An investigator set out to discover the source of one robocall. Turns out, his target made them by the millions. Follow along as we reprint one part of this investigation each day, "Serial"-style.
Today we’re sharing Part 5. To catch up on Parts 1-4:
Part 1: https://www.paronichlaw.com/news-1/2020/7/28/an-investigator-set-out-to-discover-the-source-of-one-robocall-turns-out-his-target-made-them-by-the-millions-follow-along-as-we-reprint-one-part-of-this-investigation-each-day-serial-style
Part 2: https://www.paronichlaw.com/news-1/2020/7/29/6893buduw5t8oig6zw20tt1r4f4urj
Part 3: https://www.paronichlaw.com/news-1/2020/7/30/an-investigator-set-out-to-discover-the-source-of-one-robocall-turns-out-his-target-made-them-by-the-millions-follow-along-as-we-reprint-one-part-of-this-investigation-each-day-serial-style
Part 4: https://www.paronichlaw.com/news-1/2020/7/31/an-investigator-set-out-to-discover-the-source-of-one-robocall-turns-out-his-target-made-them-by-the-millions-follow-along-as-we-reprint-one-part-of-this-investigation-each-day-serial-style
03.25.2019 06:00 AM
On the Trail of the Robocall King
An investigator set out to discover the source of one scammy robocall. Turns out, his target made them by the millions.
PART FIVE
I FOUND ABRAMOVICH the same way he probably found the people he autodialed: through a public database listing his name, phone number, and home address. He lives in a posh Miami neighborhood in a gated oceanside community with the requisite pool, tennis courts, and security guards. The large stone-and-brick villas are organized around handsome courtyards with palm trees planted in the middle.
I knocked on the door, unannounced. Abramovich answered in a tight Lacoste T-shirt and skinny distressed jeans, and I thrust my hand out before he could shut the door. We stood in the doorway talking for half an hour until Abramovich’s wife joined us and invited me in.
Abramovich has a thing for bad guys. His man cave, which doubles as a home office, is decorated with figurines, paintings, and memorabilia depicting infamous movie villains like Scarface, the mobsters from Goodfellas, and Freddy Krueger. A record collection lines one wall, and an 80-inch TV is positioned in front of a set of plush black chairs and a black couch. Beside the record collection is his desk. Here it was: the compact headquarters of an alleged robocall empire from which Abramovich was said to place millions of calls a day. Off-the-shelf software can run automatically, moving through lists of phone numbers and other personal data available for purchase. The only limit to a robocall business is the amount of bandwidth you’re willing to pay for; the potential number of calls Abramovich could have made was unlimited.
As we toured the house, Abramovich’s wife pointed to their collection of South American art, while her husband described his current predicament with a sullen, dejected air, all sighs and slow head shakes. Despite the surroundings, he protested that his work had not made him rich—there was no way he could pay the $120 million fine or even a fraction of it. “I’m on monthly payment plans for everything,” he told me. “They’re not going to find a boat or five condos anywhere.” His wife, while keeping the family’s three small dogs at bay, noted, unprompted, that the Ferrari in the garage had been purchased in 2010 and was paid off in installments over five years.
Abramovich talked about a lot of things: Senator John Thune’s height (shorter than you’d think from TV), infamous pharma bro Martin Shkreli. (“He was laughing in front of the Senate. I was scared. I was really scared.”) But he mostly wanted to vent. After the FCC’s citation, his home had been inundated with hate mail and angry phone calls; his bank had closed his account without explanation and refused to let him open a new one. Family members had stopped talking to him.
The humiliating spotlight of national condemnation came as a shock to him. He had immigrated to the US from Argentina—he still speaks with a thick accent—and over the past two decades, he has formed and led at least 12 corporations in Florida, according to the FCC, most of them dedicated to telemarketing and travel deals.
For all those years, calling maybe billions of people, he had been hidden from consumer anger and opprobrium. His prolific telemarketing got him into trouble in 2007 when AT&T Mobility got a consent judgment and injunction against him for unlawful telemarketing, but it wasn’t big news. The FCC ordeal was something entirely new and unpleasant.
The worst part, he said, was being served the Senate subpoena. It was Good Friday, and he was at his lawyer’s office talking about the case. His youngest daughter, barely a teenager, answered the door before his wife intervened. When a US marshal tried to hand Abramovich’s wife the subpoena, she let the papers drop to the ground. “You haven’t served me anything,” she said. The following Tuesday, three cars came screeching into their home’s shared courtyard, sirens blazing, and five marshals came to the door with the subpoena, Abramovich said. The neighbors came out to gawk. (The US Marshals Service said the subpoena was served “in a lawful manner.”)
People didn’t know his side of the story, Abramovich protested, but they had already decided that he was the bad guy. Abramovich told me that his lawyer had advised him not to talk to anyone, and he wavered as we spoke, alternating between brash defiance and victimhood. The case was now in the hands of the local US attorney, who was responsible for collecting the FCC’s judgment. The prosecutor hadn’t filed a complaint yet, but Abramovich, who has denied any intent to defraud customers, was planning to defend himself in court and then plead down to a lesser settlement based on his inability to pay the full fine. No matter what amount the settlement reached, though, he still felt wronged. “People don’t want to know,” he told me. “They don’t care.” Then he asked me to leave.
Stay tuned for the sixth and final part tomorrow…
https://www.wired.com/story/on-the-trail-of-the-robocall-king/