true crime

Her friends invited her to film their proposal in Thailand. They sold her across the border.

Cataleya* never saw it coming. Life had already dealt her difficult cards, her father had recently passed away, and despite her criminology degree, finding meaningful work in her field remained elusive.

She was living in the Philippines. Once a US territory, and to this day, a lot of Filipinos have a slight American accent. This means the country has become a hub for call centres. For Cataleya, her call centre job paid the bills, but it wasn't what she had dreamed of doing. She felt stuck.

But, when she grew close with a colleague, bonding over drinks and after-work hangouts, it seemed as though Cataleya's luck was finally turning around.

The colleague's boyfriend invited Cataleya to join them in Thailand, where he planned to propose. Everything from flights and accommodation would be paid for. All Cataleya had to do was film the proposal.

Watch: Chanelle McAuliffe on what Belle Gibson has been doing since her scam was discovered. Post continues after video.


Video via Mamamia.

A free trip to paradise with friends to witness a romantic proposal? It seemed as though Cataleya had struck gold.

"I was so excited for them," Cataleya said on the Scammerland podcast. "I know them for a long time, like they were friends. And I didn't think they would put me in danger."

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She packed lightly, just three outfits for the three-day getaway. The first warning bells sounded at the airport when her friends arrived dragging massive suitcases, but Cataleya brushed aside her concerns, eager to escape reality for a few days.

Bangkok welcomed them with its vibrant energy and promise of adventure, but Cataleya's excitement quickly faded when her friends directed her to a separate hotel. Left alone for a day with no money and no itinerary, she waited anxiously until evening when they finally called to pick her up.

In the gathering darkness, a minivan pulled up outside her hotel. Inside sat a stern-faced Thai driver and her unusually quiet friends beckoning from the back seat.

As the city lights of Bangkok faded behind them, replaced by hours of dark highway, the car grew heavy with unspoken tension.

"I asked everything about the details, but they stopped answering me," Cataleya recalled. "The Thailand driver was so, so strict. He don't want me to ask so much questions."

Hours passed. The concrete jungle gave way to rural landscapes. With no SIM card, Cataleya couldn't track their journey, but her growing unease told her they were far from any tourist destination.

When they finally stopped at a service station, Cataleya seized her moment. While the others used the restroom, she slipped inside to buy a SIM card. With trembling fingers, she activated it just in time to see the blue dot on Google Maps confirm her worst fears; they were at the Thailand-Myanmar border.

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The location sent a jolt of terror through her. In recent years, the area had gained infamy as a gateway to scam compounds, walled-off compounds where trafficked workers were forced into online fraud under brutal conditions.

"When I go out, I fight with them already," she said, recalling the moment the truth crashed down upon her. "I cursed them and everything. 'What the f***? Why are we here?' Then they told me, 'Calm down. The office is new. They will give you a good salary.'"

She replied: "I don't want the job. I have a job in the Philippines."

Their cold reply shattered any remaining hope. "You don't have the choice. The Chinese boss paid already on your tickets and everything," they said.

"I was crying already and everything, and then I was so shocked, I didn't know what to do. Then she told me, just work there… I did everything to fight back. But I sit down, I think, because I don't know where I am, and there is no houses on the road…. and the driver get my passport already. I think that if I resist, I will get killed."

Darkness had fallen completely by the time they reached the border checkpoint. Through the window, Cataleya watched silently as guards accepted thick wads of cash, turning blind eyes to the human cargo being transported.

Two more hours of silent dread brought them to massive gates that opened like the jaws of a beast, swallowing the van and its occupants whole. Before her stretched an industrial complex so vast it seemed to have its own ecosystem; a city built for crime.

"The compound was so big," Cataleya described. When asked how many people were trapped within these walls, Cataleya's estimate is staggering: "Like 5,000 and read 10,000."

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K25, as this compound was known, was just one of many such operations dotting the Myanmar-Thailand border. The region around Myawaddy in southeastern Myanmar had become ground zero for these "scam factories" — compounds where trafficked individuals were forced to perpetuate elaborate fraud schemes targeting victims worldwide.

Inside K25, Cataleya discovered a carefully structured criminal hierarchy. At the bottom were the "spammers", individuals tasked with creating fake profiles across social platforms to lure potential victims. Above them were "customer service" representatives, who needed polished English skills to speak directly with targets and complete the confidence schemes.

Despite her excellent English, Cataleya found a small way to resist.

"They want me to go in the customer service because, you know, I can talk," she explained. "But I acted fool and stupid in front of them, so they don't get me, and they don't like me."

Instead, she was tasked with messaging European and Middle Eastern men through cryptocurrency platforms, required to hook at least ten potential victims each day.

In this dark world, she found tiny moments to right wrongs. When she encountered a desperate father who had sold everything, his car, his house, his possessions, to invest in the scam while trying to fund his son's leukaemia treatment, something broke inside her.

"I get his number. I called him," she said, recalling her dangerous act of rebellion. "I told him, 'please listen to me. I just wanted to help you. Stop it. Stop it.'" The risk was enormous. Had she been caught, the punishment would have been severe. But the next day, the man blocked the scammers. "I was so happy," she said.

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Sleep offered little respite in K25. The thin walls carried sounds that haunt Cataleya still.

"Sometimes when you're sleeping, you can hear screams," she said.

Curiosity once drove her to peer through a peephole in her door, a decision she regrets.

"I see the Chinese woman. There's no clothes and everything. Three Chinese big mans slapping and punching. And that girl was screaming out her lungs."

She retreated to her room, helpless. "I cannot help. I got scared. Every day, you will hear something like that, and it really get it in your brain. It will drive you crazy, really."

These scam factories continue to operate across Southeast Asia, with the UN and global law enforcement agencies documenting their rapid growth. The Philippines Presidential Anti-Organized Crime Commission has conducted raids on dozens of these operations and works with the UN Office on Drugs and Crime to dismantle these criminal enterprises across the Philippines, Cambodia, Laos and Myanmar.

But for every compound discovered, others emerge —modern-day prisons where thousands like Cataleya find themselves trapped in a nightmare disguised as opportunity.

*Cataleya's name was changed on the podcast for privacy reasons.

Feature Image: Canva.

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