Five minutes before I was scheduled to go live on national television, I vomited.
My daughter looked at my face—the dark areas around my eyes and nose—and reached for the makeup.
It had been only five days since my left total knee replacement. And just two days before the surgery, I had already agreed to do this interview.
I could have said no.
But fraud could not wait for my recovery.
August 16 — Two Days Before Surgery
My attorney, Ann Marie, forwarded me an email from Francesca, a producer at Newsmax. She invited me to appear by Zoom on the August 23 live broadcast of Sunday Agenda, hosted by Lidia Curanaj.
The interview would last about five to seven minutes. They wanted me to share my story and warn others about the kind of financial fraud that had taken more than $700,000 from me.
Newsmax reaches a nationwide audience, including many people I had never had the opportunity to reach before. That mattered to me—not because of politics, but because fraud crosses every political and social boundary.
My surgery was only two days away.
I knew I would still be recovering when the interview took place. I did not know how much pain I would be in, how well I would be able to walk, how exhausted I might feel, or whether my body would be strong enough.
But I said yes.
Ann Marie replied:
“Alice is willing and available for the interview.”
She also explained the one legal restriction I needed to observe during the interview.
Then she wrote something I had not expected.
She described me as “one of the most inspiring clients” of her twenty-five-year legal career because I had remained so positive throughout everything I had been through.
I was deeply moved when I read those words.
She knew more than the Alice who later began speaking publicly. She had watched me walk through some of the hardest years of my life.
August 18 — Surgery
I underwent a left total knee replacement.
The next day, I returned home.
Only four days remained before the interview.
Life had been reduced to recovery—getting up, walking, doing physical therapy, resting, and learning how to move again with my new left knee.
August 20 — My Second Day Home
Francesca called and introduced me to executive producer Leslie, who would gather information and prepare me for the interview.
Later, Leslie and I talked for thirty-eight minutes.
The actual television interview would last only five to seven minutes, but the preparation call went much deeper.
She asked me to begin at the beginning—to explain how the scam had started. Not simply what happened at the end, but how the relationship and the conversations had developed, one step at a time.
We talked about why intelligent, careful people can still be deceived.
We talked about what I had learned after losing my savings.
And we talked about why, even today, I continue telling my story.
I was only two days out of surgery.
But during those thirty-eight minutes, I was thinking about someone else—someone who might, at that very moment, be receiving the first message from a scammer.
August 23 — Five Days After Surgery
The day finally arrived.
About five minutes before I was supposed to go live, I suddenly began vomiting violently, without warning.
Later, I learned that anesthesia used during surgery can also cause this kind of reaction.
My daughter looked at my face and reached for the makeup.
She applied a lot of powder, especially around my eyes and nose, trying to cover the dark areas.
I had just finished vomiting.
My left knee was only five days out of surgery.
And then it was time.
I faced the camera.
Later, a friend who watched the interview asked why I had been wearing so much makeup. She joked that I hardly looked like myself that day.
I laughed.
She had no idea what had happened before the camera came on.
The makeup could hide what the camera could see.
It could not change what my body was going through.
When the interview ended, I was glad I had done it.
Surgery has a scheduled date. Recovery takes time. The body reminds us when we need to slow down.
But fraud has no timetable.
Somewhere, another person may already be walking step by step into a scam.
There may be no time to wait.
Fraud Has No Political Affiliation
There was another reason I was glad to accept the interview: the program aired on Sunday and reached a national audience. It was a rare opportunity.
Fraud has no political affiliation.
Whatever a person’s politics, age, education, profession, or background, anyone can become a target.
When the person who scammed me first approached me, he did not ask about my politics.
He simply started talking to me.
The language may be different. The platform may be different. The story may be different.
But on the other side of the screen is still a human being—someone who trusts other people, someone who cares about other people, someone who can slowly be persuaded, one step at a time.
If fraud can cross those boundaries, then warnings about fraud must cross them too.
Five Minutes
The actual interview lasted only a few minutes.
Later, Newsmax posted the interview online under the title:
“Elder fraud victim EXPOSES pig butchering scam.”
Five to seven minutes, of course, could never tell a story that had unfolded over four years.
But perhaps it did not need to tell everything.
Sometimes a few minutes are enough to make someone stop and ask:
Could this happen to me?
Or:
Could this already be happening to someone I love?
Perhaps that question will make someone stop before going any further.
Perhaps they will be able to step away from the scammer’s control in time and change the ending of what might otherwise become a tragedy.
I cannot change the wrong decision I made four years ago, nor can I recover the life savings I lost because I was deceived.
But perhaps those five minutes can give someone else a warning before they take the next step—and allow them to walk away safely.
I Am Glad I Said Yes
When I think back on those days, what I remember most is not only the surgery or the interview.
It is how close together they were.
August 16, I agreed to the interview.
August 18, I had surgery.
August 20, I spoke with Leslie for thirty-eight minutes.
August 23, I sat in front of the camera.
After the interview, I did not think:
Why did I push myself to do this?
I was simply glad that I had not turned away the opportunity because I was still recovering.
My body could recover slowly.
But some warnings, if they arrive one step too late, may no longer be enough.
For years, when I spoke about fraud, I usually began with the lessons I had learned from my own experience.
Now I find myself thinking more often about another question:
When does this knowledge most need to reach the next person?
Not after all the money is gone.
Not after the family discovers what happened.
Not after the police report has been filed.
But before the next step.
That is the moment that truly matters.
The Person Who Still Has Time
I often think that somewhere, in a place I do not know, there may be someone walking the same road I walked four years ago.
Perhaps it has only just begun.
A message.
A greeting.
A stranger who seems completely harmless.
That person may have no idea what kind of story they are walking into.
But there is one very important difference between that person and the Alice of four years ago.
If the warning reaches them early enough, they still have time.
Before the trust grows deeper.
Before the first transfer is made.
Before one step becomes the next.
They can still show the message to a family member.
They can still ask:
“Does this seem normal to you?”
They can stop.
They can turn around.
They can walk away safely.
Perhaps I will never know who that person is.
And perhaps they will never know that when I sat in front of that camera five days after surgery, I was hoping my story might somehow reach them.
That is enough.
That day, my daughter used layer after layer of makeup to cover the dark areas around my eyes and nose.
Later, my friend laughed and said I hardly looked like myself.
Perhaps I didn’t.
But underneath all that makeup,
I was still Alice.
Still recovering.
Still speaking.
Still hoping to reach the person who still has time—
before it is too late.
