There’s a particular type of irony to seeing a government auditor wander into an obvious trap—especially when that trap is an investment scheme offering “too good to be true” returns and pitched on talk radio. As described in a thorough report by AL.com, Alabama State Auditor Andrew Sorrell managed to secure roles as donor recipient, investor, and yes, unwitting victim in a $140 million Ponzi operation operated by Georgia Republican Edwin Brandt Frost IV and his company, First Liberty Building and Loan. You don’t even have to squint hard to see the absurdity here.

A Stranger-Than-Fiction Paper Trail

AL.com’s Kyle Whitmire examines both Sorrell’s entanglement and the colorful flavor of the scam itself: Sorrell’s campaign and his PAC (“Alabama Christian Citizens”) took in $71,000 from Frost, making him Sorrell’s largest contributor in his Secretary of State campaign. But Sorrell’s involvement didn’t stop with accepting checks—in a move not exactly from the “standard good practices” playbook, his PAC then loaned $29,000 in donor funds to Frost’s not-quite-a-bank venture. That money, as campaign finance records detailed by the outlet show, ended up swirling in the same whirlpool as hundreds of other unwitting investors’ contributions.

The SEC’s complaint, reviewed by AL.com, outlines all the hallmarks: Only a handful of actual business loans (which quickly soured), an ever-growing need to pay off old investors with new funds, promises of 18 percent returns, and recruiting that moved from an inner circle of “friends and family” to the wide world of Christian-themed talk radio. Meanwhile, Frost and associates reportedly spent investor funds on everything from $335,000 worth of rare coins and $140,000 in jewelry to $570,000 in campaign donations (that last bit being shared among a laundry list of Southeastern Republican politicians, not least of all Sorrell).

Curiously, Sorrell did seek the Alabama Ethics Commission’s input before plunging in. According to Commission records cited by AL.com, his series of questions chart an almost comical escalation: first about investing in a certificate of deposit, then about FDIC insurance requirements, then about the feasibility of lending money to something “not technically a bank but, you know, bank-like.” The Commission replied in a formal opinion that, as long as he didn’t mix PAC and personal funds, Alabama law was silent on the matter. Within two weeks, Sorrell had transferred the PAC’s cash into Frost’s coffers—gambling, as it turns out, on a business whose banking credentials were entirely cosmetic.

AL.com’s analysis notes just how rare this sort of maneuver is: while it’s not uncommon for campaigns and PACs to earn a little interest from standard savings accounts, actually lending money from a PAC to a commercial lender (especially one uninsured) is essentially unheard of. This is the kind of financial first that makes long-time statehouse watchers pause mid-sentence.

The Sequence of Clean Campaign Promises and Cloudy Investments

Strikingly, the moment Sorrell’s name surfaced in the evolving scandal, he promptly pledged to return Frost’s donations to a court-appointed receiver—ostensibly so other “victims,” himself included, might recover at least a symbolic portion of their losses. Sorrell’s prepared statement, first reported by Alabama Reflector and highlighted in AL.com, reads: “One of the individuals responsible for the scheme donated personally and through his company to dozens of conservative Republican campaigns and political action committees across the southeast, including mine, and I will return the contributions to a court-appointed receiver as soon as the process is available.” It’s a tone of regret, mixed with the defensive anticipation of a campaign season ready to seize on any whiff of misjudgment.

Also unearthed by AL.com is that, mere days before news of Sorrell’s failed investment became public, he had challenged his primary opponent, Caroleen Dobson, to a “Clean Campaign Pledge”—a move presumably intended to forestall pointed questions about recognizing, or failing to recognize, a pyramid scheme. Is it remarkable timing? Or just another example of politicians trying to change the subject before the subject changes them? For those following along, the coincidence invites a certain eyebrow-raising, if not a wry chuckle.

The outlet also notes Sorrell is hardly alone in accepting Frost’s generosity—Alabama State Rep. Benjamin Harrison, Alabama State School Board member Allen Long, Mo Brooks, and Rep. Barry Moore all received varying amounts. None, however, came close to Sorrell’s combined total.

Watchdogs and the Occasional Bone

Amidst all this, the most nagging question floats to the top: If the state’s top auditor missed the glaring warning signs—high-yield, barely explained “bridge loans” marinated in Christian marketing—what chance does the average campaign donor have? AL.com details how Frost’s operation played to trust and ideological affinity, soliciting investments under the banner of shared beliefs and genteel returns, while funds mostly served to enrich Frost and sustain political connections with eye-popping donations.

Does the episode suggest a gap in Alabama’s laws around campaign fund investment—or just a gap in skepticism? The Ethics Commission itself, as referenced in AL.com’s account, seemed surprised by Sorrell’s inventive approach to PAC finance, but ultimately found no rule explicitly forbidding his actions. That silence proved costly for both Sorrell and the broader field of Southern conservative politics, now scrambling to distance themselves from Frost’s largesse.

What lesson should cautious onlookers draw from this saga? Is it that no profession—auditor, legislator, or otherwise—confers immunity from the siren song of unusually high and suspiciously convenient returns? Or perhaps just that, in politics, sometimes the watchdog is as likely to dig its own hole as it is to catch someone else in one.

In the end, AL.com’s reporting captures a blend of public farce and gentle tragedy: a reminder that the rules of money, like the rules of irony, never quite bend the way you hope. And really—if those tasked with minding the books can tumble into a pyramid scheme pitched over AM radio, have we learned anything since the days of “I’ve got a bridge to sell you?” Or do we just enjoy watching the reruns?

Either way, it makes you wonder what exactly passes for “unusual” in the world of campaign finance—and if, the next time an “amazing” opportunity knocks on the auditor’s door, anyone will double check who’s holding the keys.