It was late on a freezing Saturday night in northern Vermont.

Greg Davis was in his bedroom with his wife Melissa

when they heard someone outside. Greg opened the door and saw a man standing there,

Greg opened the door and saw a man standing there,

wearing a jacket and mask with the emblem of the U.S. Marshal.

He was holding a rifle. Behind him in the driveway was a white Ford explorer with emergency lights flashing in its dash.

The marshal said he had a warrant for Greg's arrest on racketeering charges.

He had been instructed to take him into custody and transport him to Virginia.

Greg couldn't have known what this was all about.

He was working in waste management.

His friends and family knew him as a father of six, a businessman and a devout Christian.

He went to his bedroom and told his pregnant wife what was happening,

then packed a bag of clothes and walked out.

Davis's 12-year-old son watched from the upstairs window as the car pulled away. It was the last time he saw

his father alive. The next afternoon a car made its way along a quiet stretch of Picham Road about 15 miles from Greg Davis's farmhouse.

It was another brutally cold day, barely cracking 10 degrees.

Just off the side of the road, the driver saw something out of place. It was a shape jutting out of the snowbank.

There on the ground, partially covered by snow, was a man's body.

His wrists were shackled,

22 caliber bullet wounds in his head and torso

with bullet casing speckling the snow bank.

Greg Davis was dead.

...