2 SC co-workers rue the day they cheated a COVID loan program
2 SC co-workers rue the day they cheated a COVID loan program Charleston Post Courier

Two former co-workers who bilked a COVID-19 emergency loan program out of nearly $232,000 avoided prison time last week after expressing deep remorse and shame for what they described as a “stupid decision” and “despicable acts.”
A “tragic lapse of judgment” also comes to mind.
Adam Cessna and Suzanne Weintraub, who were romantically involved at the time of the crimes but no longer are, were in U.S. District Court in downtown Charleston on Sept. 22 to learn their fates
The Mount Pleasant residents appeared separately before Judge Bruce Howe Hendricks, who accepted their guilty pleas earlier this year to one count each of conspiracy to commit wire fraud.
Prosecutor Amy Bowers said the U.S. Attorney’s Office didn’t oppose reduced sentences in this instance. But the government also felt some amount of incarceration would serve as “appropriate” deterrent for Cessna and Weintraub.
Howe sentenced them instead to probation: the maximum five years for Cessna, who’s been unable to make any restitution; and 12 months for Weintraub, who’s repaid more than what she took in from the fraud.
The two unlikely collaborators were charged separately, and they implicated each other when investigators knocked on their doors.
The Small Business Administration created the Payroll Protection Program in 2020 as an emergency response to the COVID-19 pandemic. File/AP
Howe said their cooperation was among the mitigating factors she weighed in determining their sentences. In Cessna’s case, she felt it would be more beneficial to taxpayers if the first-time offender can earn money to pay back the government rather than serve time.
No priors
Cessna and Weintraub were among the first Lowcountry residents caught with their hands in the government cookie jar known as the Payroll Protection Program, which the U.S. Small Business Administration created in 2020 to save jobs and stabilize the economy during the early days of the pandemic.
Theirs wasn’t a sophisticated scheme — it was a near replicate of the hundreds if not thousands of PPP frauds that are being investigated and prosecuted across the country. They were able to obtain the free emergency funds by submitting false tax statements and other documents on behalf of an automotive business that he and a bakery that she claimed they owned.
One of the more head-scratching details of their conspiracy is that Cessna, 39, and Weintraub, 47, had no past criminal records and were holding down good jobs at Boeing Co. in North Charleston when they decided to test the few-questions-asked PPP honor system. Both were fired after the criminal charges were announced earlier this year.
College-educated with a master’s degree in business administration, Weintraub, who is from Illinois, pursued an upwardly mobile career in information technology. At Boeing, her last position was business systems manager. She also enjoys tutoring and volunteering for community projects in her free time.
Cessna is an Ohio native, Air Force veteran and father of one. He had worked his way up at the 787 Dreamliner plant from maintenance technician to program administrator.
Somewhere along the line, the two met.
Their boyfriend-girlfriend relationship took a wrong turn in the spring of 2020, according to a 27-page memorandum that Weintraub defense attorney Joe Griffith filed last week.
The document, which wasn’t discussed at Thursday’s sentencings, suggested that Cessna told investigators it was Weintraub who took “charge of the process.” It then went on to say that it was he who “hatched a plan to submit fraudulent PPP loan applications to the SBA, and manipulatively urged Suzanne to help him proceed with the plan.”
It’s undisputed that Weintraub received $122,445 — and another ill-gotten $10,000 from a different federal aid program. According to the memorandum, she, “at his insistence, gave Cessna approximately $85,500 of the proceeds, primarily used for the purchase of a truck and boat.” He also paid off some credit card debt and bought other personal items.
The SBA loan that Cessna received was for slightly less than $100,000. The pricey truck he bought has since been traded in for a more modest model, and the boat was sold at a small loss, said Cameron Blazer, his defense attorney. He owns no assets of value that the government can seize.
‘Stupid’ choice, ‘dark path’
For her part, Weintraub has put her financial obligations behind her. She borrowed against her home to make restitution and has repaid all of her illicit SBA loan proceeds and more, including the $85,500 she gave Cessna, some $6,000 in bank fees the government incurred and $2,600 in interest.
“I didn’t deserve a dime of that money,” she said.
The sentencing proceedings included apologies and emotional pleas for leniency. Cessna and Weintraub each told the judge they take full responsibility for their actions — and that they’ve been affected in ways, both personally and professionally, that they never could have imagined.
Cessna testified that he’s about lose his home and that his custody rights with his child are in jeopardy. He’s also having trouble finding a job.
“It was the dumbest decision I ever made in my life,” Cessna said. “I’m really not a bad person. It was a stupid decision, and I’m going to lose everything.”
Weintraub was accompanied by two friends who spoke about her character, as well as her uncharacteristic decision to break the law. She took a deep breath before reading her prepared statement, saying she never “cheated on anything” before the SBA loan scheme and that she’s been “vilified” by some of her onetime colleagues and acquaintances.
“I allowed myself to go down a very dark path that has about cost me everything,” she said.
Weintraub and Cessna weren’t asked — and didn’t volunteer in open court — exactly what enticed them to cross the line in mid-2020, after leading law-abiding lives. Maybe it can explained away simply as short-term greed. Or short-term needs at the peak of the pandemic.
In exchange for the relatively paltry sum they briefly banked, the cost will be steep. Their day-to-day lives as felons include a mess of new rules, restrictions and reporting requirements.
The judge drove that point home. Howe warned them that if either violates any probation terms she’ll have them hauled off to prison for up to five years.
“And I’m serious about that,” she said.