Broadband Bandits: Contractor Jailed for Stealing Internet Access From Rural Maryland

Wayne I. Kacher, Jr., a 52-year-old contractor from Harford County, Maryland, walked into a federal courtroom last week and left with a 20-month prison sentence. His crime? A calculated conspiracy of bribery, honest services wire fraud, and federal program corruption that siphoned public trust and taxpayer dollars from a project meant to bring high-speed internet to Maryland’s forgotten corners. Kacher, the head of Bel Air Underground, Inc., didn’t act alone. He colluded with William Patrick Mitchell, the former president of the Maryland Broadband Cooperative, a nonprofit tasked with wiring underserved communities. Together, they turned a noble mission into a personal piggy bank.

The details are as infuriating as they are predictable. From 2014 to 2018, Kacher funneled cash, paid for an all-terrain vehicle, and even bankrolled renovations to Mitchell’s home, including a shiny new pole building. In return, Mitchell steered over $11 million in contracts to Kacher’s company, with $7.9 million tied to a critical fiber-optic link between NASA Wallops Island and Patuxent River Naval Air Station. This wasn’t just greed; it was a betrayal of the families, students, and patients who desperately need reliable internet to compete in a world that’s already left them behind.

What stings most is the context. This scandal unfolded against a backdrop of historic federal investment to close the digital divide, a gap that has long separated rural and low-income Americans from the opportunities the rest of us take for granted. The Biden administration’s Internet for All initiative poured nearly $50 billion into broadband expansion since 2021, aiming to deliver telemedicine to isolated clinics and online classrooms to kids in trailer parks. Kacher and Mitchell’s scheme didn’t just line their pockets; it threatened to unravel that promise.

Let’s be clear about what’s at stake. High-speed internet isn’t a luxury; it’s a lifeline. In rural Maryland, where the Maryland Broadband Cooperative was supposed to make a difference, spotty connections mean a farmer can’t check crop prices, a single mom can’t apply for jobs online, and a diabetic grandmother can’t consult her doctor via telehealth. Trial testimony laid bare how Kacher’s bribes skewed priorities, diverting resources from communities that can’t afford another setback. The $7.9 million fiber-optic project, meant to boost military communications, also held the potential to anchor broader civilian access. Instead, it became a monument to self-interest.

This isn’t an isolated incident. Look at the Cambridge International Systems case, where a contractor bribed a Naval Information Warfare Center employee for millions in contracts, or Raytheon’s $950 million penalty for bribing a Qatari official. These aren’t victimless crimes. Every dollar lost to corruption is a dollar not spent on a kid’s education or a patient’s care. The Department of Justice recovered $2.4 billion in 2024 alone through whistleblower lawsuits under the False Claims Act, exposing a web of overcharging and false certifications. Yet, for every case caught, how many slip through?

Opponents might argue that cracking down on contractors risks stifling business innovation or that sentencing men like Kacher to prison ignores the complexity of government contracting. They’re wrong. Innovation doesn’t thrive in a cesspool of kickbacks, and complexity isn’t an excuse for breaking the law. The Supreme Court’s own rulings, like Percoco v. United States in 2023, affirm that honest services fraud hinges on clear-cut bribery, not vague overreach. Kacher’s 20 months and Mitchell’s year-plus sentence reflect a system finally holding accountable those who exploit it, even if the punishment feels light for the damage done.

History backs this up. Since the 1980s, when Congress passed 18 U.S.C. § 666 to target corruption in federally funded programs, the goal has been to safeguard public investments. The Five Aces probe in 2011 uncovered a $30 million bribery racket, proving the law’s necessity. Today, with the Broadband Equity, Access, and Deployment Program funneling billions into rural networks, the stakes are higher than ever. Letting profiteers like Kacher off the hook would signal open season on America’s digital future.

The real tragedy? This corruption delays progress that’s already decades overdue. Minnesota’s Office of Broadband Development has mapped service gaps since the early 2000s, while tribal lands still lag behind despite billions from the National Telecommunications and Information Administration. Every rigged contract pushes equity further out of reach, leaving rural kids to struggle with dial-up while their urban peers stream 4K lectures.

Enough is enough. The federal government can’t keep throwing money at broadband access only to watch it vanish into the pockets of men like Kacher and Mitchell. Stronger oversight is non-negotiable. The Justice Department’s focus on procurement fraud, from price inflation to cybersecurity noncompliance, is a start, but it’s not enough. Policymakers need to double down on transparency, mandating real-time audits of contracts and empowering whistleblowers with bigger rewards and better protections. The False Claims Act works, but it’s reactive; we need proactive barriers to stop corruption before it festers.

Sentencing trends offer a mixed picture. White-collar convictions dropped 20.4% since 2020, per January 2025 data, partly because judges wield more discretion after United States v. Booker in 2005. Kacher’s 20 months might seem fair to some, but it’s a slap on the wrist compared to the harm inflicted. Advocates for working families demand stiffer penalties, not out of vengeance, but to deter the next schemer. The Sarbanes-Oxley Act of 2002 toughened mail and wire fraud sentences after Enron; it’s time to extend that resolve to federal program bribery.

This fight matters because the digital divide isn’t abstract; it’s personal. It’s the student in Salisbury who can’t log into class, the veteran in St. Mary’s County who misses a telehealth appointment. Kacher and Mitchell didn’t just steal money; they stole opportunity. Their punishment sends a message, but the real test is whether we build a system that stops the next scandal before it starts.