he video was grainy, but it showed enough to possi-
bly crack open the biggest lottery scam in American
history. A heavyset man walks into a QuikTrip con-
venience store just off Interstate 80 in Des Moines,
Iowa, two days before Christmas 2010. The hood of
his sweatshirt is pulled over his head, obscuring his
face. He grabs a fountain drink and two hot dogs.
After a month passed, the Iowa
Lottery held a news conference to
note that the money was still un-
collected. The lottery issued another
public reminder three months af-
ter the winning numbers were an-
nounced, then another at six months
and again at nine months, each time
warning that winners had one year to
claim their money.
T
“Hello!” the cashier says brightly.
Head down, the man replies in a
low-pitched drawl: “Hell-ooooh.”
They exchange a few more words.
The man pulls two pieces of paper
from his pocket. The cashier runs
them through the lottery terminal and
then hands over some change. Once
outside, the man pulls off his hood,
gets into his SUV, and drives away.
The pieces of paper were play slips
for Hot Lotto, a lottery game that
was available in 14 states and Wash-
ington, DC. A player (or the game’s
computer) picked five numbers and
then a sixth, known as the Hot Ball.
Players who got all six numbers right
won a jackpot that varied accord-
ing to how many tickets were sold.
At the time of the video, the jack-
pot was approaching $10 million.
The stated odds of winning it were
1 in 10,939,383.
Six days later, on December 29, the
Hot Lotto numbers were selected:
3, 12, 16, 26, 33, 11. The next day, the
Iowa Lottery announced that a Quik-
Trip in Des Moines had sold the win-
ning ticket. But no one came forward
to claim the now $16.5 million jackpot.
110 dec 2018 )jan 2019
Reader’s Digest