internet, with a limited set of programs, but even this felt like a breath of fresh air.
I could program, create simple systems, solve problems. It reminded me of the times when I was just a freelancer before I crossed the line. The winter of 2021, 2022 was a period of reflection. I thought a lot about what brought me here. Not a lack of money, I earned enough as a freelancer. Not a lack of opportunity, and with my skills, I could find a job in any tech company.
It was a thirst for power, control, thrills. And most importantly - the absence of moral restrictions. By the spring of 2022, I was already teaching the basics of programming to other prisoners. The administration approved of my initiative, it helped to occupy time, gave useful skills. In prison, I found what was missing in my previous life - the opportunity to really help people.
March 17, 2022, marked exactly one year since I was incarcerated. I marked the date with a long journal reflection on who I had been and who I was becoming. One thing I knew for sure: there was no going back to my old life. In the fall of 2022, I received my parole eligibility notice.
My behavior, my participation in educational programs, my work with other inmates—all of it was taken into account. The opportunity to get out a month early felt like a gift. My parole hearing was held on February 14, 2023. The committee asked a lot of questions—about remorse, about plans for the future, about understanding the harm caused. I was as honest as I could be. Yes, I recognized the damage.
Yes, I understand that I deceived real people, causing them financial and emotional harm. No, I can’t promise I’ll never cross the line again. But I will do my best to follow the legal path. On April 3, 2023, I walked out of the gates of FCI Bastrop. I was wearing the same clothes I was wearing when I was arrested. Jeans, a T-shirt, sneakers.
Everything else was in the past. Those first weeks of freedom were strange. The world had changed in two years, and I had changed even more. I rented a cheap apartment on the outskirts of Austin, found a temporary job as a consultant at a small tech company. No penthouses, no sports cars. Just normal life. On parole, I couldn’t leave Texas, had to check in with my probation officer regularly, had no contact with my former associates, and certainly no violations of the law.
Sometimes I was tempted, especially when I saw obvious vulnerabilities in the systems I worked with. I could have, but I stopped myself every time. By early 2024, I was on my feet, working remotely for two cybersecurity companies. They knew about my past, and I was honest with them.
Some companies value experience on the other side. On March 15, 2024, I did what I had been thinking about for months. I went into the Darknet through a series of proxies and anonymizers and posted my story on a forum. No names, no specific campaigns, no technical details that could hurt anyone. Just a story about the path that led me from freelancing to crime and prison. I didn’t expect much of a reaction. Maybe a few comments, a few jibes.
But the post suddenly became popular. Dozens, then hundreds of responses. Questions, discussions, even thanks for my frankness. Some called me a traitor for publishing my methods. Others admired the audacity of my operations. Still others thanked me for warning about the risks. I didn’t respond, it was my only post. I said everything I wanted to say.
As I write this, it’s been almost a year since the publication. I’m still working in cybersecurity, helping companies protect themselves from social engineering attacks. I’m still checking in with my probation officer, even though I have three years left on probation. I can’t say I’m completely remorseful, that would be hypocritical. I enjoyed what I did back then. I loved the power, the control, the thrill.
But the price was too high. If you’re reading this, I hope you learn something from my story. Maybe you, too, have that same need for power, for control over others. Maybe you, too, sometimes dream of crossing the line. I’m not going to lecture you. Everyone makes their own choices. Just remember, every action has consequences. And one day, you will have to answer for them. I’m free, but the shadows of the past are still there.
This is not just a story about hacker attacks. This is a confession of a man who mastered the art of social engineering - manipulation that allows you to "hack" people without touching their devices. ShadowTech shares a true story about how he became part of a cybercriminal organization, carried out the largest attack on Dallas businesses, and ended up in federal prison.
This topic is not an excuse for crimes, but a warning. The more you know, the harder it is to deceive you. Important: All video information is for educational purposes only. We do not promote or encourage any illegal activity. We urge all readers to exercise caution on the Internet.What you will learn:
- How Social Engineering Works in Practice
- Why the "voice on the phone" is more dangerous than any virus
- What psychological tricks do scammers use?
- The story of a fall, arrest and an attempt to start all over again
- How to Protect Yourself from Attacks on Your Trust
Hello, my dear friends. Today I have a special material for you, from our series "Confessions of the Digital Underground". We started with the story of Ghost Protocol, a team hunting for forgotten bitcoins. Then we delved into the dark world of phone scams with the confession of an operator named Sipher.
And today I will tell you the story of the one known on the darknet as ShadowTech. This is not just a story about a hacker, this is a story about how an ordinary guy, a talented IT freelancer from Austin, turned into a master of social engineering. A man who can make you give up your most valuable thing with one phone call. What makes a person cross this line? What does it feel like when your voice becomes a weapon?
And most importantly - what price do you have to pay when this game is over? You will learn about the most daring operation of the Phantom Zone team - an attack on Dallas businesses that brought in almost 300 thousand dollars, about betrayal, imprisonment and an attempt to start life anew. But this story is more than just a crime chronicle. It’s an inside look at the methods scammers use every day against ordinary people and companies.
Knowledge that can protect you and your loved ones. And perhaps that’s the paradox… The man who once used people’s trust against them is now helping to protect themselves from people like him. Sit back, check if your door is locked, and don’t answer any unknown calls for the next hour. We’re going on a journey through the dark side of human psychology, where your greatest enemy is.
It’s not a hacker program, but a human voice on the other end of the line. Because the most dangerous hacker attack doesn’t start with your computer, it starts with your trust.
I was a freelancer in Austin until July 10, 2015, when I took a job that changed my life. Austin, Texas. A city of startups, music, and endless opportunities for people like me. 27-year-old techies. Ambition, but no strings attached. I lived in a small studio apartment in the East Riverside neighborhood. Nothing fancy. A desk, a bed, a powerful computer, and a view of the city that never sleeps.
The perfect place for a man who made a living from home. My real name doesn’t matter. Online, I was known as ShadowTech. In real life, I was just another IT freelancer taking jobs on Upwork, Freelancer, and a few niche forums. Web development, server setup, the occasional bit of white hat hacking if a client wanted to test the security of their site.
Nothing criminal. Regular work for regular money. By July 2015, my bills were being paid, but barely. The freelance market was becoming increasingly crowded. Clients were paying less and less, and competitors from countries with lower prices were taking over easy projects. I started looking for something more lucrative, where my skills could be applied in an unconventional way.
July 10, 2015. Friday. The Austin heat was unbearable. My air conditioner was blasting as I sat at my computer, scrolling through new jobs. I didn’t usually go to Darknet forums to look for work, but something compelled me to check a few specialized job boards that day, and there I saw a post that said, “Need someone to test the effectiveness of a phishing campaign.
Pay $500 in Bitcoin per test. Experienced only.” I froze. It was a turning point. Part of me knew this wasn’t the gray area I’d occasionally worked in anymore. This was downright black territory. But another part of me, louder, was whispering, “Just one time, $500 for a simple job. No one will get hurt.” I responded to the post, and a few hours later we were chatting in encrypted chat.
The guy on the other end introduced himself as “Nexus.” He was brief and businesslike. We need to test how many people will fall for a phishing email purporting to be from their bank. List and email are there. Letter is ready. Your task is to launch the company and collect statistics. No withdrawal of funds, only data collection. Sounded almost legal. Almost like real security testing.
I agreed, received instructions and spent the weekend setting up servers. On July 17, the emails were sent to 500 recipients. The email looked like the bank's logo, the right fonts, convincing text about "suspicious activity" and the need to confirm the information. Inside was a link to a fake login page, indistinguishable from the real one. By the end of the day, 137 people clicked on the link. 98 entered their usernames and passwords. When I sent the report to Nexus, it responded almost instantly.
Impressive. 90% conversion. Here's your $500. There's more work to do if you're interested. $500 appeared in my Bitcoin wallet within an hour. Easy money. Too easy. I told myself it was an experiment, that I was simply testing people’s security awareness. But deep down, I knew I had crossed a line. Two weeks later, on August 25, I took on another Nexus job.
This time, I was supposed to call a bunch of people, posing as their ISP tech support, and coax their login information into their accounts. I was supposed to record the calls to analyze the success of my approach. The first call I made was to a middle-aged woman in Houston. I was sure she would see through it within seconds. But she didn’t.
My voice was calm and professional. I talked about a “routine security update,” about how “we need to verify your information so there are no service interruptions.” And she gave me everything—username, password, even the last four digits of her credit card—to verify my identity. When I hung up, I was shaking not from fear or shame, but from adrenaline.
From the realization of the power I had just felt. She believed my every word. I could make her do anything. By the end of the day, I had successfully processed 8 out of 10 intended targets. Nexus was more than pleased and transferred me $800 instead of the promised $500 — my first bonus in this new world. “You have talent, ShadowTech,” he wrote, “people trust you.
This is a rare gift. In September and October, I took a few more such orders. The scheme was always the same — calls or letters on behalf of banks, providers, technical services. And each time, everything became easier. I learned to adapt to the interlocutor, change my tone, find an approach. With businessmen, I was brief and businesslike, with the elderly, I was patient and attentive. With techies, I used professional jargon, creating the illusion of my own Cheka.
By December 2015, I was earning more money than ever before. My apartment was transformed, new appliances, designer furniture. I could afford to dine at Austin’s best restaurants. But more than that, I was getting sucked in deeper. I remember the exact moment I realized I couldn’t go back to my day job.
On December 15th, I was sitting at La Condesa in downtown Austin, sipping on an expensive misqal and scrolling through reviews of my real jobs on freelancing platforms. The projects that had once seemed interesting now looked boring and pointless. $20 an hour to code websites? After $800 for a few hours of social engineering? That night, Nexus sent me another message.
Time to level up. Go to this address tomorrow at 8 p.m. The password was amber sunset. The link led to a secure vault on the Dark Web. Little did I know that behind that door, there was a whole team of people just like me waiting for me. I didn’t know I’d soon be involved in operations that would bring in hundreds of thousands of dollars, and I certainly had no idea what awaited me five years later. I was sitting in my stylish apartment, looking out at the lights of Austin at night, and feeling like the world was at my feet.
I’d earned my first dirty money, but that was just the first step. I realized I could do more, and someone was already waiting for me on the Darknet. March 12, 2016, I opened a chat room that would become my new home. I remember that evening in great detail. It was raining outside my renovated Austin apartment, a rarity for March. I was sitting at my new dual-monitor computer.
One of my first dirty money purchases. It was exactly 8 p.m. when I clicked on the Nexus link and entered the password. Amber sunset. The chat window opened, and I saw a list of nicknames. About 20 people. WireGhost, BlackMamba, Nexus, and others. Some were clearly online, others were offline. I didn't know then that I was looking at people who would change my life.
“Welcome to ShadowTech,” Nexus wrote. “This is Phantom Zone. This is where we plan and coordinate.” That night, I learned that Phantom Zone wasn’t just a chat room. It was a 23-person organization specializing in social engineering and phishing. They’d been working together for more than two years, targeting small and medium-sized businesses across America.
Everyone had a role. Techies, call-in voices, analysts, coordinators. And now they wanted me to join. “You’re a natural voice,” Nexus told me. “People trust you, and with your technical skills, you can be both a developer and an implementer.” The proposition was simple. Work with us, get a percentage of every successful operation. No strings attached, no contracts, just mutual benefit.
I agreed, of course, and within a week I was participating in my first joint operation, an attack on a small coffee shop chain in Seattle. The scheme was elegant. WireGhost created phishing pages that imitated their processing company page, and I called managers on behalf of the security service and directed them there to update the data.
In three days, we gained access to their payment system and withdrew a little over 18 thousand dollars. My share was 3 thousand. By the summer of 2016, I was fully integrated into the team. Each day began with checking encrypted messages, discussing new goals, analyzing successes and failures. I improved my skills by studying psychology, linguistics, manipulation techniques.
I learned to change accents, imitate different dialects, adapt to the victim's psychotype. By 2018, I could make anyone reveal their secrets to me. One of my favorite techniques was simple - I called a company employee, introduced myself as an IT specialist and said that "suspicious activity" was noticed in their system. Then came the key phrase - "I can solve the problem, but I need your help.
You don’t want to be accused of a data leak, do you? Fear worked flawlessly. I remember exactly May 17, 2018, we carried out an operation against a marketing agency in Chicago. I called their CFO, posing as a bank employee. In 12 minutes of conversation, I convinced him to transfer $ 61 thousand to a reserve account due to suspicious activity.
When a person transfers money himself, this is an ideal scheme. No signs of hacking. By the end of 2019, our team was at its peak, 27 people, streamlined processes, stable income. We were like a corporation, only in the shadows. I moved to a penthouse in downtown Austin, bought an Audi RS-7, traveled the world. But I always wanted more. Small operations no longer brought the same adrenaline.
I was hungry for something big, something bold, something that would test my limits. That’s how the idea for Dallas was born. The largest operation in the history of our team. A series of coordinated attacks on dozens of businesses in one region. We were on top, but I wanted more. I wish I had realized then where all this would lead me. On September 1, 2020, we chose Dallas, and it was our biggest gamble.
Dallas was not a random choice. We spent months studying different regions, analyzing local businesses, their connections, the level of protection. Dallas was a perfect fit. A growing market, many new companies, not very strict security protocols, but most importantly - interconnectedness. Many small businesses worked with the same banks, used the same accounting systems, had the same suppliers.
The plan was ambitious - 14 companies in 21 days. Restaurants, clothing stores, two startups and a small investment firm. We expected a total of about $ 250 thousand. The largest operation in the history of our team. The preparation took all of August. WireGhost created phishing pages and set up servers, BlackMamba studied the companies' financial flows, Voxtric prepared fake documents.
I worked on voice scripts, honing every intonation, every phrase. Each target had its own approach. The operation began on September 7. The first targets were two restaurants in downtown Dallas. I called on behalf of their processing company, reported an attempt at mass fraud and directed them to a phishing page to change their credentials.
By the evening, we gained access to their payment systems and withdrew $17,000. On September 12, we took on clothing stores. Another legend is representatives of the updated supplier platform. I called managers, told them about the new portal where they can get discounts, and asked them to register. Of course, all the same data was required to confirm their identity - another $23,000.
By September 15, we hacked the systems of half of the intended targets. The money was flowing like a river. $17, $23, $39, $52,000. We were on our way to the $250,000 goal. The toughest target was an investment firm on the 20th floor of a tower in downtown Dallas, they had good security, experienced IT staff. But we had a secret weapon, knowledge of the corporate hierarchy.
I called not the CIO, but his deputy, introducing myself as a consultant hired by the director to do a secret security audit. It worked flawlessly. He gave me everything I asked for, afraid to let the boss down. On September 18, we crossed the $200,000 mark. Nexus offered to end the operation, but I insisted on continuing. We were so close. It was my mistake.
By September 22, the total had reached $286,000. We celebrated, sending each other messages of congratulations, planning how we would spend the money. I transferred my share of $58,000 through several dummy wallets, bought more crypto, then transferred some to an offshore account. Standard procedure. But something had changed. I noticed it about a week later.
WireGhost, usually the most active in our chats, had become silent. He responded briefly, delayed reports, missed daily checks. On November 15, 2020, I noticed that WireGhost was too quiet. I shared my concerns with Nexus. He agreed. Something was wrong. We started checking, changing communication channels, testing new security protocols, looking for traces of leaks. Nothing. But my intuition was screaming danger.
Dallas was too loud, too successful. We had attracted attention. On November 27, I received an encrypted message from BlackMamba. VG has been talking to the feds. Confirmed. Get offline. I immediately logged off, deleted all my apps, transferred my cryptocurrency to new wallets. But it was too late. At 6:12 a.m. on December 3, 2020, my door shook with a blow.
A team of FBI agents in full gear burst into my penthouse. I didn’t even resist. As I was being led out in handcuffs, I saw him in the hall. Wire Ghost. Real name: James Larson, 34, a tech specialist from Portland. He stood next to an agent in a suit, not looking me in the eye. You could have just disappeared. I told him. Why turn everyone in?
He finally looked up. There was a strange mixture of guilt and relief in his eyes. I had a baby, ShadowTech. I wanted to start over. The arrest was just the beginning. Over the next months, the FBI uncovered almost the entire structure of the Phantom Zone. Nineteen of the twenty-seven members were arrested. We were charged with computer fraud, identity theft, money laundering, organized crime.
The list was long. My preliminary hearing was on February 17, 2021. The evidence was overwhelming. Call records, chat screenshots, financial transactions. WireGhost handed it all over. The court offered a deal. Plead guilty, testify against the others in exchange for a lighter sentence. I refused. It might have been my last moment of pride.
On March 17, 2021, the judge handed down the sentence. Two years in federal prison. A $150,000 fine. Five years of supervised release. As I was led out of the courtroom, I looked at Wargost, who had testified against us all. He only got six months of house arrest and probation. I felt no hatred, only emptiness. The prison door had slammed shut, and my story was just beginning.
Prison started on March 17, 2000, '21. But I didn't break. FCI Bastrop is a federal prison a fraction of the way out of Austin. Low concrete buildings, barbed wire, watchtowers, this is where I would spend two years of my life, from March 2021 to April 2023. I will never forget the first day.
Standard intake procedure, uniform, introduction to the rules, physical exam, placement in a cell. My neighbor was Eric, a former bank employee who got three years for embezzlement. He recognized me from the news. So you're the hacker from Dallas? I didn't correct him about the hacker. Technically. We never hacked systems in the literal sense. We just convinced people to voluntarily give us access.
But who cares? The result was the same. The first weeks were the hardest. Loss of freedom, lack of privacy, strict routine. I, who was used to controlling every aspect of my life, suddenly found myself in a place where I couldn’t even decide when to take a shower. On April 12, 2021, I received the first letter from my lawyer. The property that could be proven to be acquired with legal income was kept in my name.
Everything else was confiscated. My penthouse, my Audi, my watch collection, most of my investments - everything went to pay the fine and compensate the victims. The strangest thing is that I didn’t feel much regret. Money and things had always been just a by-product. The main thing was control, power, a sense of superiority. And now all of that was gone. I decided to use my time wisely. I enrolled in an educational program, began studying legal cybersecurity.
Ethical hacking. Maybe after my release, I could find a job as a consultant, helping companies protect themselves from people like me. On September 2, 2021, I accessed a computer for the first time at the prison’s educational center. Of course, without access to the Internet, with a limited set of programs, but even this felt like a breath of fresh air.
I could program, create simple systems, solve problems. It reminded me of the times when I was just a freelancer before I crossed the line. The winter of 2021, 2022 was a period of reflection. I thought a lot about what brought me here. Not a lack of money, I earned enough as a freelancer. Not a lack of opportunity, and with my skills, I could find a job in any tech company.
It was a thirst for power, control, thrills. And most importantly - the absence of moral restrictions. By the spring of 2022, I was already teaching the basics of programming to other prisoners. The administration approved of my initiative, it helped to occupy time, gave useful skills. In prison, I found what was missing in my previous life - the opportunity to really help people.
March 17, 2022, marked exactly one year since I was incarcerated. I marked the date with a long journal reflection on who I had been and who I was becoming. One thing I knew for sure: there was no going back to my old life. In the fall of 2022, I received my parole eligibility notice.
My behavior, my participation in educational programs, my work with other inmates—all of it was taken into account. The opportunity to get out a month early felt like a gift. My parole hearing was held on February 14, 2023. The committee asked a lot of questions—about remorse, about plans for the future, about understanding the harm caused. I was as honest as I could be. Yes, I recognized the damage.
Yes, I understand that I deceived real people, causing them financial and emotional harm. No, I can’t promise I’ll never cross the line again. But I will do my best to follow the legal path. On April 3, 2023, I walked out of the gates of FCI Bastrop. I was wearing the same clothes I was wearing when I was arrested. Jeans, a T-shirt, sneakers.
Everything else was in the past. Those first weeks of freedom were strange. The world had changed in two years, and I had changed even more. I rented a cheap apartment on the outskirts of Austin, found a temporary job as a consultant at a small tech company. No penthouses, no sports cars. Just normal life. On parole, I couldn’t leave Texas, had to check in with my probation officer regularly, had no contact with my former associates, and certainly no violations of the law.
Sometimes I was tempted, especially when I saw obvious vulnerabilities in the systems I worked with. I could have, but I stopped myself every time. By early 2024, I was on my feet, working remotely for two cybersecurity companies. They knew about my past, and I was honest with them.
Some companies value experience on the other side. On March 15, 2024, I did what I had been thinking about for months. I went into the Darknet through a series of proxies and anonymizers and posted my story on a forum. No names, no specific campaigns, no technical details that could hurt anyone. Just a story about the path that led me from freelancing to crime and prison. I didn’t expect much of a reaction. Maybe a few comments, a few jibes.
But the post suddenly became popular. Dozens, then hundreds of responses. Questions, discussions, even thanks for my frankness. Some called me a traitor for publishing my methods. Others admired the audacity of my operations. Still others thanked me for warning about the risks. I didn’t respond, it was my only post. I said everything I wanted to say.
As I write this, it’s been almost a year since the publication. I’m still working in cybersecurity, helping companies protect themselves from social engineering attacks. I’m still checking in with my probation officer, even though I have three years left on probation. I can’t say I’m completely remorseful, that would be hypocritical. I enjoyed what I did back then. I loved the power, the control, the thrill.
But the price was too high. If you’re reading this, I hope you learn something from my story. Maybe you, too, have that same need for power, for control over others. Maybe you, too, sometimes dream of crossing the line. I’m not going to lecture you. Everyone makes their own choices. Just remember, every action has consequences. And one day, you will have to answer for them. I’m free, but the shadows of the past are still there.
