While Estonia was previously protected to a large extent by its small language and annual fraud losses ranged between five and ten million euros — last year, criminals managed to scam people and businesses in the country out of €29 million, according to official police figures. The majority of that sum came from phone scams. Increasingly, these scams are being carried out in fluent Estonian, with local Estonians themselves helping to empty victims' wallets.

"We are seeing more and more Estonian speakers being recruited: there are call center employees who speak Estonian with an accent and there are also people who speak perfectly fluent Estonian," said Elari Haugas, head of the serious crime unit at the North Prefecture.

Earlier this year, Äripäev journalist Polina Volkova noticed a Russian-language job ad in a Telegram group offering a tempting position in the city of Uzhhorod in western Ukraine for those fluent in Estonian or Lithuanian. The ad promised that the employer would cover flight costs, even offer a welcome bonus and that the salary could reach an average of €5,000 per week.

Haugas confirmed that police have observed similar ads circulating on instant messaging apps. "They even specify the exact country and city where the job will be located, how much the salary is. And let's say they don't try to create a false impression about the nature of the work — they really are inviting people to come work there," Haugas explained.

ERR investigative news show "Pealtnägija," together with Äripäev journalists, conducted an undercover journalistic experiment, posing as applicants interested in working for the scammers.

"At first, communication happened through chat. There's an initial-level recruiter who posted the job ad. They chat with you a bit, kind of vet you and if everything checks out and you seem like a suitable person, they pass you on to another individual who contacts you via Telegram and who they refer to as a 'curator,'" Volkova said.

A few days later, they managed to schedule a job interview. Russian-language "Pealtnägija" journalist Artur Tooman assumed the identity of Sergei, a Tallinn resident interested in call center work. The call was delayed, but eventually, a WhatsApp profile featuring a picture of a cat and a username that could be translated as "rich and ruthless" came online.

The call, originally in Russian, translated here into English.

Hello.

Good morning. Yeah, looks like the guys dozed off, so I figured I'd call myself to save some time. Is everything generally clear about the job or do you have any questions?

Are we making a verbal agreement or will there be a formal paper contract?

No, there's no contract — this isn't some official recruitment agency. The 'project,' as such, doesn't really exist. You're just there, not some kind of official employee. You'll just keep your own records, we settle up weekly, no issues.

The recruiter did explain that no contract would be signed, but still didn't reveal exactly what kind of calls the job would involve. According to Elari Haugas, these kinds of recruitments have increased over the past year and there's a strong likelihood that the journalists were being lured into working at a call center involved in draining Estonians' bank accounts through phone scams. Often, the scam consists of two separate calls.

"The first call might be from someone claiming to represent the Health Insurance Fund, saying you need to confirm some information for a refund or that you'll continue to pay just €5 instead of €20 for specialist visits if you confirm your details with a PIN code — usually via Smart-ID. That's followed by calls supposedly from the European Central Bank, your home bank or the Financial Supervision Authority. For example, they'll claim the first call was from scammers and now your money needs to be 'rescued' — but only if we act fast. The second call, which can last for hours, is designed to get your PIN2 so they can start transferring funds and taking out loans in your name," Haugas explained.

This exact pattern matches the largest phone scam criminal case in recent years in Estonia, in which 59 victims were defrauded of a combined €600,000 over the span of about six months starting in late 2024. Scammers often posed as officials from the financial police, cybercrime unit, Tax and Customs Board or the Estonian and European central banks — sometimes even sending fake ID badges.

The victims included both young and elderly people, ranging from those with little education to university graduates. They lost anywhere from a few hundred euros to as much as €117,000 — both personal and business funds.

Initially, scammers would hijack a victim's online banking account, but in many cases, they confused the victim to the point that they handed over their physical bank card and PIN codes to people impersonating bank employees. To do this, the organizers abroad recruited couriers in Estonia who would collect the cards — either from the victims' homes or from parcel lockers. A recent court case focused on five young people who acted as couriers. All were native Russian speakers, barely 20 years old, including Darja, who agreed to speak under a pseudonym and without showing her face.

"We had to collect the card and then withdraw the money. The cards would be at some address or in a parcel locker... There was one person who coordinated it, they would message us and we'd do it," Darja explained.

Prosecutor Õnne Neare-Vaarmann said their role was essentially to act as couriers. "One of these young people was involved first and the communication with the scammers took place via Telegram. Instructions, including the victim's address, were sent through Telegram and the young people would go to that address and usually retrieve, for example, a bank card with PIN codes," the prosecutor said.

Although the young couriers were based in Tallinn, they traveled across Estonia to collect cards — from Pärnu to Narva. For instance, surveillance footage shows a woman, who was on the phone with the call center scammers, placing her card into an Omniva parcel locker in Taebla, western Estonia, at 2:20 p.m. on November 12. At 3:05 p.m., Darja and an accomplice arrived and retrieved the card. Less than an hour later, they had withdrawn the daily limit from the account.

Darja received 5 to 10 percent of each amount withdrawn, but said she didn't know any of the other parts of the scheme beyond her own courier role, such as who ultimately received the money. Police were also unable to identify anyone beyond the couriers.

The largest single transfer, according to Darja, was around €150,000.

Haugas said these operations deliberately use encrypted platforms that leave little or no trace. "The messages usually disappear immediately or are deleted by the other party. The accounts are constantly being changed. The couriers themselves said they likely had the same coordinator, but they couldn't say for sure."

Darja admitted she later realized she was part of a scam. "But we were kind of dumb, we didn't really understand what was going on or what the consequences would be."

When asked why she agreed to do it, she said she couldn't really explain. "It was a tough period, there was no work in Estonia and everything was really expensive. Maybe we saw there was a lot of money involved and we just wanted to give it a try," she attempted to justify her actions.

The police caught onto the friend group thanks to reports filed by victims. Darja was arrested in spring last year while staying in an Old Town apartment with her child and some friends. The scammers confessed and received suspended sentences. But more importantly, they were all ordered to repay the full €600,000 stolen, including the portion Darja had no direct contact with. She is responsible for €180,000.

Darja said she doesn't believe any of them will manage to pay it back in their lifetimes. "Someone might get their money back, but not all of them."

Back to the journalistic experiment: the recruiters remained anonymous here as well, but when told that several Estonian speakers were considering taking the job at the call center, their interest was clear.

"If you speak Estonian or Lithuanian, the job is in Uzhhorod. If you speak German, it's in Odesa. The conditions are the same for everyone: €1,600 salary, free housing, free meals, free travel and 10 percent of each transaction. That's exactly how it is. Just tell people like it is. A job's a job," the recruiter said.

Reportedly, Estonian speakers are being specifically recruited for the Uzhhorod call center, a city in western Ukraine about the size of Tartu. According to the recruiter, there are already seven Estonian-speaking employees working there. Darja also said she was encouraged to "climb the career ladder" and go work at the call center.

According to Polina Volkova, who took part in the experiment, the recruitment process wasn't the most efficient — there were moments when she had to wait for the next interview to be scheduled.

"At the same time, it was clear they had strict limits on what they could and couldn't say," Volkova noted.

During the continuation of the recruitment call, the recruiter explained: "People will bring you up to speed, explain what to do and how to do it, how to talk, what to emphasize, what the nuances are — but it's really not that hard. Everything is clear and straightforward. All that's expected from you is the willingness to work and dedicate some time to it."

The recruiters, however, were cautious enough to verify whether a potential sales agent really spoke Estonian at the B2 level, as stated in the job ad. A follow-up session was held in mid-January to check this. Äripäev found a suitable candidate in its newsroom.

Volkova expressed surprise that any Estonians would genuinely go through with it. "Maybe the most shocking thing is how someone could knowingly scam their own fellow citizens," she said.

Once the candidate from Äripäev passed the language test, they were expected to start work at the end of January. When the test subjects began stalling and feigning hesitation, the recruiter on the other end lost patience.

"We can even draw up a notarized contract with him — he goes to Ukraine to work, starts calling Estonian companies under someone's direction, robs them, makes money for himself... That's basically it," the recruiter snapped, adding:

"The person comes to a comfortable setup, gets paid $1,600, we cover the cost of a renovated apartment. And the question is: what kind of apartment is it? A shack or a renovated place? For hell's sake, I don't understand what language we're speaking here! Don't you get it? I'm convinced the living conditions will be way better than what they have in Estonia right now. If they come with their spouses, they'll get $3,200 just for showing up, going to work and being trained. I have one question: what more should we be doing for them? Do you understand?"

In the end, the story shows that while police are able to catch scammers operating on the ground in Estonia, reaching the masterminds behind the call centers is far more difficult. International cooperation is ongoing, but even if one call center shuts down, another emerges where fellow Estonians scam their own.

Prosecutor Õnne Neare-Vaarmann explained that it's extremely easy to hide one's tracks in the cyber world. "For example, the phone calls are routed from other countries. You'll get a call that appears to be from Germany, but we don't know where the caller is actually located. They could be anywhere. The technical possibilities are vast. It's clear that if the call centers were in Estonia, we'd be able to catch the perpetrators, but so far we haven't found any operating here," she said.

Darja added from her own experience: "Everyone assumes this is all Ukraine's fault, but believe me — it's not. A lot of Estonians work here."

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