How a group of investors wronged by Bay Area real estate mogul became ‘God’s answer to our own prayers’

Four days after a hearing in the criminal case of Ken Mattson, who has been accused by federal prosecutors of wire fraud, money laundering and obstruction of justice, 13 of the investors he wronged were discussing how their lives have been affected by their association with the indicted Sonoma real estate investment advisor.

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Despite Mattson’s convincing promises of a retirement free from financial worry, Santa Rosa resident Maria Crane observed, she and her husband, Stephen, would have been better off just leaving their money in the stock market.

“We would have been better off leaving it in a sock drawer,” fellow investor Tom Mack quipped.

The laughter that overtook the room was like the release of a pressure valve.

“You know there’s been healing,” Stephen Crane observed a little later in the afternoon. “Because we laugh.”

For the hundreds of people who powered the investment business of LeFever Mattson Inc. — the main real estate investment entity, which eventually encompassed around 200 real estate properties valued at an estimated $400 million — the past 20 months have been a wearying montage of lost income, vanished retirement funds, bankruptcies, claims forms and tightened belts.

But a small set of investors has found solace in an unlikely source. They have turned to one another.

Two years ago, they were strangers. Now they trade texts on a regular basis, creating something graceful out of their despair.

These investors have quietly been meeting over Zoom, almost every Saturday morning for a year and a half, to pray together and offer mutual support. And some have gathered in person a half-dozen times for potlucks — most recently on Dec. 14, at the home of Tom Mack and Edy Hayashi near Fairfield.

The meetups have served as an antidote for the worry that has at times threatened to consume them.

Court documents filed in October by various legal teams in the LeFever Mattson bankruptcy case, including those representing an unsecured creditors committee appointed to advocate for victims, suggested investors might ultimately receive 20-40% of what they put in, which for many represented their main savings and retirement nest eggs.

Between them, the 13 people assembled at Mack’s and Hayashi’s dining table, according to a quick back-of-napkin accounting, had invested somewhere around $20 million with LeFever Mattson and its various real estate entities.

The company’s investors began communicating in earnest in late May 2024, when Maria Crane and San Diego resident Matt Treger organized a mass Zoom session for people to swap information and strategies, at a time when hardly anything was known about LeFever Mattson’s unfolding demise. Dozens logged on.

That spawned an email group that’s grown to more than 250 members. It’s a key source of information for those trying to keep up with the twists and turns of the court cases. And in June 2024, not long after Mattson’s house outside Sonoma was searched by the FBI, the prayer group formed.

Airline miles, repair bills, job searches

Since then, they have carpooled to court hearings, celebrated anniversaries and the births of grandchildren, and mourned losses together.

“When we all started meeting one another, what stood out immediately was the caliber of the people,” said Jean Kelly, who lives in Green Valley. “These are good people. Religious people.”

Taking advantage of these trusting souls, Kelly said, was like taking candy from a baby.

Prosecutors have accused Mattson of orchestrating “a classic Ponzi scheme,” allegedly bilking hundreds of investors out of tens of millions of dollars over a period of at least 15 years. Mattson has pleaded not guilty to all charges, and has steadfastly insisted in court pleadings that he’s done nothing wrong.

But Maria Crane argued that LeFever Mattson investors had their “trusters” broken when they learned of the alleged fraud. Mattson set up secret bank accounts that, according to federal prosecutors, he used to divert money for his personal use.

“There was betrayal,” said investor Stacie Baumgartner, who lives in Benicia. “Because he was a friend.”

The revelations of financial impropriety caused deep shame among investors, especially for those who had introduced friends and family members to Mattson. That embarrassment discouraged many victims from sharing their troubles with anyone outside their immediate circle.

The prayer group, Maria Crane said, has become “a safe haven where you can grieve or process information.”

On Dec. 14, guests at the Fairfield gathering arrived to find that Hayashi, a talented and prolific crafter, had sculpted clay angels for everyone at the potluck, individualizing each piece with traits representing the recipient. Mack would then fire the sculptures in the couple’s on-site kiln. Another attendee, SJ — she asked that only her initials be used in this story — had sewn small Kleenex holders for everyone in a kaleidoscope of patterns.

The Mattson prayer group members have traded more substantial gifts, too.

They have donated airline miles, covered auto repair bills and helped with job searches. The first time they met, at a house in Dixon, the hosts handed out cards as people left. Each card contained a crisp $100 bill.

“Needs often come out as prayer requests,” Stephen Crane said. “In this way, we become God’s answer to our own prayers.”

Prayer group members helped SJ cover two months of rent when things got really bad for her, she acknowledged. The San Leandro mom thinks she might be the last person who invested in LeFever Mattson. Ken Mattson convinced her to get involved in August 2024 — after the FBI raid, and after at least five lawsuits had been filed against the company.

SJ knew about some of that, she said, but her life was “a little bit upside-down” at the time. She had just come off a rough divorce, and her husband had retained their house and most of their shared savings, according to SJ. She felt she could trust Mattson and LeFever as “fellow Christians.”

Now her 401(k) account is locked because of the LeFever Mattson bankruptcy, and the IRS is hounding her for penalties related to forms she didn’t even know she was obliged to file. So SJ has been applying for jobs nonstop; she had three interviews scheduled for the week following the potluck. The group has been praying for her.

“I was terrified I’d be homeless,” SJ said, looking around the table. “You’ve all seen me trembling in fear. To hear people saying ‘You can do it’ and praying for you, it makes a big difference. It’s the power of encouragement.”

Prayers for Ken Mattson

Anyone who has suffered under the LeFever Mattson implosion is welcome, but this group is proudly, expressly Christian. That’s natural, considering Mattson found so many investors through church membership — at Creekside Community in San Leandro, First Covenant in Oakland and Parkway Community in Fairfield.

“In some sense, this was an affinity crime,” Stephen Crane said. “So many people were involved in churches. And this (gathering) is kind of a redemption in that.”

The group at the Mack-Hayashi home held hands around the table and muttered affirmations to a prayer led by the Cranes. And they exchanged “Godwinks” — recent blessings they interpret as evidence of the creator’s love.

The most notable wink clearly belonged to Gail and Foster Hines, who live in Lincoln, in Sacramento County. Foster, a veteran who has mobility issues, gets around on a golf cart. It’s not supposed to leave their retirement community, but he tried a new route home after a trip to the gym recently, and wound up lost, driving the cart on public roads, in heavy fog. Foster wound up in Loomis, miles away.

Crisis was averted by a kindly, younger neighbor who volunteered to retrieve the veteran — and by a higher power, Gail Hines believes.

“This is God,” she said. “I don’t know how he didn’t get killed.”

The group’s most difficult prayer, Stephen Crane said, is for Ken Mattson. They are praying for a “heart change,” like the one tax collector Zacchaeus had after meeting Jesus in the town of Jericho.

A lot of the conversation that December afternoon was devoted to the man who unwittingly brought these people together. But the Mattson talk wasn’t limited to good wishes. The 13 investors traded gossip, recounted interactions with Mattson over the years and discussed future steps in the compensation process.

They talked about how long it took to sink in that Mattson may have defrauded them; about the ankle bracelet he is compelled to wear while awaiting trial; about the performance of his criminal defense attorney, Randy Sue Pollock, at the previous hearing; and the judge’s ruling that day, which shot down Mattson’s attempt to remove a house in Piedmont from his bail agreement.

Much remains unresolved, and these investors still have moments of heavy worry. But they also have come to feel empowered by the others in the group. They feel a sense of purpose. And they believe Mattson’s time is coming. When the investors talk about him now, you can almost detect a note of pity.

“Sometimes we joke, or we talk about the pain we’ve experienced,” Stephen Crane said. “But there is ultimately justice. There will be a day when he has to stand before God and acknowledge what he’s done.”

As Maria Crane, said, “Ken robbed us of our money. But he can’t rob our joy or our peace. And now we have these relationships.”

What will Mattson have, they wonder, when this is all over?

You can reach Phil Barber at 707-521-5263 or phil.barber@pressdemocrat.com. On X (Twitter) @Skinny_Post.