Crime: Who Does The Time
By Jerome Mayne
At 9:00 a.m. on September 30, 1999, my seventy-year-old mother walked into the federal
criminal courthouse in downtown St. Paul, Minnesota. After nine months of grueling pre-
trial, articles in the newspapers, and calls from friends, it was judgment day. The crime:
conspiracy to commit mail fraud, wire fraud, and money laundering.
We all stood when federal Judge Richard H. Kyle walked in wearing a long, flowing black
robe. He sat, taking command of the bench. My girlfriend, my best friend from college,
and one of my brothers were there to support my family. I was holding my emotions
together pretty well until I saw the tears in my mother’s eyes.
In the preceding months, our family spent a lot of time telling friends, relatives and folks in
our little town our side of the story: The crime wasn’t even that bad. There certainly wasn’t
any malicious intent. In fact, we knew that once an explanation was given to the proper
authorities, they would probably call the whole thing off. How could someone in our family
be involved in a white collar conspiracy? My mother raised our family in a little town; a
farming community in rural Minnesota. In our town, everybody knew everybody else—and
knew everybody else’s business. Small gossip groups frequently broke out in front of the
post office and inside the bakery. I’m sure the locals yammered away about how they
thought they knew our family but… “I guess not!” I’m sure they discussed other unsolved
crimes in our town and concluded that we were the perpetrators. Maybe someone in our
family set that fire in ’75. Or, perhaps the family farm should be searched for Mrs.
Svensen’s purse that went missing in ’58. I’ve been to the bakery and the post office. I
know this is what the town gossiped about.
I’ll never forget the telephone conversation I had with my mother on the day of the
indictment. We talked about the handcuffs, the fingerprinting, and the mug shot. We
talked about the hour spent in a little jail cell. I couldn’t describe how awful I felt. Even
over the phone, I could tell my mother was shuddering.
Now, in the courtroom, all was quiet. Judge Kyle was flanked by his bailiff, the flag of our
state of Minnesota, and the flag of our country. From where I sat, Judge Kyle’s head
eclipsed the United States seal of justice that hung on the wall behind him. The silence
continued while he looked over the docket for the day.
He called the sentencing hearing to order. The attorneys used up about 20 minutes of
freedom speaking legalese to each other via the judge.
Then, Judge Kyle handed down a 21-month prison sentence to be served in the federal
prison in Yankton, South Dakota.
Everyone in the courtroom sat down except me. Then the judge asked me if I had
anything to say about the crime I had committed. I wanted to tell the judge that even
though it was me who did something wrong, I was sorry that everyone close to me,
everyone I love had to go through the same thing, too. But, behind me I could hear the
emotions of those I was sorry for, and I just couldn’t get the words out.
Yes, it was my crime. I did it. Not my mother. Not my friends or my kids. As you read the
above you might have thought it was my mother who committed the crime. I wrote it that
way on purpose so you could see that the title “mother” could be easily be substituted - as
could the titles, “girl-friend,” “brother,” “best friend,” or whatever fits your personal
circumstance. Additionally, the above only covers the embarrassment and the
experiences of loved ones prior to prison.
My crime was committed in 1994. I met a small group of “real estate investors” who
bought houses at low prices. I was the loan officer who helped get their buyers’ loans
approved so the real estate investors could sell them at inflated prices. This practice is
known as property flipping. I participated in about eight loans over a nine-month period.
None of these borrowers ever made mortgage payments.
Over the next three to four years, the FBI investigated these loans, and the U.S. attorney
put together a case against me. I was indicted and arrested in December of 1998.
Even though the real estate investors didn’t let me in on their scheme, I wasn’t stupid—I
knew what was going on. During the nine months that I worked with them, to put it mildly, I
turned my head. I found myself justifying my behavior. When I received documents I
suspected were fraudulent, I didn’t check them out or tell anyone because I knew that I
hadn’t printed them out. I talked myself into believing I wasn’t responsible.
Over these same nine months, my gray area widened. I received anonymous $100 bills
every so often. After a while, I decided I was as smart as these “real estate investors” so I
bought a house to flip at a higher price. When I couldn’t find a buyer, I asked the “real
estate investors” to refer one of their borrowers to me, and they did.
Of course this borrower could have actually been from Mars—but her paperwork said she
had a good job and was going to “owner occupy” the old house I had purchased in a
depressed neighborhood of Minneapolis. I ignored the fact that her supporting
paperwork was bogus. With that, I had just participated in my own version of property
flipping and, like it or not, I was officially in business with the “real estate investors.”
During the period of time I worked with the real estate investors, I thought, “Wow! These
guys could probably go to prison for this stuff.” Towards the end of my involvement with
them, I thought it was possible that I could go too.
When I turned my head and submitted documents I suspected contained false
information, I wasn’t thinking of the consequences or the future. I knew that on some level,
I was doing something wrong. I could feel it. I knew it was possible that I might get in
trouble but maybe just reprimanded. I didn’t pay attention to my gut feeling. I didn’t ask
tough questions of the borrowers, such as “Hey, did you print out these pay stubs last
night?” I rationalized, “I don’t want to lose my business source! And besides, I didn’t print
these documents out.”
On November 4th, 1999, I was remanded to the custody of the Federal Bureau of Prisons
and served most of my sentence in the Federal Prison in Yankton, South Dakota. That’s
325 miles, each way, from my home in Minneapolis. It’s about an extra 50 miles for the
rest of my family.
My ex-wife wasn’t interested in letting my three- and five-year old kids come to visit. It
was only after two-and-a-half months that I got permission to have a conference call with
the family court to compel the sharing of our children. Being denied the right to see my
kids was a punishment to me. That’s fine. However, if they lose their father for 21
months, that’s punishment to them. It was never my intention that they do my time.
Was there a better way to explain to a three year old, who doesn’t understand the concept
of time—doesn’t know how long one year is—that I was going to be gone for two Santa
Clauses? Was it just my loss that I missed my kids’ first day of kindergarten? These
losses weren’t just punishment for me.
My girlfriend drove 325 miles each way, every weekend of my prison sentence, to see me
during visiting hours. She spent thousands of dollars on gas and hotel rooms. Other
family members and friends also came to visit. They had to invest time and money, too.
My girlfriend and I learned that in order to get one of the good seats in the visiting room,
she would have to arrive at the prison early so she could be in the front of the line. All the
other visitors knew this, too. So, in order to be at the front of the line, she would have to
be at the outdoor entrance a half-hour before the doors opened. If you’ve ever been to
South Dakota in the winter, you know that the temperatures can reach sub-zero levels;
pretty uncomfortable if you happen to be wearing a skirt.
I heard reports from several of my friends and family members that they were treated with
disdain by the guards when they came to visit. Why were they treated like criminals?
Because they were coming to visit one. Is there guilt by association? You better believe
it.
If someone was going to be treated like a criminal, it should have been me: the criminal.
But it doesn’t work that way. I didn’t think about that when I was committing my crimes.
I didn’t like getting indicted. I didn’t like losing all material possessions, going to prison
and, losing the respect of my peers. But by participating in fraudulent activities, it was at
least foreseeable that I suffered the consequences.
My message to Corporate Americans: it’s your choice to ignore the rules and the laws.
You are the one who makes the decision to turn your head. Just remember: even if you’re
comfortable going to prison, it’s not just you who will do the time.
Jerome Mayne is a keynote speaker and author. He has worked with dozens of companies and associations
around the country helping their people make the right decisions, when the right decisions aren’t easy. He is a
member of the National Speakers Association as well as the Real Estate Educators Association. He’s the
author of the book, Life Saving Lessons – The Diary of a White Collar Criminal and co-author of Mortgage Fraud
and Predatory Lending – what every agent should know (Kaplan Publishing).
© Copyright, Jerome Mayne 2008
By Jerome Mayne
At 9:00 a.m. on September 30, 1999, my seventy-year-old mother walked into the federal
criminal courthouse in downtown St. Paul, Minnesota. After nine months of grueling pre-
trial, articles in the newspapers, and calls from friends, it was judgment day. The crime:
conspiracy to commit mail fraud, wire fraud, and money laundering.
We all stood when federal Judge Richard H. Kyle walked in wearing a long, flowing black
robe. He sat, taking command of the bench. My girlfriend, my best friend from college,
and one of my brothers were there to support my family. I was holding my emotions
together pretty well until I saw the tears in my mother’s eyes.
In the preceding months, our family spent a lot of time telling friends, relatives and folks in
our little town our side of the story: The crime wasn’t even that bad. There certainly wasn’t
any malicious intent. In fact, we knew that once an explanation was given to the proper
authorities, they would probably call the whole thing off. How could someone in our family
be involved in a white collar conspiracy? My mother raised our family in a little town; a
farming community in rural Minnesota. In our town, everybody knew everybody else—and
knew everybody else’s business. Small gossip groups frequently broke out in front of the
post office and inside the bakery. I’m sure the locals yammered away about how they
thought they knew our family but… “I guess not!” I’m sure they discussed other unsolved
crimes in our town and concluded that we were the perpetrators. Maybe someone in our
family set that fire in ’75. Or, perhaps the family farm should be searched for Mrs.
Svensen’s purse that went missing in ’58. I’ve been to the bakery and the post office. I
know this is what the town gossiped about.
I’ll never forget the telephone conversation I had with my mother on the day of the
indictment. We talked about the handcuffs, the fingerprinting, and the mug shot. We
talked about the hour spent in a little jail cell. I couldn’t describe how awful I felt. Even
over the phone, I could tell my mother was shuddering.
Now, in the courtroom, all was quiet. Judge Kyle was flanked by his bailiff, the flag of our
state of Minnesota, and the flag of our country. From where I sat, Judge Kyle’s head
eclipsed the United States seal of justice that hung on the wall behind him. The silence
continued while he looked over the docket for the day.
He called the sentencing hearing to order. The attorneys used up about 20 minutes of
freedom speaking legalese to each other via the judge.
Then, Judge Kyle handed down a 21-month prison sentence to be served in the federal
prison in Yankton, South Dakota.
Everyone in the courtroom sat down except me. Then the judge asked me if I had
anything to say about the crime I had committed. I wanted to tell the judge that even
though it was me who did something wrong, I was sorry that everyone close to me,
everyone I love had to go through the same thing, too. But, behind me I could hear the
emotions of those I was sorry for, and I just couldn’t get the words out.
Yes, it was my crime. I did it. Not my mother. Not my friends or my kids. As you read the
above you might have thought it was my mother who committed the crime. I wrote it that
way on purpose so you could see that the title “mother” could be easily be substituted - as
could the titles, “girl-friend,” “brother,” “best friend,” or whatever fits your personal
circumstance. Additionally, the above only covers the embarrassment and the
experiences of loved ones prior to prison.
My crime was committed in 1994. I met a small group of “real estate investors” who
bought houses at low prices. I was the loan officer who helped get their buyers’ loans
approved so the real estate investors could sell them at inflated prices. This practice is
known as property flipping. I participated in about eight loans over a nine-month period.
None of these borrowers ever made mortgage payments.
Over the next three to four years, the FBI investigated these loans, and the U.S. attorney
put together a case against me. I was indicted and arrested in December of 1998.
Even though the real estate investors didn’t let me in on their scheme, I wasn’t stupid—I
knew what was going on. During the nine months that I worked with them, to put it mildly, I
turned my head. I found myself justifying my behavior. When I received documents I
suspected were fraudulent, I didn’t check them out or tell anyone because I knew that I
hadn’t printed them out. I talked myself into believing I wasn’t responsible.
Over these same nine months, my gray area widened. I received anonymous $100 bills
every so often. After a while, I decided I was as smart as these “real estate investors” so I
bought a house to flip at a higher price. When I couldn’t find a buyer, I asked the “real
estate investors” to refer one of their borrowers to me, and they did.
Of course this borrower could have actually been from Mars—but her paperwork said she
had a good job and was going to “owner occupy” the old house I had purchased in a
depressed neighborhood of Minneapolis. I ignored the fact that her supporting
paperwork was bogus. With that, I had just participated in my own version of property
flipping and, like it or not, I was officially in business with the “real estate investors.”
During the period of time I worked with the real estate investors, I thought, “Wow! These
guys could probably go to prison for this stuff.” Towards the end of my involvement with
them, I thought it was possible that I could go too.
When I turned my head and submitted documents I suspected contained false
information, I wasn’t thinking of the consequences or the future. I knew that on some level,
I was doing something wrong. I could feel it. I knew it was possible that I might get in
trouble but maybe just reprimanded. I didn’t pay attention to my gut feeling. I didn’t ask
tough questions of the borrowers, such as “Hey, did you print out these pay stubs last
night?” I rationalized, “I don’t want to lose my business source! And besides, I didn’t print
these documents out.”
On November 4th, 1999, I was remanded to the custody of the Federal Bureau of Prisons
and served most of my sentence in the Federal Prison in Yankton, South Dakota. That’s
325 miles, each way, from my home in Minneapolis. It’s about an extra 50 miles for the
rest of my family.
My ex-wife wasn’t interested in letting my three- and five-year old kids come to visit. It
was only after two-and-a-half months that I got permission to have a conference call with
the family court to compel the sharing of our children. Being denied the right to see my
kids was a punishment to me. That’s fine. However, if they lose their father for 21
months, that’s punishment to them. It was never my intention that they do my time.
Was there a better way to explain to a three year old, who doesn’t understand the concept
of time—doesn’t know how long one year is—that I was going to be gone for two Santa
Clauses? Was it just my loss that I missed my kids’ first day of kindergarten? These
losses weren’t just punishment for me.
My girlfriend drove 325 miles each way, every weekend of my prison sentence, to see me
during visiting hours. She spent thousands of dollars on gas and hotel rooms. Other
family members and friends also came to visit. They had to invest time and money, too.
My girlfriend and I learned that in order to get one of the good seats in the visiting room,
she would have to arrive at the prison early so she could be in the front of the line. All the
other visitors knew this, too. So, in order to be at the front of the line, she would have to
be at the outdoor entrance a half-hour before the doors opened. If you’ve ever been to
South Dakota in the winter, you know that the temperatures can reach sub-zero levels;
pretty uncomfortable if you happen to be wearing a skirt.
I heard reports from several of my friends and family members that they were treated with
disdain by the guards when they came to visit. Why were they treated like criminals?
Because they were coming to visit one. Is there guilt by association? You better believe
it.
If someone was going to be treated like a criminal, it should have been me: the criminal.
But it doesn’t work that way. I didn’t think about that when I was committing my crimes.
I didn’t like getting indicted. I didn’t like losing all material possessions, going to prison
and, losing the respect of my peers. But by participating in fraudulent activities, it was at
least foreseeable that I suffered the consequences.
My message to Corporate Americans: it’s your choice to ignore the rules and the laws.
You are the one who makes the decision to turn your head. Just remember: even if you’re
comfortable going to prison, it’s not just you who will do the time.
Jerome Mayne is a keynote speaker and author. He has worked with dozens of companies and associations
around the country helping their people make the right decisions, when the right decisions aren’t easy. He is a
member of the National Speakers Association as well as the Real Estate Educators Association. He’s the
author of the book, Life Saving Lessons – The Diary of a White Collar Criminal and co-author of Mortgage Fraud
and Predatory Lending – what every agent should know (Kaplan Publishing).
© Copyright, Jerome Mayne 2008
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| Jerome Mayne |
Contact:
612-919-3007
E-mail
9185 Cedar Forest Rd.
Eden Prairie, MN 55347
612-919-3007
9185 Cedar Forest Rd.
Eden Prairie, MN 55347
 |
All of Fraudcon and Jerome Mayne Services:
Jerome Mayne is a Public Speaker for Fraud Conferences and Fraud Conventions, including
Mortgage Fraud Conferences and Mortgage Fraud Conventions. In addition to being a Fraud,
Mortgage Fraud and White Collar Crime and White Collar Mortgage Fraud Public Speaking
Expert, he also consults for Public Speakers who speak in the areas of Fraud, Mortgage Fraud,
White Collar Crime and White Collar Mortgage Fraud Public Speaking.
A customized public speaking engagement can include fraud statistics, federal fraud statistics,
mortgage fraud statistics and the effects of fraud on a company.
Has been an Expert and a Keynote Fraud Public Speaker at Fraud, Mortgage Fraud, White Collar
Crime and White Collar Mortgage Fraud Public Speaking events, including conferences and
conventions. For specific engagements, see client list.
Primary Areas of Expertise:
Mortgage Fraud Public Speaker
White Collar Crime Public Speaker
Fraud Public Speaker Trainer
Fraud Public Speaker Consultant
Fraud Convention Public Speaker
Fraud Conference Public Speaker
Fraud Expert Public Speaker
Mortgage Fraud Expert Public Speaker
Mortgage Fraud Consultant Public Speaker
Jerome has developed a talk on ethics that evokes thought and discussion. He explores the
definition of ethics as described on www.dictionary.com, the differences between general business
ethics and the set of principals of right conduct, or ethics, as set forth by an employer or a trade
association. His talk on ethics was designed for presentation to the MBA program at Hamline
University in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
Jerome Mayne is a Public Speaker for Fraud Conferences and Fraud Conventions, including
Mortgage Fraud Conferences and Mortgage Fraud Conventions. In addition to being a Fraud,
Mortgage Fraud and White Collar Crime and White Collar Mortgage Fraud Public Speaking
Expert, he also consults for Public Speakers who speak in the areas of Fraud, Mortgage Fraud,
White Collar Crime and White Collar Mortgage Fraud Public Speaking.
A customized public speaking engagement can include fraud statistics, federal fraud statistics,
mortgage fraud statistics and the effects of fraud on a company.
Has been an Expert and a Keynote Fraud Public Speaker at Fraud, Mortgage Fraud, White Collar
Crime and White Collar Mortgage Fraud Public Speaking events, including conferences and
conventions. For specific engagements, see client list.
Primary Areas of Expertise:
Mortgage Fraud Public Speaker
White Collar Crime Public Speaker
Fraud Public Speaker Trainer
Fraud Public Speaker Consultant
Fraud Convention Public Speaker
Fraud Conference Public Speaker
Fraud Expert Public Speaker
Mortgage Fraud Expert Public Speaker
Mortgage Fraud Consultant Public Speaker
Jerome has developed a talk on ethics that evokes thought and discussion. He explores the
definition of ethics as described on www.dictionary.com, the differences between general business
ethics and the set of principals of right conduct, or ethics, as set forth by an employer or a trade
association. His talk on ethics was designed for presentation to the MBA program at Hamline
University in Minneapolis, Minnesota.