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鈥淚 knew it was a scam 鈥� but I needed it to be real.鈥� Charlotte Hale-Burgess examines a growing problem

When I left a successful sales career to become a freelance translator, I brought with me a sense of purpose, excitement and the (potentially dangerous) need to prove myself. I had made a bold decision to follow a long-held passion and turn it into a career, and I was staring into the face of an unknown stretch sans salary. I was sure I had the skills and experience to build a business that worked for me, but the industry was new and I found a brick wall in the space where I鈥檇 imagined a mountain of job offers to be.

No matter how much professional experience you have, nothing prepares you for the quiet desperation that can creep in during those first uncertain months. You just need that first paid project and the proof that you made the right choice. So when the opportunity arrived 鈥� big project, suspiciously great rate, urgent deadline 鈥� I knew, somewhere deep down, that it wasn鈥檛 quite right. And I said yes anyway.

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The voice I ignored

I had set myself up on a few freelancing portals as per the usual advice, but perhaps a little too quickly. I hadn鈥檛 taken the time to understand how other professionals were putting themselves out there. And then I was contacted by someone who told me they had a project for me. Finally! The communication was off, sure, and the spelling and grammar were questionable, but I wrote that off as English not being their first language.

The contract they sent over was little more than a hastily thrown together Word document, and the email address was ambiguous. I searched for the business online and found almost nothing. I knew that wasn鈥檛 a good sign. But I also knew what I wanted this project to mean: the beginning. So I waved away the myriad red flags in front of me. Maybe they didn鈥檛 have a strong digital footprint. Maybe it really was an urgent project. In my previous job, I鈥檇 worked with lots of small companies that were not hugely tech savvy, so I ignored the hesitations, silenced the voice in the back of my head and told myself: this could be it.

What made it all the more disorienting was that the work itself was real. The text was detailed and nuanced, the kind of material I鈥檇 always hoped to work with 鈥� intellectually satisfying and full of linguistic challenges. I spent hours immersed in it, choosing words with care, consulting dictionaries and researching specialist terms to ensure accuracy. I wasn鈥檛 just delivering a service, I was building something with integrity.

And that鈥檚 what I keep returning to: the effort was genuine. I didn鈥檛 cut corners or take it as a test run. I treated it like the beginning of my professional identity in this new field. I poured my energy, training and focus into that document, thinking about how it might be part of my portfolio, how I鈥檇 speak about it to future clients. I believed, or at least convinced myself, that this was the start of something.

Even as I sent it off, a part of me still hoped for validation 鈥� a 鈥榯hank you鈥�, a note of appreciation and a prompt payment. It soon became clear, however, that that was not going to materialise. Sure, there was a certain payment dance to be had 鈥� they did at least answer me, telling me how to receive my well-earned funds. Of course, they could only pay through their 鈥榩ortal鈥� (which was quite clearly an online bank account), which required a $150 deposit to open, or by bank transfer, but only once I had sent them that same $150 to 鈥榩rocess the payment鈥�. At that point, all hope was lost:鈥圛 would not be paid for my time but I could at least avoid sending the scammers any money.
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What that moment revealed

I realise now that just because the context was false it doesn鈥檛 mean the experience wasn鈥檛 of value. I did translate that text. I did navigate different terminology challenges, stylistic decisions and lingering self-doubt. That project, fake as it may have been on their end, was a milestone on mine. And oddly enough, it was proof of something I needed to learn: that I could do the work, even when no one was watching. And that鈥檚 what made me a translator 鈥� not the invoice, not the client, but the work itself.

What I鈥檝e come to understand is that starting over, even from a place of strength, requires a certain vulnerability. You want to prove you were right to walk away from the security you had. You want to prove it to others, but more than anything, to yourself.

That urgency can blur the line between belief and self-deception, but it also gave me clarity. Because after that experience, I couldn鈥檛 pretend that this new chapter wouldn鈥檛 come with its own rules and,听 ultimately, its own risks. I could no longer coast on instincts from my previous field.

Ironically, had that same communication been presented to me as a lead in my sales career, I would have dismissed it as a scam after just one glance and laughed it off with a colleague. There鈥檚 a certain exposure to starting something new, and a tendency to run before you can really walk. I realised I had to start learning what it truly meant to work as a translator 鈥� not just as a freelancer but as a business owner.

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What I do differently now

These days, I still want to believe in people. I still hope for opportunities that feel exciting and validating. That part of me 鈥� the one that thrives on connection and negotiating 鈥� isn鈥檛 gone. It鈥檚 the same part that made me good at sales: building trust quickly, reading the room and following instinct, and I know now that I need to use it in this new industry just as much.

In sales, speed was often an advantage. In translation, discernment is. I鈥檝e had to relearn what it means to evaluate a lead, not only in terms of revenue, but in terms of respect, reliability and mutual value. It might sound like a cynical approach, but what that scam forced me to do wasn鈥檛 just protect my work but take myself seriously as a translator with a value. That鈥檚 what I come back to when the inbox is quiet and when I need to walk away from something that feels too good to be true.

Scams, unfortunately, are part of the freelance landscape. I鈥檝e since been contacted by several other similar schemes, which I now know to discard. Here鈥檚 what I鈥檝e come to live by:

鈥� Never hand over a completed project without a clear, agreed-upon payment structure. It鈥檚 not rude, it鈥檚 responsible.

鈥� Be wary of cheques, wire transfers or payment methods that feel outdated or vague. Scammers rely on confusion.

鈥� If someone wants to work with you, they should be willing to use a verifiable email address or legitimate platform. A real client won鈥檛 resist clarity.

鈥� Don鈥檛 be afraid to ask for references, or better yet, talk to other translators who have worked with the client. You鈥檙e not being difficult, you鈥檙e doing your homework.

鈥� Use a contract, even for the 鈥榮mall鈥� jobs. It鈥檚 not about the money, it鈥檚 about the principle.

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What I've learned

That early scam taught me something I couldn鈥檛 have picked up in any course or certification: how to own my worth from the start. And if you鈥檝e been burnt, or you鈥檙e afraid you might be next, then know this: one misstep doesn鈥檛 make you naive, it makes you human.

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Charlotte Hale-Burgess is a writer and translator who recently stepped away from a ten-year sales career in the wine trade. Now focused on language and storytelling, she has her own business combining deep industry knowledge with wine writing and translation, helping producers and publications communicate with clarity to the English-speaking world.

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This article is reproduced from the Summer 2025 issue of The Linguist. Download the full edition here.