Brian’s spent most of his life chasing old sheet metal. His dad got him hooked early, and by seventeen he’d already bought his first classic car. Decades later, at 51, that passion cost him nearly ten grand.

He was car shopping in September, eyeing something in Cleveland, when a listing on social media grabbed him

A candy apple red 1972 Chevrolet Nova.

It’s a compact, rear-wheel-drive two-door muscle car that measures just over 189 inches long. Most models came with either a 250-ci inline-six or a 307-ci V8, though higher-output 350-ci V8s were available in SS trim.

The Nova wasn’t designed as a surly muscle car, at least not in its standard form. It started life as a compact economy model. That said, when buyers optioned it with a V8 (especially the 350 in the SS) it behaved like one. Still, factory intent and classification never quite put it in the same league as a Chevelle SS or GTO.

It stayed simple on purpose: light, short wheelbase, and clean sheet-metal proportions that made it a favorite among tuners and drag racers.

And this one was better looking than what he’d been considering, and near the same price. He dialed the number.

The seller sounded legitimate

They said the car was in Missouri. Brian asked for more information and did his research. The company had a clean website. Employee bios. They sent him videos of the Nova. Offered the VIN. The title copy. Presented a contract. He said they weren’t ever too pushy. “You know, they were going off of my pace.”

Still, the seller insisted that other buyers were headed over that afternoon. If he wanted to lock it in, he’d need to send $10,000. That urgency played right into the moment. After all, he was busy at work, too. Juggling his job duties with the idea that the Nova could slip away fast was too worrisome to pass up.

They even offered financing at 2%. Later, he admitted that should have been a red flag. It’s an interest rate no one’s handing out in 2025.

Brian wired $9,500.

Even a truck driver called with delivery updates. The charade didn’t last, though

Suddenly, everything went quiet

Calls stopped going through. The car never showed up. His carrier confirmed the numbers were tied to disposable internet phones.

He immediately contacted the bank, but days had passed. The money was gone.

North Olmsted Police are investigating, though Detective Lieutenant Matthew Beck says recovering wired cash is unlikely. Once it jumps through a few banks, often overseas, it disappears. Even the FBI struggles unless the loss is larger.

The Better Business Bureau estimates classic car scam losses hit about $45 million annually

Median individual loss runs roughly $12,600, with some losing more than $36,000 on fake classic car listings.

Longtime Columbus, Ohio dealer Larry Pendleton at Cruisin Classics said this used to be a monthly problem. Now someone calls weekly. “We get calls on a regular basis about people that have found my cars that are on my website, on other fictitious websites,” he told Spectrum News 1. “Nothing’s changed except the price and the price is usually about half of what we’re asking.”

But even watermarks and branding are no longer enough to deter them.

Tech is making it worse, especially with AI generating convincing faces and videos. Pendleton’s advice is blunt. Go see the car or hire a professional inspector. Touch it. Ask for IDs to confirm the seller is listed on the title.

Brian wishes he’d slowed down. “It just looked like a real business,” he said. Now he hopes sharing his mistake saves someone else from wiring money for car mirage.