David Marchese

The total amount that he stole from the bank came out to $47.1 million. Shane Haynes was just about the last person anyone in Elkhart thought would fall for a scam like this. He had been part of the community for decades. He'd worked his way up from a loan officer to become president of the bank.

Everyone in town thought he was super smart, financially astute, a really good and reliable leader of this important community institution. Shane volunteered at high school football games. He served on the school board, preached at the local church, and he also represented the community in Washington.

Everyone in town thought he was super smart, financially astute, a really good and reliable leader of this important community institution. Shane volunteered at high school football games. He served on the school board, preached at the local church, and he also represented the community in Washington.

He even once testified in front of the House of Representatives about the needs of small-town banks. This wasn't any ordinary bank either. Its shareholders were all locals. In many cases, people's shares in the bank made up the core of their emergency savings and retirement funds. So when the bank collapsed, people lost the money they had been hoping to pass on to their children and grandchildren.

He even once testified in front of the House of Representatives about the needs of small-town banks. This wasn't any ordinary bank either. Its shareholders were all locals. In many cases, people's shares in the bank made up the core of their emergency savings and retirement funds. So when the bank collapsed, people lost the money they had been hoping to pass on to their children and grandchildren.

And the person to blame was one of their own neighbors. So when I came across this story, my big question was, how did Shane Haynes, this pillar of the community who everyone in Elkhart knew and trusted, get ensnared in a scam like this, one that would lead to the downfall of an entire bank? And what does a traumatic event like this do to a small community?

And the person to blame was one of their own neighbors. So when I came across this story, my big question was, how did Shane Haynes, this pillar of the community who everyone in Elkhart knew and trusted, get ensnared in a scam like this, one that would lead to the downfall of an entire bank? And what does a traumatic event like this do to a small community?

That's what this week's Sunday Read is about. Our audio producer today is Tali Abacasis. The music you'll hear was written and performed by Aaron Esposito. So here's my story. Thanks for listening. Jim Tucker could hardly believe what he was hearing. It sounded like fiction, a nightmare too outlandish for an unassuming town like his.

That's what this week's Sunday Read is about. Our audio producer today is Tali Abacasis. The music you'll hear was written and performed by Aaron Esposito. So here's my story. Thanks for listening. Jim Tucker could hardly believe what he was hearing. It sounded like fiction, a nightmare too outlandish for an unassuming town like his.

It was July 2023, and Tucker was hosting a meeting of the board of Heartland Tri-State Bank, a community-owned business in a small Kansas town called Elkhart. Heartland was a beloved local institution and a source of Tucker family pride. Jim served on the board with his elderly father, Bill, who founded the bank four decades earlier.

It was July 2023, and Tucker was hosting a meeting of the board of Heartland Tri-State Bank, a community-owned business in a small Kansas town called Elkhart. Heartland was a beloved local institution and a source of Tucker family pride. Jim served on the board with his elderly father, Bill, who founded the bank four decades earlier.

All the board members, the Tuckers and several other farmers and business people, had known one another for years. That evening, however, they were gathering to discuss what seemed on its face an epic betrayal.

All the board members, the Tuckers and several other farmers and business people, had known one another for years. That evening, however, they were gathering to discuss what seemed on its face an epic betrayal.

Over the past few weeks, the bank's longtime president, a popular local businessman named Shane Haynes, had ordered a series of unexplained wire transfers that drained tens of millions of dollars from the bank. Haynes converted the funds into cryptocurrencies. Then the money vanished.

Over the past few weeks, the bank's longtime president, a popular local businessman named Shane Haynes, had ordered a series of unexplained wire transfers that drained tens of millions of dollars from the bank. Haynes converted the funds into cryptocurrencies. Then the money vanished.

Tucker's first inkling that something was wrong came from a friend, an investor in the bank who was close to Haynes. A few days before the board meeting, he confided to Tucker that Haynes had messed up. A wire transfer went out, supposedly to help a struggling customer, and now the bank was $30 million in the hole.

Tucker's first inkling that something was wrong came from a friend, an investor in the bank who was close to Haynes. A few days before the board meeting, he confided to Tucker that Haynes had messed up. A wire transfer went out, supposedly to help a struggling customer, and now the bank was $30 million in the hole.

By the time the board members gathered, it was clear that Heartland was caught up in some sort of financial scam, a sophisticated grift that delivered its assets into the clutches of an overseas crypto crime network. At the meeting, Haynes seemed oddly nonchalant, exuding the air of an overconfident salesman.

By the time the board members gathered, it was clear that Heartland was caught up in some sort of financial scam, a sophisticated grift that delivered its assets into the clutches of an overseas crypto crime network. At the meeting, Haynes seemed oddly nonchalant, exuding the air of an overconfident salesman.

Tucker had heard that he had spent the past week at an out-of-state leadership conference. Guys, I'm sorry, Haynes told the board, but we're going to get it fixed. Haynes promised that he could recover the money, a total of $47.1 million. All he needed was the board's approval to borrow another $18 million.