Inside a small interrogation room, a detective placed several bank statements in front of me.
“Mrs. Wilson, do you recognize these transactions?”
I looked at the papers.
“Yes. I made those transfers. But I was helping Daniel!”
The detective leaned forward.
“Do you know how much money you transferred?”
I shook my head.
“Almost $400,000.”
My heart nearly stopped.
Three weeks earlier, Daniel had told me he worked for a charity that helped elderly people who couldn’t afford housing or medical care.
One afternoon, he sounded worried.
“Sweetheart, our charity’s bank account has been temporarily frozen. Several families are waiting for their assistance. Could you help me?”
“Of course, darling. What do you need?”
“I just need you to receive some donations into your account and forward them where they belong.”
I hesitated.
But Daniel sounded so sincere.
He had even shown me photographs of smiling elderly people he claimed his organization had helped.
So I agreed.
Over the following weeks, several large payments arrived in my account.
Daniel would call and tell me where to send the money.
