Simón and Silvia: From 60 Million Promised to €80,000 Debt

From 60 million promised to €80,000 debt

The business was presented as a way to secure fixed-rate mortgages for individuals. For those who invested, it ended in contributions that never returned. Over more than two years, a good portion of the community trinc streamers Simón and Silvia's live broadcasts has accumulated testimonies, screenshots, and scattered figures regarding the supposed trail of failed projects. The balance, miles of messages later, resembles less an internet anecdote and more a known pattern: high profitability promises, marketing ahead of the product, and a caixa (box/fund) that only breathes with donations.

The comparison that recurs most is not financial, but historical. Forum Filatelico, Afinsa, Rumasa. Structures that captured popular savings with a seductive narrative. The scale here is minimal. The mechanism, according to those affected, is not.

From 60 million promised in 2017 to €80,000 debt with the Tax Agency

The oldest trail circulating dates back to 2017. A capture recovered with the Wayback Machine shows a first version of Simón who, according to the visible text, managed a patrimony of almost 60 million euros distributed among 350 clients, 'and growing,' with a guaranteed annual return of at least 10% on the investment. Two years later, in 2019, an affected party recounted how he invested more than 5,000 euros in Neotecalia, a company that theoretically intermediated to secure mortgages for individuals. 'It never fulfilled its original purpose,' he wrote.

That leap—from fabricated patrimony to real money committed—is where the entire business resides. In the final part of the material, with the project already derailed, another figure appears: a debt of 80,000 euros with the Tax Agency. And a pilgrimage plan to settle it: setting up an opium therapy company in Azerbaijan seeking investors.

Neotecalia and Green Capital: The Mortgage That Never Came

Neotecalia is the piece that ties the case to the mortgage business. An investor's testimony describes it as a company dedicated to securing mortgages for individuals through banks. Trusting the proposal, he delivered more than 5,000 euros of his own pocket. The company, according to his account, never operated as promised. Added to the project in the same material is a marijuana plantation where the minimum investment was around 10,000 euros and which, according to several messages, also yielded no visible return.

The pattern repeats: a product that nobody fully explains, a community turned into a pool of partners, and money that goes out but never returns. Regarding the financial ground, there is a reasonable doubt—was there a real corporate structure or just a narrative?—that the material does not resolve. It only lists promises.

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The '10% Guaranteed,' the Classic Bait of the Finfluencer

No return above market comes with a guarantee, and the 10% annual appears in the material as the lure used to attract the unwary. The mechanics are textbook: a community is built around a charismatic figure, an exaggerated economic success is attributed to them, and that fame becomes the gateway to businesses where trust replaces any audit.

Some maintain that marketing reigns supreme over the product, that with a good community and the ability to reach many people, anything can be sold, even nothing. The reflection runs through the material from top to bottom. It is not a rigorous economic thesis, but it explains better than any report why hundreds of people gave their money to a project with no public accounts.

From Airplane to Donations: How a Black Hole Sustains Itself

The live broadcasts function as a money box. One message summarizes the arithmetic: they declared incomes of 5,000 euros per month that were spent entirely; there was a period when 500 euros vanished in one hour in Asturias. When the caixa (fund) hits zero, they appeal to the viewer. The live game—the 'airplane'—is described as a black hole of money, an activity that hooks more through the rush of winning and losing than through the final balance.

The conclusion drawn by another part of the community is bitter: monetization does not serve to sustain a project, but to finance immediate consumption. Hence the insistence on 20-euro donations, 'pay for the airplane,' or paying the electricity bill.
The model does not seek customers; it seeks patrons.

Macedonia and the Million Euros: The Episode No One Details

The most opaque matter relates to Macedonia and an alleged operation of around one million euros. Messages mention it vaguely, without breakdown, always with the same complaint: no one has connected the dots regarding the families who, according to accounts, were ruined.

This is the part of the story where accounting turns into smoke.

With the case already covered by mainstream media—one national broadcaster even aired it—the diffusion the project sought has turned against it. 'If they wanted exposure, now they will have it,' summarizes one message. The phrase, half joke, half sentence, marks the point where the matter jumps from niche to spectacle.

Addiction as an Economic Hole

The project's decline mirrors personal deterioration. The final stretch is weighed down by an addiction that the material describes without embellishment: income in a center, one month hospitalized, attempts to resume live broadcasts that last less than half an hour. One message points out the psychological mechanism: the brain stops producing sufficient stimuli and seeks the rush anywhere, in a donation, a gift from the heavens, a bet.

Caution is needed here. Everything related to health is recounted from the outside and without diagnosis. What the material does document, however, is the economic invoice of that deterioration: an empty caixa (fund), debt with the Tax Agency, and a capacity to generate income increasingly dependent on the viewer's pity.

Why a Community Funds What Sells Nothing

The question runs through the entire material: why do people give money to a project with no product. The answers are varied. One points to morbid curiosity, the desire to see the spectacle through to the end. Another, loyalty to a character attributed with talent. And a third, most uncomfortable, shifts the responsibility onto the defrauded themselves: whoever puts money into a channel sustained by begging for donations knows—or should know—what they are playing at.

That last theory, that the deceived is as culpable as the deceiver, has proponents and detractors. Against it weighs a simple argument: asymmetry. The seller promises results; the buyer has no way to verify them. It is not the same to be scammed as it is to scam yourself.