This report was originally published by ProPublica, an independent nonprofit media outlet that investigates abuses of power.
As an asylum seeker in the United States, Jasmir Urbina was worried when she saw violence erupt during military-style immigration raids across the country. Then she read that federal agents were arresting legal residents in immigration courts and wondered when they would set their sights on her city.
Urbina fled Nicaragua in 2022 and was legally residing with her husband, also an asylum seeker, in New Orleans, where she regularly appeared before immigration agents to comply with check-ins while awaiting her court hearing. Finally, at the end of November 2025, the appointment was approaching. But in those days, the Trump administration would flood the region with federal agents in the so-called Operation Swamp Sweep.
Urbina, 35, began looking for someone who spoke Spanish and could help her. She said she found a Facebook post advertising the services of Catholic Charities, a well-known aid organization whose services include assistance to immigrants. After a few clicks, she connected via WhatsApp with “Susan Millan,” who claimed to have a law degree. The woman’s photo looked professional: she had a small blurred library in the background, according to a screenshot Urbina shared with ProPublica. The asylum seeker said she discussed her situation with the woman she believed was a lawyer.
Millan told Urbina that her problem could be resolved in a virtual hearing with U.S. immigration authorities. To make her feel more confident, Millan sprinkled details of her own life: a sick husband, two children, a church that supported her. In an interview, Urbina said she filled out forms that would be sent to the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) in exchange for a payment. Millan’s organization asked for more documentation, including five personal references; and, for another payment, would handle delivering them to the authorities. Through the Zelle payment app, Urbina and her husband paid nearly $10,000, according to their financial records, money they had set aside to buy their first home.
On November 21, Urbina argued that a “credible fear” prevented her from returning to her country. In a virtual hearing that lasted five minutes, she said she spoke with a man sitting in front of an American flag and dressed in a green uniform embroidered with what appeared to be government insignia. A day later, Millan informed her via WhatsApp that she had “won residency.” The documents would arrive by mail.
In an instant, Urbina’s fears had dissipated. She asked if she still had to attend her court appointment on November 24. “No, don’t worry,” she recalls the woman responding. “There’s no need to go to court.”
But the next day, when Urbina sent a message to Millan’s number asking to speak with someone, the WhatsApp chat went silent, according to screenshots she shared with ProPublica. Two days later, she suspected she had been scammed and wrote in the same chat, verbatim, full of anger: “God is with us and He fights for His children; today they messed up and will get their pay from the Almighty, cowards.”
There was no lawyer named Susan Millan at Catholic Charities, and that scam was just one of hundreds of cases the real organization has come to know when desperate immigrants end up contacting them.
“We have a good reputation for a reason,” said Chris Ross, vice president of migration and refugee resettlement services at Catholic Charities. “That’s why it’s very frustrating when someone takes advantage of that prestige with nefarious intentions.”
Urbina had fallen into the trap of a “notary fraud,” in which scammers offer legal advice and often present themselves as notaries public or other legal professionals. In many Latin American countries, a notary public is equivalent to a lawyer, and fraudsters exploit that confusion to impersonate their credentials.
Urbina shared documents detailing how she was drawn into the scam, and ProPublica corroborated her story with her husband and Catholic Charities. After Urbina reported to local and federal authorities that she had missed her court appointment due to the scam, the Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) office changed her December virtual follow-up appointment to an in-person meeting. When she arrived, agents arrested her. In January, she says, they shackled her hands and feet and put her on a plane bound for Nicaragua.
She had been scammed and then deported.
A spokesperson for the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), the agency overseeing ICE, did not respond to questions about Urbina’s case but assured: “Anyone caught impersonating a federal immigration agent will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.” The New Orleans Police also did not respond to ProPublica’s questions about the complaint Urbina filed.
Scams like the ones that destroyed Urbina’s dreams are on the rise, according to federal data analyzed by ProPublica; opportunists are taking advantage of the fear and confusion generated by President Donald Trump’s immigration crackdown.
Reports of immigration scams have doubled since Trump won the election, ProPublica found after analyzing more than 6,200 complaints filed with the Federal Trade Commission (FTC) by victims and activists over the past five years.
From early 2021 through the fall 2024 elections, the FTC—the country’s main consumer protection agency—received about 960 immigration fraud complaints per year, such as reports of fake lawyers offering their services or people posing as federal officials. In 2025 alone, the commission received nearly 2,000.
In total, complaints filed with the FTC over five years report at least $94.4 million stolen. That figure is undoubtedly below the real amount: not all immigrants report crimes for fear of deportation, and not all reports included amounts of money.
The increase in complaints has been so pronounced that numerous states and legal organizations have alerted the public. The attorneys general of California and North Carolina issued statements at the end of 2025, as did the American Bar Association and AARP. In June 2025, the New York City Council passed a law that toughens penalties for notary fraud, and similar legislation came into effect in Florida.
“Immigration scammers contribute to creating a lawless environment and weaken our immigration system,” said Zach Kahler, spokesperson for the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services, the agency Urbina mistakenly believed had granted her residency. Online, the agency publishes guides to identify immigration fraud and warns the public that it does not use WhatsApp. It also instructs those who believe they have been victims of a scam to file a complaint with the FTC.
Old problem, new sophistication
Scams targeting those trapped in the U.S. immigration system are not new, but immigrant advocates say fraudsters have become more sophisticated: they now use technologies like artificial intelligence and targeted ads. At the same time, immigrants are increasingly distressed by the speed of mass deportations, creating a lucrative business for those looking to take advantage.
“I think artificial intelligence is being used in these scams quite effectively. People believe they are talking to a real person, and the logos and other things look quite professional to the untrained eye,” said Ross of Catholic Charities.
Many victims say they were deceived by scammers who had professional-looking photos, wore immigration uniforms, and simulated realistic virtual hearings.
An analysis of the image of the person calling herself Millan, who supposedly helped Urbina, suggests it was generated with artificial intelligence.
Ross added: “The strongest factor here is desperation; that’s really what’s driving all this.”
In San Diego, scammers have impersonated lawyers working for the city. City attorney Heather Ferbert told ProPublica that her office has referred these cases to the FBI and warned the public to be wary of ads promising that a government official or lawyer can resolve immigration paperwork. The FBI declined to comment.
“When you add the title and government weight backing it—the city attorney’s office, the district attorney’s office, for example—people let their guard down,” said Ferbert. “We’ve heard stories where they promise to solve their immigration problems. No real lawyer is going to promise you a result.”
Other scams go beyond impersonating lawyers. Among FTC complaints is a case where people posing as immigration agents from the Department of Homeland Security received more than $600,000 from a family claiming that one of their members’ identities had been stolen and that they had to pay to protect it. In West Virginia, a supposed “federal agent” threatened to deport a college student about to graduate if he did not pay nearly $4,000 in gift cards.
“They claimed that if I didn’t comply immediately, they would arrest, detain, or deport me,” wrote the student, who was legally residing in the U.S. on a student visa. The student, whose name does not appear in federal data, used prepaid Dollar General gift cards until he ran out of money and had to ask his family for help.
Immigrants from India and Bangladesh were told they had not updated a mandatory form and would be arrested and deported immediately if they did not provide their Social Security numbers. Other scammers claimed the government had intercepted packages with money and drugs addressed to immigrants, demanding payment to avoid arrest.
“A well-oiled machine”
Most victims find these fake lawyers through Facebook or TikTok ads. Facebook’s parent company, Meta, has committed to removing accounts used for scams and announced new tools to track them.
Charity Anastasio, professional practice and ethics advisor for the American Immigration Lawyers Association (AILA), said these ads usually operate on a pay-per-click basis and specifically target Spanish-speaking users. “They have designed a well-oiled machine.”
The ads attract both those facing deportation proceedings, clinging to any resource to stay in the country, and those who wanted to get their papers in order before Trump’s immigration crackdown intensified, according to Adonia Simpson, a lawyer with the American Bar Association (ABA).
“Many people are trying to get representation in advance to know their options,” Simpson told ProPublica. “The tough law enforcement stance has been a key factor. This has caused many people to be very scared.”
The White House declined to comment.
In October 2024, José Aguilar, 56, who had been granted Temporary Protected Status (TPS) under the George W. Bush administration, was in that situation when he came across a Facebook ad. The advertiser claimed to work for Jorge Rivera, a well-known immigration lawyer in Miami, and promised Aguilar he could get him permanent residency. The price would be $15,000. ProPublica requested comments from the real Rivera, who is not accused of any crime; but he did not respond.
As a leather factory worker in Minnesota who had fled El Salvador, Aguilar gathered the money in installments thanks to loans from friends and that year’s tax refund. Over several months, he had four video calls with the fake lawyer and two calls with people posing as immigration agents. At first, he was skeptical but was convinced when they sent him videos of residency cards with the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services logo.
“Don’t try to scam me, because I’m lending the money, I’m a man of faith and a person who has had a heart transplant. I can’t get angry because it harms me,” Aguilar recalled saying.
“Don’t worry, sir,” Aguilar said the scammer replied. “Don’t worry. This is real. It’s super real.”
In one of their last conversations, the scammer appealed to the Christian faith they shared and thanked God for having approved his documents and getting him residency.
By February 2025, the scammers had stopped responding. A month later, Aguilar realized he would probably never receive the residency cards and contacted a lawyer who confirmed he had been a victim of a scam. Aguilar, who has two young daughters, says his family survives thanks to food banks and depends on donations to pay rent.
“There’s no forgiveness,” Aguilar said. “Even dragging God into it.”
Mother and daughters separated
For Mariela, an undocumented Honduran mother with three children, economic pressure started long ago. In 2021, the father of her children went to the United States with one of her daughters, seeking construction work. Two years later, when she traveled 2,000 miles under scorching heat to reunite with them, she broke her arm in three places after falling into the Rio Grande while crossing the border. ProPublica withholds her last name because she fears deportation.
And in October 2025, immigration agents detained her 20-year-old daughter. Desperate, Mariela contacted what she believed was a Catholic Charities Facebook page.
She got caught in a scheme involving a man posing as a priest, another pretending to be an immigration judge, and another impersonating Oscar Carrillo, a licensed Texas lawyer practicing in the area of tax law.
The real Carrillo told ProPublica that last spring he began receiving calls from frustrated immigrants, all Spanish-speaking, who said they had been referred by Catholic Charities. When he realized his name and photo were being misused, he alerted the FBI and the FTC. The Texas Bar Association posted a warning on its website about Carrillo impersonators.
“Most of these clients, due to their immigration status, are afraid to go to the police to report,” Carrillo said. “I feel sorry for these clients. We’re not talking about wealthy people.”
In January, after her daughter was deported, Mariela realized the scammers had taken more than $18,000 from her in three months.
She said she borrowed $3,000 from an uncle in Honduras, another $1,500 from a cousin, a few thousand from her boss, and $2,000 more from a friend from her hometown in Honduras who had also emigrated to the United States. She also exhausted her savings and her daughter’s.
Public alerts, few resources
Since the start of Trump’s second term, local police forces, advocacy groups, state attorneys general, and law firms have issued warnings to immigrants about the rise in scams.
“Our best advice is to contact directly, outside of social media, the organization you are seeking for help,” said Kevin Brennan, vice president of media relations at Catholic Charities. “Call the organization by phone or visit those offices in person.”
Scammers show no signs of backing down.
In April, three months after her deportation to Nicaragua, Urbina received a call from someone who introduced himself as a lawyer. He said a Catholic Charities bishop had referred her and that he would help her obtain immigration documents.
The stress of the scam and separation from her husband, who remains in the United States, had taken a toll. “I’ve been through many things, one after another,” Urbina said. She lives with her mother in a remote town in Honduras, afraid to go out in a country where the government has intensified surveillance of those who once emigrated to the United States.
Desperate, she gave the “lawyer” her personal information.
Although he said he would not charge her, the man ended up asking for money, she said.
“Where did you get my number?” she asked.
Intrigued but skeptical, Urbina sent him several WhatsApp messages, hoping he was really an immigration lawyer.
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She never heard from him again.
