The videos, the audio, the patience—all of it was theater.
Em tempos de Copa do Mundo, a esperança de pequenos comerciantes se torna isca para golpistas que dominam a linguagem da confiança digital. Em Cariacica, no Espírito Santo, uma comerciante perdeu R$680 ao acreditar em vendedores falsos de álbuns de figurinhas — armados com áudios, vídeos e paciência calculada. O episódio revela como a fraude moderna não força portas: ela as abre devagar, com cordialidade.
- Débora queria apenas abastecer sua pequena loja com álbuns de figurinhas para as crianças do bairro — uma decisão simples que se tornou uma armadilha financeira.
- Os golpistas construíram credibilidade com áudios de galpão, vídeos de embalagem e dias de conversa amigável — teatro digital executado com precisão.
- Dois pagamentos via Pix, dois vendedores, dois sumiços: o mesmo roteiro se repetiu sem que Débora pudesse interrompê-lo a tempo.
- Jornalistas que contataram as mesmas contas se passando por clientes receberam respostas imediatas — os golpistas seguem ativos, operando em múltiplos estados.
- As contas fraudulentas permanecem no ar, o distribuidor oficial não se pronunciou, e Débora fica com o prejuízo e nenhum álbum.
Débora Dantes de Moraes tem uma pequena loja em Piranema, bairro rural de Cariacica, no Espírito Santo, onde vende bebidas, salgados e perfumes. Em maio, decidiu incluir álbuns de figurinhas da Copa do Mundo no estoque — uma aposta modesta para atrair clientes e atender as crianças do bairro que pediam pelos cromos. Foi então que encontrou dois vendedores nas redes sociais que diziam ter os álbuns disponíveis.
Ao longo de dias de conversa, os supostos fornecedores enviaram áudios com sons de galpão, promessas de embalagem cuidadosa e falas sobre honestidade. Depois, um vídeo mostrando pilhas de álbuns sendo organizados. A produção convenceu Débora. No dia 12 de maio, ela fez o primeiro pagamento: R$400 via Pix. Nenhuma entrega chegou. O vendedor deu desculpas e sumiu. Ela tentou um segundo fornecedor e enviou mais R$280. O resultado foi idêntico: silêncio.
Quando as duas contas desapareceram, Débora compreendeu que os áudios, os vídeos e o atendimento paciente não passavam de encenação. Ela havia perdido R$680 que sua família não tinha condições de perder.
O que torna o caso ainda mais grave é que a fraude continua em operação. Jornalistas da TV Vitória contataram as mesmas contas fingindo ser compradores e receberam respostas imediatas, com listas de produtos e promessas de entrega para outros estados. Os números rastreados levavam a São Paulo. Só após a identificação dos repórteres as contas encerraram o contato. Os golpistas seguem ativos, com o mesmo roteiro — e Débora segue no prejuízo.
Débora Dantes de Moraes runs a small shop in Piranema, a rural neighborhood of Cariacica in Espírito Santo, where she sells drinks, snacks, and perfume. In May, she decided to stock World Cup sticker albums—a simple business move meant to draw customers and satisfy the neighborhood children who kept asking for them. What followed was a lesson in how convincing modern fraud can be.
She found two sellers on social media who claimed to have the albums in stock. Over several days of back-and-forth messages, the supposed vendors sent her audio recordings that sounded like warehouse activity: reassurances about preparing her order, promises of careful packing, casual talk about honesty and reliability. Then they sent a video showing stacks of albums being sorted and wrapped. The production was good enough. Débora believed she was buying from real businesses.
She made her first payment on May 12—four hundred reais via Pix to one seller. Days passed with no delivery. The seller began offering excuses, then stopped responding to messages. Undeterred, she tried a second vendor and sent another two hundred eighty reais. Same pattern: silence, then nothing.
When neither package arrived and both accounts went dark, Débora realized what had happened. The videos, the audio, the patient customer service—all of it was theater. She had lost six hundred eighty reais, money her family could not afford to lose. She was already struggling financially. This made things worse.
What makes the story darker is that the fraud is still running. When journalists from TV Vitória contacted the same accounts posing as potential customers, the sellers responded immediately with product listings and promises of delivery to other states. The phone numbers traced back to São Paulo. Only when the reporters identified themselves did the accounts shut down the conversation.
The scammers are still out there, still using the same playbook—audio, video, patience, trust—to pull money from people like Débora who are simply trying to run a business or help their community. The official sticker album distributor has not responded to requests for comment. The fraudulent accounts remain active. And Débora is out nearly seven hundred reais with nothing to show for it.
Citas Notables
The children in the neighborhood were asking for sticker albums and we didn't have any yet— Débora Dantes de Moraes, explaining her motivation to stock the albums
Don't worry, we're here waiting for your purchase. Work with us in honesty— Scammers, in audio message to the victim
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why did she fall for it twice? Couldn't she have waited after the first payment failed?
She didn't know it was a scam after the first one. She thought there was a delay, a logistics problem. When the second seller seemed to have the same product, it looked like a different company, a second chance. That's how these work—they exploit the gap between suspicion and certainty.
The audio and video seem like a lot of effort for six hundred reais.
It is effort, but it's scalable. Send the same recordings to fifty people. Even if only a few bite, the math works. And people are more likely to trust what they hear and see, even if it's fake. It feels more real than text.
Why sticker albums specifically?
Because they're seasonal, in demand, and people buy them quickly without much research. A World Cup happens every four years. The window is small. Urgency and scarcity are the con artist's best friends.
What does it say that the accounts were still active when journalists called?
It says the platforms aren't catching them, or aren't catching them fast enough. And it says the scammers know the risk is low. They'll move on, create new accounts, do it again.
Did Débora report this to police?
The story doesn't say. But even if she did, the money is gone. Pix transfers are instant and irreversible. By the time anyone investigates, the account is emptied and closed.