Much of America continues to steam about the bailout of Wall Street. But before Wall Street made billions from subprime mortgages, people in North Texas made millions.

While Wall Street is taking the heat, Main Street may deserve part of the blame.

Paul and Jackie Dyl are a married couple who live in a trailer park in Cheyenne, Wyoming. However, two years ago, they discovered they were big property owners in North Texas.

Mr. Dyl said he became privy to the news after he received a call informing him that his name was on a subprime mortgage loan with delinquent payments.

"I don't know you people," Dyl said he told the caller.

But the Dyls were in for more of a shock. While Mr. Dyl said he and his wife have never stepped foot in Texas nor signed any type of deed, the couple discovered they were the owners of six North TExas lots and houses and $2 million worth of subprime loans.

The calls came pouring in from Tom Freas, president of what is now Fidelity Bank in Plano, demanding they pay him for a mortgage they had never signed.

"He said 'You came in our office. You saw me face to face,'" Mr. Dyl said.

But Mr. Dyl said he assured Freas they had never met. In fact, anybody who meets Mr. Dyl, including a banker, would most likely remember the fact that he has no right hand.

"The bank may have been a victim," Freas told News 8. "The issue is resolved between me and my customers."

The Dyls never were his customers. They were victims of identity theft and mortgage fraud, but also a subprime mortgage frenzy in which a chain of people were more interested in making money than really evaluating a transaction.

"It's not that difficult to smell out a dirty deal," said Tom Apligian, a realtor.

Apligian said in most deals one needs a realtor, a lender, an appraiser and a title company involved.

Realtors pocketed commissions in the Dyls' deals, and they're still in business.

Three mortgage brokers certified that the Dyls signed mortgage applications, which they never did. One broker operated out of an apartment house and he other two worked from non-existent addresses. On a home loan of $300,000, a broker can make as much as $9,000. None of the brokers in the Dyls' deals can be found.

Four title companies were used to close the deals. They provided the notary, who certified that Mr. Dyl's signature was real. On a $300,000 house, a title company can make as much as $3,000 in closing a deal.

"Certainly it's a food chain," Apligian said.

Lenders are at the top of the money making chain. WaMu made four loans in the Dyls' transactions for $800,000. One loan didn't even get Mr. Dyl's name right, calling him "Paul Oyl." WaMu folded last month in the largest bank failure in U.S. history.

Two other Dyl lenders, BNC and Mila, are no longer in business. BNC, a division of Lehman brothers, failed. Mila suddenly closed its doors last year.

"It could be that 25 percent of the loans were some kid of fraud or just trying to put misinformation on the books," said Michael Haines, an attorney.

Although Wall Street is the current focus, Haines pointed out that the spark started on Main Street when professionals sacrificed judgment in favor of profit.

"That's not Wall Street," he said. "That's Main Street, and that's Dallas, Plano, Frisco and the surrounding suburbs."

Haines tried to help the Dyls, but couldn't afford to go up against a chain of individuals more interested in profit-taking than helping their victims.

The Dyls' misery is not over. Their credit is ruined. They also still get calls from mortgage companies they have never dealt with before.

"And now I'm 57 years old and I'm never going to recover," Mrs. Dyl said. "It just turned everything upside down."

Now, Main Street is upside down too, but a lot of the people who live there made money in the process. There are 40,000 more realtors in Texas than there were in 2000 and twice as many mortgage brokers.

E-mail bharris@wfaa.com.