The Anatomy Of A Cyber Fraud: How A Retired Police Officer Fell Prey To A Sophisticated Investment Scam

The legal architecture of investment scams and the human cost that the criminal law struggles to record

Retired Inspector General of Police (IGP) from the Punjab Police, Amar Singh Chahal, who was hospitalised in a critical condition after attempting suicide following the loss of his life savings to an online investment scam, has survived and is now recovering, turning what first appeared as a personal tragedy into a case with far-reaching legal and institutional implications.

As Chahal battled for life, his wife Jaswinder Kaur, a retired teacher, approached the Cyber Crime Police Station in Patiala to set the criminal law in motion.

The First Information Report (No.55 of 2025) lodged by her on 23 December reveals that she stumbled upon certain documents lying in her husband's room which showed that he had received a link in one of his WhatsApp groups regarding investment in IPOs and group trading. The name of this group was stated to be DBS Group, which was claimed to be registered with the Government of India and SEBI. The group claimed to earn profits by investing in the capital market. An unknown person who introduced himself as Dr.Rajat Verma, claiming to be the CEO of DBS Group, used to provide daily information about earning profits through investments in capital market stocks. Along with him, a woman named Meena Bhatt, who described herself as an employee of DBS Group, also used to post messages in the group giving related information.

There were several other members in this group formed on WhatsApp and Telegram. Dr. Rajat Verma used to guide these members regarding investments, and the group members would also regularly share information about their daily profits in the group.

Gradually, members of the group began (that is, pretended to be) investing larger sums of money. Verma provided information regarding investment in OTC Trades (Over-the-Counter Trades), claiming that substantial profits could be earned by investing money therein. Falling prey to this inducement, Chahal began investing money. From his four bank accounts, through various transactions on different dates, an amount of approximately ₹8 crores was transferred into different bank accounts provided by the group.

In return, Verma sent Chahal forged documents titled 'DBS Group Daily Trading Plan Portfolio' through WhatsApp/Telegram messages. Chahal invested approximately ₹7 crore after borrowing money from his friends and acquaintances, while the remaining amount was invested from his personal savings. Jaswinder Kaur submitted to the Police the details of Chahal's bank accounts, all necessary documents relating to the fraudulent transactions, and photocopies of group chats and personal chats with persons of the fraudulent company. The photocopies, she claimed, were found lying in Chahal's room.

The FIR offers a sobering window into the anatomy of contemporary investment scams in India. What makes the case particularly unsettling is not merely the scale of the alleged fraud or the sophistication of the digital ruse, but the profile of the victim himself: a former police officer, trained to recognise deception, now reduced to navigating the criminal justice system from the other side.

The invocation of “DBS Group” was not incidental. It was a calculated borrowing of institutional credibility, designed to disarm scepticism and create a sense of legitimacy.

The FIR invokes an array of provisions under the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, 2023, including sections 316(2), 318(4), 319(2), 336(3), 340(2), and 61(2), along with section 66(D) of the Information Technology Act, 2000. This combination itself tells a story. It reflects how modern investment frauds no longer fit neatly into a single category of cheating or impersonation, but instead operate as layered offences involving deception, inducement, identity misuse, digital infrastructure, and coordinated criminality.

Section 316(2) of the BNS deals with criminal breach of trust signalling the allegation that money was entrusted for a specific investment purpose and was dishonestly misappropriated or diverted. Section 318(4) addresses the offence of cheating, capturing the claim that the complainant was induced to part with money through false representations about trading portfolios and assured returns. Section 319(2) specifically deals with cheating by personation, reflecting the allegation that the accused falsely projected themselves as representatives of, or as being associated with, a reputed financial institution in order to gain trust. Sections 336(3) and 340(2), which deal with forgery and the use of forged electronic records, recognise the role of fabricated dashboards, manipulated digital records, and simulated profit statements in sustaining the deception.

Section 61(2), dealing with criminal conspiracy, acknowledges that such scams are rarely the work of a lone operator. They depend on networks, mule accounts, scripted call centres, and compartmentalised roles designed to frustrate tracing and accountability.

The invocation of Section 66(D) of the Information Technology Act anchors these allegations in the cyber domain, criminalising cheating carried out through computer resources and online communication. In recent years, this provision has become the backbone of cyber-fraud prosecutions, yet convictions remain elusive. The Chahal FIR underscores why. The fraud is not executed through hacking or technical breaches, but through psychological manipulation mediated by digital tools. Victims are persuaded, not coerced; transactions are authorised, not stolen; and the illusion of control is maintained until the damage is irreparable.

What emerges from the FIR narrative is a familiar pattern. Initial investments are followed by apparent gains displayed on digital interfaces. Confidence is reinforced through initial withdrawal of smaller amounts, regular communication, professional-sounding explanations, and incremental escalation. When withdrawal of large amounts is attempted, new obstacles surface: taxes, verification fees, processing charges, or compliance costs. Each demand is framed as the final step before release of funds. By the time communication ceases and platforms disappear, the victim has often crossed a psychological threshold where admitting deception feels more painful than continuing to comply.

That this process ensnared a former police officer should prompt a recalibration of how society understands victimhood in financial fraud. The prevailing narrative still leans heavily on victim shaming, implicitly suggesting greed, gullibility, or recklessness. The FIR challenges this. It demonstrates that scams today are engineered not merely to deceive the uninformed, but to overwhelm even those with institutional experience, by exploiting trust in brands, fear of missing out, and the perceived authority of digital interfaces.

The legal implications of the case extend beyond individual culpability. While the FIR names unknown accused, it also raises uncomfortable questions about systemic enablers. Investment scams of this nature rely on the smooth movement of funds through regulated banking channels. They depend on beneficiary accounts that are opened, operated, and used to receive repeated transfers without triggering timely intervention. Although the FIR focuses on criminal liability, it implicitly gestures towards civil and regulatory accountability, particularly where due diligence failures allow mule accounts to function with impunity.

The case also intersects with a broader judicial conversation unfolding at the national level. The Supreme Court's ongoing suo motu scrutiny of “digital arrest” scams and online financial frauds reflects a recognition that existing legal frameworks, while formally adequate, are operationally misaligned with the realities of cyber-enabled crime. Compensation mechanisms for victims remain ad hoc. Recovery of funds depends less on legal entitlement and more on the speed of freezing accounts, cooperation between banks, and discretionary action by investigating agencies. The Victim Compensation Fund, proposed by Amicus Curiae N.S. Nappinai, in the case being heard by the Supreme Court, on the lines of Authorised Push Payment (APP) Reimbursement policy adopted last year in the U.K., with suitable modifications in the Indian context, therefore, merits due consideration by the authorities.

In this context, the Chahal FIR becomes more than a record of allegations. It is a diagnostic document. It reveals how trust migrates from human intermediaries to screens, how authority is simulated through borrowed institutional names, and how the law struggles to keep pace with crimes that are voluntary in form but coercive in substance. The invocation of multiple BNS provisions reflects an attempt to stretch traditional categories over new conduct. Whether this translates into effective prosecution will depend on investigative capacity, digital forensics, and cross-jurisdictional cooperation.

Perhaps the most unsettling implication of the case lies in its emotional subtext. When individuals previously trained to enforce the law find themselves defeated by its limits, the damage is not merely financial. It erodes confidence in institutions, amplifies shame, and, in extreme cases, pushes victims towards despair. The FIR, clinical in tone, cannot capture this human cost. Yet it is precisely this gap between legal documentation and lived experience that demands attention.

The FIR is silent on Chahal's attempt to commit suicide. It recognises the fraud as the offence under investigation, treats the suicide attempt as a consequence of severe distress, and leaves the far more serious question of abetment open—where it properly belongs—to the results of investigation rather than to assumption at the threshold. With Section 226 BNS adopting a rehabilitative, mental-health–oriented approach to attempted suicide, the law draws a sharper conceptual line between the survivor's distress and the criminal liability of others. The presence of severe stress explains the attempt; it does not, by itself, prove abetment. This makes police even more cautious about invoking Section 227 dealing with abetment without strong, independent evidence.

The Chahal case should therefore be read not as an aberration, but as a representative episode in a widening crisis. Investment scams today are not peripheral crimes. They sit at the intersection of technology, finance, psychology, and law. Addressing them requires more than arrests and sections. It requires rethinking preventive regulation, strengthening bank accountability, institutionalising victim compensation, and dismantling the stigma that silences reporting.

Until then, FIRs like this will continue to serve as post-mortems rather than safeguards, recording harm after it has already been done.

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