Taking money was easier than I thought April, 2000 By Susan Hansen* As Told To Shira J. Boss Good Housekeeping The first bill I couldn't pay arrived after Christmas. It was for my son's college tuition, In the amount of $1,800. I panicked. I knew there wasn't enough money to cover it in the checking account I shared with my husband. James made a good salary, $68,000, as a planning officer with the National Guard, and I was helping out, earning $32,000 at an insurance company. Throughout our 25-year marriage, we'd always gotten by without being in debt. What put us in this pinch was the sudden death of my father-in-law two months earlier. James's dad had always been very generous, paying for things for our family without ever being asked. Nearly every week he discreetly gave us a check ranging from $50 to $2,000. But when he died, my mother-in-law didn't keep up the practice. I hadn't realized what a huge difference these gifts had made. I was used to buying nice clothes for myself and the kids, and going out to dinner several times a week. When that money stopped coming, I didn't adjust our spending. I knew James had the $1,800 we needed for the tuition bill in his personal savings account. But I was embarrassed to tell him I'd overspent. So I sat on the bill for three weeks, worrying. Then, I got an idea. As a project manager at a large insurance company based in Madison, Wisconsin, I helped oversee construction on our corporate offices around the country. The budget for these projects was in the millions, and part of my job involved paying construction firms large sums for their work. I would give an invoice to my boss, who usually signed without looking at it. Then the invoice went to the accounting department, which issued a check. I'd pick up the check myself and mail it to the contractor. It occurred to me that if I generated a false invoice, I could cash the check myself, then repay the money in a couple of weeks. Looking back, I realize that, on some level, I felt the company owed me money. I'd been hired in 1993 and found the job stressful, especially because many of the contractors I dealt with seemed to resent taking orders from a woman. In my mind, I was never paid what I was worth. And it bothered me that I seemed to do so much of my boss's work while he earned a much higher salary than I did. In January 1994, I set up an account at a local bank, using the name of a nearby construction company where I had been previously employed. At work, I put through an invoice payable to that firm. A few days later, nearly shaking with fear, I went to the accounting department to pick up the check. I was just waiting for someone to question it. But nobody said anything. I was too terrified to walk into the bank, so I went to the drive-through window. Keeping up friendly chitchat with the teller, I filled out a slip, deposited some of the money, and took the rest in cash. Then I drove away. Taking money was easier than I thought. The next day I was afraid to go to work, and afraid not to go. At night, I stayed awake worrying that someone would figure out what I had done. But the days passed, and no one did. By the time I got my next paycheck, other bills had arrived, and we were short again, I decided to cash another check, promising myself that this would be the last time. About two weeks later, I cashed a check for $2,000. With the money left over after paying bills, I went shopping. I knew what I was doing was wrong. But at the same time, spending this money felt strangely exhilarating. I didn't worry about what things cost. Before long, I went back to cash yet another check. AFTER A FEW WEEKS, I STARTED THINKING it would be almost impossible to pay back all the money I'd taken given my $291-a-week take-home pay. Perhaps if they weren't going to notice, I thought, I could just stop and walk away. But I didn't stop. In fact, I started shopping more and more. If there was anything I wanted, I just cashed a check and bought it. It gave me a feeling of power; I could indulge myself and do anything I wanted for my three grown children. I started paying my daughter's rent and gave her extra grocery money. In the spring of 1995, I treated my three children, who were 26, 23, and 21 at the time, and a few of their friends to a vacation in Florida. That cost about $7,500. I spent another $25,000 on my daughter Melissa's wedding in July, making many of the arrangements myself so I could hide from James how much I spent. I can see now that giving my children expensive gifts was a way of trying to buy myself a place in their adult lives. (sorry, can’t get rid of the above rule…) I also started sprucing up the house, getting new furniture and making improvements. Because I handled construction-related accounts at work, my husband thought I was getting a special deal. Sometimes I lied to him about what items had cost. Women at the office, meanwhile, started to joke that I never wore the same outfit twice. Melissa was the only one who ever commented directly on my out-of-control spending. For her birthday, I bought her a designer outfit costing around $500. "Mom, you're going crazy spending. Are you sure you can afford it?" she asked me. "Everything is fine," I told her. "I have a good job, and so does your dad." EVERY TIME I PICKED UP A CHECK, I SAID to myself, This is absolutely the last time I'm going to do this. But then I would find an excuse to do it again. Over the course of two years, the amounts got higher and higher, up to $25,000 at a time by the end. At the bank I got more bold, walking right up to the counter instead of using the drive-through. By then, I was constantly anxious, though I tried hard to block from my mind what I was doing – or compensate for it by giving away some of the money. On Sundays, I would drop $200 or $300 in an envelope on the collection plate. At a church bake sale, I bought a $5 item, gave the lady a $100 bill and said, "Keep the change." She looked at me and said that people just don't do that. TWO EVENTS FINALLY FORCED ME TO FACE the fact that what I was doing was seriously wrong. In the late fall of 1995, I attended a local Chamber of Commerce lunch where Dick Bennett, the basketball coach of the University of Wisconsin at Madison, spoke. Bennett is a religious man and something of a local hero. He gave an inspirational talk about living what you believe and always giving people a second chance in business as you would in your personal life. I looked around the room and wondered what people would think of me if they knew what I was doing. I questioned how to stop myself. Then, about three weeks later, my cousin came to visit with his two young children. He is a pastor in Indiana. Everyone in my family looks up to him, and we have always been very close. But when he arrived, I felt so ashamed I could hardly look him in the eye. I pretended to be ill and stayed in my bedroom for a day and a half. I decided I had to confess my crime to him. But he had to leave early, and I never got the chance. On December 6, 1995, two years after I starting taking money from work, I went to bed feeling dark, totally hopeless. The next morning I woke up wanting to kill myself. I felt completely alone and didn't see any way out of my situation. The only person I felt I could turn to was our pastor. I called him that morning and started sobbing. An hour later I was at the church telling him I was in utter despair. MY PASTOR LISTENED QUIETLY TO MY story, then suggested that we go to the insurance company together and talk to the CEO, who is a member of the church and a friend of his. "I've been stealing from the company for two years," I blurted out when we sat down in the executive's office. The CEO was shocked, but didn't raise his voice or get angry. He told me that I was immediately terminated and asked if I would go and explain to the auditors how I had taken the money. I agreed. Then I had to face telling my husband. I drove to my friend's house, and she called James at work and told him to meet us there. We sat across from each other on her living room couch, and after I told him what I'd done, I cried so hard that I couldn't speak for several minutes. We talked for an hour, about what we could expect to happen now, and what it would mean to the children. I could tell that James was trying hard to stay calm. Then we went home and called the children – they all lived in Madison at the time – and asked them to drive over to the house. While they stood awkwardly around the kitchen, I told them what I'd done. They were shocked, disappointed, and, at times, angry. I remember Melissa asking, "You're not ever going to do anything like this again, are you?" I could see in their faces how much I had hurt them. Before they left on that horrible night, they hugged one other, and then me. IN JANUARY 1996, A MONTH AFTER I CONFESSED, a police detective came to talk to me and my husband. He concluded in his report that James had known nothing of my scheme and had not been involved. In March, I was charged with 12 counts of embezzlement, totaling $511,455. As part of a plea bargain, I pled guilty to four counts, and the other eight were dropped. The hearing with the judge lasted ten or 15 minutes, and then I was released on $1,000 bond, pending sentencing. The next day my story hit the front page of the Madison newspaper and the evening news. It was humiliating. James was supportive, but angry and frustrated at times. We would talk late into the night about why I had done what I'd done, and we started seeing a therapist. She helped us see that over the course of our marriage, we'd stopped talking deeply about our feelings and thoughts. For years, we'd confined our conversations to things that were safe – the kids, the house – and let so much about ourselves slip by. The maximum sentence for my crime is 40 years, but my lawyer explained that the district attorney would ask for ten years and that the judge would probably cut her request even more. And the time I would actually serve in prison would be even less than the sentence itself. In August, James, my lawyer, and I returned to the courthouse for the sentencing. But the judge did not cut my sentence as everyone had expected: He told the court that my crime was as serious as any street crime and that I'd had a promising future at the company but "blew it all in greed." Then he sentenced me to eight years in prison, to be followed by 25 years of probation after release, and set restitution at 75 percent of my future earnings. I went directly from the courtroom to jail. The next day an inmate read the newspaper story about the verdict aloud to taunt me. The judge also encouraged the insurance company to file a civil lawsuit against me to recover some of the money, which they did. To make matters worse, my criminal record put James in a difficult situation at work. Being married to a convicted felon caused him to have his security clearance suspended, and it became obvious he could not keep the position at the National Guard if he stayed married to me. We discussed the options and spoke with our pastor. The only solution seemed to be divorce. It was a sad and difficult thing to sign the divorce papers, but after all I'd put James through, I didn't want to cost him his career too. I TURNED 50 LAST YEAR, AND AM MORE than halfway through the five and a half years of jailtime that I'm expected to serve. Two friends who own businesses have each told me there will be a job waiting for me when I'm released. In a minimum-security institution with other female white-collar criminals. Almost every day I write in a journal, and I have sent several volumes to James so he can read them and share them with the kids. James visits me weekly, and our daughter Sarah, who still lives in Madison, visits twice a month. In April 1999, I was released so I could attend Sarah's wedding-a joyous occasion. The family also joins me here on major holidays, when the prison has special visiting days. Those times are especially bittersweet. Having attained the highest behavior ranking at the facility, I recently moved into apartment-style quarters with five other women. We cook our own meals in our own kitchen and can go in small, supervised groups on offgrounds outings. I volunteer as a teacher's assistant in the GED program here, drawing on skills I hadn't used since I taught high school in the seventies. In prison, you have a lot of time to think about what is really important. And I can tell you it's not the clothes, cars, and trips that I once convinced myself I needed. It's family-and having a sense of purpose. That's why the volunteer work I'm doing means so much to me. I see it as a special opportunity from God to help other women, and in turn, to rebuild myself. As strange as it may seem coming from a woman in prison, I'm more proud of myself now than I've been in years. *Name has been changed to protect privacy.