a boy who needs to be taken to school
In a federal courtroom in Florida, a 60-year-old Uruguayan man named Irazmar Carbajal de Jesús admitted to what sanctions law was designed to prevent: the quiet movement of blacklisted money across borders, dressed in the ordinary clothes of commerce. The scheme was modest in scale — roughly $99,500 — but elaborate in craft, relying on fake invoices, coded language, and layered bank accounts to carry funds tied to Venezuelan government officials into the American financial system. It is a reminder that the architecture of financial crime is often less about grand sums than about the patient, deliberate work of making the forbidden look routine.
- A man who knew exactly what he was doing agreed, when approached by undercover FBI agents, to move sanctioned Venezuelan government money into U.S. banks — and then did it.
- The operation was built to be invisible: fake invoices, split accounts, a 20% cut, and a code phrase — 'a boy who needs to be taken to school' — to keep the truth off the record.
- FBI agents had been watching since 2019, tracing suspicions back to bank accounts allegedly linked to members of Nicolás Maduro's family, before closing in years later.
- Carbajal was arrested mid-travel between Uruguay and the Dominican Republic in 2025 and deported to the United States to face charges he has now admitted to.
- His co-conspirator, Arick Komarczyk, remains at large and is believed to be sheltering in Venezuela, beyond the reach of American law enforcement.
- Carbajal faces up to five years in prison at a June 12 sentencing, while the case underscores how much deliberate effort it takes to make financial crime look like nothing at all.
On March 25, Irazmar Carbajal de Jesús, a 60-year-old Uruguayan, pleaded guilty in a federal courtroom to running an unlicensed money transmitting operation on behalf of Venezuelan officials blacklisted by the United States. The dollar amount was modest — around $99,500 in cash exchanged in the Dominican Republic — but the scheme was constructed with careful, knowing precision.
Carbajal and his partner, Arick Komarczyk, would receive the funds and route them into a Fort Lauderdale bank account, taking a 20 percent commission for their trouble. To avoid detection, they generated fraudulent invoices, distributed money across multiple accounts, and spoke about the cash in code — referring to it as 'a boy who needs to be taken to school.'
They were not as hidden as they believed. FBI agents had been monitoring the pair since 2019, when suspicions arose about bank accounts allegedly connected to members of Nicolás Maduro's family. Undercover agents eventually approached Carbajal directly, told him the money was tied to a sanctioned Venezuelan official, and asked for his help moving it. He agreed.
At the time, Carbajal was based in Santo Domingo, where he held interests in several companies. He originally came from a small town in northern Uruguay but was arrested in 2025 while traveling between Uruguay and the Dominican Republic, and was subsequently deported to the United States.
Komarczyk has not been apprehended and is believed to be in Venezuela. Carbajal, facing up to five years in prison, is scheduled to be sentenced on June 12. The case, prosecuted by the Justice Department's Money Laundering, Narcotics and Forfeiture Section, is a quiet illustration of how much deliberate architecture underlies even the smallest acts of financial evasion.
A 60-year-old Uruguayan man walked into a federal courtroom and admitted to helping move money for people the United States had blacklisted. Irazmar Carbajal de Jesús pleaded guilty on March 25 to running an unlicensed money transmitting operation designed to slip cash tied to Venezuelan government officials past American sanctions. The scheme was small in dollar terms—roughly $99,500 in cash handed over in the Dominican Republic—but it was built with the kind of deliberate care that suggests Carbajal knew exactly what he was doing and how to hide it.
The mechanics were straightforward enough. Carbajal and his partner, Arick Komarczyk, would take the money and move it into a bank account in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. For their work, they charged a 20 percent commission. To make the transfer look legitimate, they created fake invoices that banking institutions would accept without question. They split the funds across multiple accounts so no single transaction would raise alarms. And when they talked about the money among themselves, they used code—calling it "a boy who needs to be taken to school," a phrase designed to mean nothing to anyone listening in.
Undercover FBI agents were listening in. They had been watching Carbajal and Komarczyk since 2019, when suspicions first surfaced about bank accounts allegedly opened for members of Nicolás Maduro's family. The agents approached Komarczyk's partner and told him plainly what they knew: the money belonged to someone the U.S. government had sanctioned, someone from Venezuela's government, and they needed help getting it into the American financial system. Carbajal agreed to do it.
Carbajal lived in Santo Domingo at the time, where he held stakes in several companies—Alfa Marine Star, Alfa Energy, and Trity RD, according to Dominican business records. He had roots elsewhere too. He originally came from Baltasar Brum, a small town in Artigas, a department in northern Uruguay. But by 2025, he was arrested while traveling from Uruguay to the Dominican Republic and deported to the United States on October 2 of that year.
His partner, Komarczyk, has not been found. The FBI believes he is in Venezuela, beyond the reach of American law enforcement. Carbajal, meanwhile, faces up to five years in prison. His sentencing is scheduled for June 12. The case was handled by the Money Laundering, Narcotics and Forfeiture Section of the Justice Department's Criminal Division and the U.S. Attorney's Office for the Southern District of Florida. U.S. Attorney Jason A. Reding Quiñones for the Southern District of Florida said in a statement that Carbajal had agreed to move money tied to a sanctioned Venezuelan official into the United States using coded language, fake invoices, and layered transactions to hide what was really happening. It was, in other words, the kind of financial crime that looks small on the surface but reveals, when you look closer, how much effort goes into breaking the law.
Notable Quotes
This defendant agreed to move money tied to a sanctioned Venezuelan official into the United States, using coded language, fake invoices, and layered transactions to try to hide what was really happening.— U.S. Attorney Jason A. Reding Quiñones, Southern District of Florida
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why would a 60-year-old man from Uruguay get involved in something like this? What's the draw?
Money, mostly. A 20 percent commission on nearly $100,000 is real income. But there's also something else—he had businesses in the Dominican Republic, he had connections, he knew how to move money quietly. He probably thought he was insulated.
The coded language—"a boy who needs to be taken to school"—that's oddly specific. Did he come up with that himself?
We don't know. But it suggests someone had thought about this before, maybe rehearsed it. It's not random. It's the kind of thing you say when you've already decided you're going to do something illegal and you want to talk about it safely.
His partner disappeared into Venezuela. Does that mean the scheme was bigger than just this one transaction?
Almost certainly. If Komarczyk is in Venezuela and the FBI has been watching since 2019, this was probably one transaction among many. Carbajal got caught; Komarczyk didn't. That's luck, or planning, or both.
What does this tell us about how sanctions actually work in practice?
That they're porous. A determined person with some business experience and access to the right networks can find ways around them. The U.S. can freeze accounts and blacklist people, but moving cash through intermediaries in third countries is still possible. It's not easy, but it's possible.
So Carbajal is the small fish.
He's the one who got caught. Whether that makes him small or just unlucky depends on what else was happening that we don't know about yet.