The transaction logs glared back at me, a digital obituary for six figures; siphoned into the void by a broker platform that had grinned like a friend until withdrawal day. Their support tickets were simply performance art; delayed and worthless. Months crawled by, but still mentally flogging myself for trusting glossy graphics and polished lies. Then, buried in a forum thread: a trail of grateful whispers all pointing to thecybergoat@techie.com. Desperation hit send before skepticism could intervene. Their reply landed like a scalpel: wallet addresses, scammer correspondence. Three weeks later, my balance had been resurrected. They’d chased the coins through shell exchanges and proxy wallets, wielding blockchain forensics like dark magic. The weight lifted so violently I gasped. If your crypto’s bleeding out, email thecybergoat@techie.com. Clock’s ticking.