Daniel David Debeer Scam Artist, Wire Fraud, Facebook Marketplace Toronto Ontario 

When I listed my Rolex watch on Facebook Marketplace, I thought it would be a straightforward transaction. What unfolded instead was a nightmare I couldn’t have imagined.

Daniel Debeer reached out, posing as a seasoned watch dealer. His messages were professional, his demeanor polished. He provided a copy of his driver’s license, and to keep things professional, I shared mine as well. He told me he had a client in New York City who was in desperate need of the watch for his wedding that weekend. Timing was critical, he said. Daniel offered to wire me the money upfront if I would deliver the watch to his client, Brandon.

To reassure me, Daniel sent detailed screenshots of wire receipts and even managed to call my phone using what appeared to be my bank’s local branch number. The "teller" on the line confirmed the wire transfer was in process and promised it would clear by end of day Monday. With this apparent validation, I agreed to the arrangement.

On Sunday morning, I met Brandon, Daniel’s so-called client. He was polite but unnervingly aloof. He took the watch, thanked me, and vanished. By Monday evening, the truth came crashing down: the money never arrived.

Frantic, I tried reaching Daniel and Brandon, but all my calls and messages went unanswered. I had been conned. My attempts to find answers led me to Brandon’s mother, Sally Frimerman. When I explained the situation, she denied knowing Brandon entirely, claiming she didn’t have a son by that name. Pushing further, I brought up her daughter Mandy Frimerman, which prompted a chilling shift in her tone. “I don’t speak to my son,” she snapped, cold and dismissive, as if this were a family secret better left buried.

Desperate for help, I reached out to Mandy directly. Surely, she’d want to help clear her brother’s name—or so I thought. Her response was even more heartless: “Why are you messaging me?” No empathy, no concern—just a cold dismissal, as if she was in on the deception or simply didn’t care.

But the nightmare didn’t end there. Days after the theft, I started receiving threatening messages from Daniel and Brandon, using burner numbers. They warned me not to go to the police, taunting me with veiled threats about what might happen if I did. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” one message read. “File a report, and we’ll make sure it’s the last thing you do.”

The messages were relentless, as though they enjoyed playing with their prey. They wanted me to feel powerless, trapped, and terrified. Every time my phone buzzed, my stomach churned, knowing it could be another threat. The fear seeped into every corner of my life, making it impossible to move on or think clearly.

I now realize this wasn’t just a one-off scam. Daniel, Brandon, and even the Frimermans seemed to be part of a calculated, well-oiled operation. Each played their role expertly—Daniel the charismatic dealer, Brandon the shady client, Sally and Mandy the dispassionate family members with their layers of denial. They were predators, preying on trust, exploiting decency, and leaving destruction in their wake.

The experience has left me shaken, not just by the loss of my watch but by the depths of their cruelty. These weren’t just scammers—they were monsters who thrived on control, manipulation, and fear. And even now, I wonder how many others have been ensnared in their web, left with nothing but threats, silence, and shattered trust.