03/03/2026 Walter W. Strash, DPM
Liberty Restored - Indictments Against TX Podiatrists Dismissed
Two years ago, my life took an unexpected and
irreversible turn. The day had begun like any
other—driving to work, listening to a podcast,
immersed in the familiar rhythm of routine. By
afternoon, that ordinary day had given way to
something unimaginable. An FBI agent arrived at
my office in the middle of a busy clinic day and
presented me with a Target Letter and, with
stark finality, said, “You’re going to be
indicted.” In that instant, time seemed to divide
into before and after. Nothing would ever be the
same again.
The days that followed were a blur of urgency,
uncertainty, and resolve. I met with a local
attorney and soon learned that I had been granted
the rare opportunity to appear before the
Grand Jury. The notice gave me only four days to
prepare. Prayerfully, my wife and I worked side
by side, assembling a comprehensive “Grand Jury
Packet” for each of the twenty-three jurors—
documents that reflected not only the facts, but
the truth of my professional conduct and
character.
That preparation, and the presentation that
followed, proved decisive. The Grand Jury returned
a No Bill on Count 2. Experienced attorneys later
described the outcome as a “unicorn,” a term
reserved for events so improbable they are almost
never seen. Federal grand juries overwhelmingly
return indictments; the odds of a no-bill are
extraordinarily small. Yet in that moment, the
government’s narrative did not prevail.
This was my first direct encounter with the
machinery of the federal legal system. It was also
my first indication that the government’s case was
not as unassailable as it had initially seemed.
For the first time, there was a visible fracture
in what had appeared to be an immovable position.
Around this time, a trusted friend referred me to
Jeff Ansley of Vedder, a decision that would
prove to be pivotal in the journey ahead.
The next 746 days became a period of intense
education, endurance, and preparation. I
immersed myself in the world of white-collar
criminal defense, working closely with my
attorneys—often speaking with them daily—to
understand every nuance of the process. I read
extensively, studying books, legal opinions, and
scholarly articles, determined to transform
uncertainty into knowledge and fear into clarity.
What began as a crisis gradually became a
disciplined effort to understand the system I was
now facing.
Several books became essential guides as I
struggled to understand the system I had been
thrust into: Three Felonies a Day (Harvey
Silverglate), Lessons from Prison (Justin
Paperny), Doctor Not Guilty (Muhamad Aly Rifai,
MD, DFAPA) and Fight the Feds: Unraveling Federal
Criminal Investigations (Ronald Chapman). Each
offered a distinct lens—written by defense
attorneys, defendants, and acquitted professionals
—but together they provided invaluable insight
into the complexity, strategy, and psychological
weight of navigating a federal prosecution.
One concept that stood out was the idea of
“without intent.” Of the 446 non-violent, non-drug
related criminal laws introduced in the 109th
Congress, more than half lacked a requirement
that a defendant act with criminal intent. This
reality underscores a sobering truth: federal law
can impose criminal liability even in the absence
of deliberate wrongdoing. In such an
environment, the line between mistake and crime
can become blurred, leaving ordinary
professionals vulnerable to prosecution despite
the absence of malicious purpose. What also
became clear was the government’s dual-front
approach: building its legal case while
simultaneously shaping a public narrative. Through
official press releases issued by the United
States Attorney’s Office for the Northern District
of Texas, part of the U.S. Department of Justice,
indictments are announced in language that conveys
confidence and finality. These public
statements, released long before evidence is
tested in court, reinforce an image of
accountability and justice while leaving the
accused to defend not only their case, but their
reputation.
As a physician, the impact extended beyond the
courtroom. The government sent “victim
letters” to my patients stating that they “were
identified by law enforcement as a victim or
potential victim during the investigation of the
above criminal case.” Regardless of intent, the
effect was deeply personal and professionally
unsettling. Yet, to my knowledge, none of my
patients believed themselves to be victims. In
fact, several took the extraordinary step of
writing directly to the government to affirm that
they did not consider themselves harmed and
requested removal from the list. Their responses
were a powerful reminder that truth is not
defined by accusation, but by lived experience and
enduring trust.
Other physicians who believe they are immune to
such exposure are mistaken. This is not about
intentional wrongdoing, but about fallible
government officials who may misinterpret, expand,
or misapply the law. In his 1940 address, “The
Federal Prosecutor,” Robert H. Jackson, then
Attorney General of the United States, warned of
this very danger:
“...it is not a question of discovering the
commission of a crime and then looking for the man
who has committed it; it is a question of picking
the man and then searching the law books, or
putting investigators to work, to pin some offense
on him. It is in this realm—in which the
prosecutor picks some person whom he dislikes or
desires to embarrass, or selects some group
of unpopular persons and then looks for an offense
—that the greatest danger of abuse of
prosecuting power lies.” Jackson’s warning was not
theoretical. It was prophetic. In this instance,
the “unpopular group” was not criminals, but
podiatrists.
The months that followed, stretching into a two-
year ordeal, forced me into an unfamiliar and
unforgiving vocabulary. Terms such as mens rea,
defraud, state of mind, intent, statute of
limitations, duplicity, scrivener’s error,
superseding indictment, intent to induce, lack of
fiduciary duty, Rule 702, Federal Bureau of
Investigation 302 reports, heuristics, and Brady
material became part of my daily vocabulary. I
immersed myself in court transcripts from prior
cases, studying them not as an academic exercise,
but as a means of understanding how medical
judgment could be interpreted—and misinterpreted—
through a legal lens. The learning curve
was steep and unrelenting, sharpened by the
sobering reality that my future depended on the
outcome. What has now emerged: a hard-earned
understanding of both medicine and law, and
the development of a skill set forged under
pressure—one that can now be shared with and
taught to physicians and attorneys who may one day
find themselves facing similar circumstances.
Your rights exist only to the extent that you are
willing to assert and defend them. Silence does
not preserve them—preparation and precision do. In
the federal system, physicians are often
not indicted solely for crimes, but for optics—for
how their actions can be portrayed, simplified,
and presented to others. Justice is not a straight
path. It is a complex labyrinth. Most do not
challenge it. Most acquiesce and accept its weight
and its momentum. I did not. From the very
beginning, I chose to stand, to speak, and to
appear before the grand jury. That initial
decision—to engage rather than retreat, to
confront rather than concede—changed everything.
Last week, the government stood down, moving to
dismiss its indictment against me, and the other
defendants, bringing an end to a prosecution that
should never have begun.
Walter W. Strash, DPM, San Antonio, TX
