Indicted! Rep. Cherfilus-McCormick’s $5M COVID Cash Grab Exposed

Paul Riverbank, 11/20/2025Rep. Cherfilus-McCormick indicted for alleged $5M COVID relief fraud, igniting political and legal upheaval.

While allegations of political wrongdoing are hardly new territory in American government, the details emerging from this case have left even seasoned observers unsettled. Investigators say Cherfilus-McCormick and her brother, Edwin Cherfilus, operated their family-run health care business as a front, channeling FEMA money earmarked for vaccination staff contracts during the pandemic’s height. The company reportedly took in not just what it was owed, but a $5 million overage—an amount that prosecutors say was systematically hidden by moving funds through a network of accounts.

Digging further, authorities characterize the operation as strikingly bold: rather than returning the excess, the indictment describes a flow of money filtered through friends, associates, and so-called straw donors. On paper, these individuals appeared as campaign contributors, but federal documents allege they were simply conduits for public funds reaching Cherfilus-McCormick’s campaign coffers. Significant portions, investigators claim, were also pocketed for personal use. The document doesn’t mince words—outlining both the scale and the method of the scheme.

If convicted on the full gamut of charges, Cherfilus-McCormick faces the alarming possibility of decades behind bars—up to 53 years, while her brother could see 35. Two additional figures, Nadege Leblanc and David K. Spencer, figure into the story as well: Leblanc is named as an orchestrator in the donation scheme, while Spencer, a tax preparer, faces accusations of lying on federal tax returns. According to the charges, questionable write-offs were made in the attempt to shrink Cherfilus-McCormick’s owed taxes, blending personal and campaign costs as business expenses. Each step, if proven, deepens the narrative of financial wrongdoing.

Reactions have poured in with the kind of velocity only modern media can deliver. Attorney General Pam Bondi made her stance unmistakable, decrying the alleged theft as a "particularly selfish, cynical crime.” Her words echo the general mood: intense scrutiny of anyone entrusted with public resources, particularly during a crisis. Republican Rep. Greg Steube, not one to hold back, promised immediate action in Congress—including a push for censure and committee removal. The state’s Republican Party quickly demanded resignation, branding the affair “absolutely disgusting.”

It’s worth noting that Cherfilus-McCormick’s office, so far, has remained silent. She has publicly denied wrongdoing in earlier ethics inquiries, a stance she may try to maintain as this legal battle plays out. A House Ethics Committee investigation opened earlier this year and is ongoing—back in July, the congresswoman reiterated her cooperation, emphasizing that no findings had yet been concluded.

As things stand, few cases in recent memory have spotlighted the potential for COVID relief funds to be abused on this scale. The questions swirling around the indictment now extend far beyond the immediate legal jeopardy faced by Cherfilus-McCormick and her codefendants; they touch on faith in the oversight of emergency spending, and on the responsibility leaders owe both to taxpayers and to those whose wellbeing depends on these vital programs.

The story is still unfolding, and the legal process is only beginning. But if the justice system follows the painstaking trail investigators have begun to lay out, this could become a defining example of the consequences that follow when public trust is put on the line—and, if proven, when it is blatantly betrayed.

The news that Rep. Sheila Cherfilus-McCormick has been indicted in Miami sent jolts through Florida’s political landscape late this week. The Democratic congresswoman, representing the state’s 20th district, is facing accusations that hit at the heart of public trust: federal prosecutors allege a sprawling scheme to siphon $5 million from funds intended for COVID-19 relief, redirecting those dollars from the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) into private pockets—and, as prosecutors claim, toward her own campaign.While allegations of political wrongdoing are hardly new territory in American government, the details emerging from this case have left even seasoned observers unsettled. Investigators say Cherfilus-McCormick and her brother, Edwin Cherfilus, operated their family-run health care business as a front, channeling FEMA money earmarked for vaccination staff contracts during the pandemic’s height. The company reportedly took in not just what it was owed, but a $5 million overage—an amount that prosecutors say was systematically hidden by moving funds through a network of accounts.Digging further, authorities characterize the operation as strikingly bold: rather than returning the excess, the indictment describes a flow of money filtered through friends, associates, and so-called straw donors. On paper, these individuals appeared as campaign contributors, but federal documents allege they were simply conduits for public funds reaching Cherfilus-McCormick’s campaign coffers. Significant portions, investigators claim, were also pocketed for personal use. The document doesn’t mince words—outlining both the scale and the method of the scheme.If convicted on the full gamut of charges, Cherfilus-McCormick faces the alarming possibility of decades behind bars—up to 53 years, while her brother could see 35. Two additional figures, Nadege Leblanc and David K. Spencer, figure into the story as well: Leblanc is named as an orchestrator in the donation scheme, while Spencer, a tax preparer, faces accusations of lying on federal tax returns. According to the charges, questionable write-offs were made in the attempt to shrink Cherfilus-McCormick’s owed taxes, blending personal and campaign costs as business expenses. Each step, if proven, deepens the narrative of financial wrongdoing.Reactions have poured in with the kind of velocity only modern media can deliver. Attorney General Pam Bondi made her stance unmistakable, decrying the alleged theft as a "particularly selfish, cynical crime.” Her words echo the general mood: intense scrutiny of anyone entrusted with public resources, particularly during a crisis. Republican Rep. Greg Steube, not one to hold back, promised immediate action in Congress—including a push for censure and committee removal. The state’s Republican Party quickly demanded resignation, branding the affair “absolutely disgusting.”It’s worth noting that Cherfilus-McCormick’s office, so far, has remained silent. She has publicly denied wrongdoing in earlier ethics inquiries, a stance she may try to maintain as this legal battle plays out. A House Ethics Committee investigation opened earlier this year and is ongoing—back in July, the congresswoman reiterated her cooperation, emphasizing that no findings had yet been concluded.As things stand, few cases in recent memory have spotlighted the potential for COVID relief funds to be abused on this scale. The questions swirling around the indictment now extend far beyond the immediate legal jeopardy faced by Cherfilus-McCormick and her codefendants; they touch on faith in the oversight of emergency spending, and on the responsibility leaders owe both to taxpayers and to those whose wellbeing depends on these vital programs.The story is still unfolding, and the legal process is only beginning. But if the justice system follows the painstaking trail investigators have begun to lay out, this could become a defining example of the consequences that follow when public trust is put on the line—and, if proven, when it is blatantly betrayed.