Bob Simels is a member of our White Collar Support Group that meets on Zoom on Monday evenings. Here’s an interesting tidbit, Bob was actually my first boss when I graduated law school – I was his law clerk until I received my law license. He was Henry Hill’s criminal defense attorney, who Ray Liotta played in the movie “Goodfellas”. Bob was a great guy then, as he is now. – Jeff
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The First Step Act (FSA) was intended to encourage programming with the benefit of reducing time and other benefits- extra telephone minutes, visiting, etc.
However, on September 8, 2022, the BOP issued a memo that substantially impacted the time reduction goals. The Memo advised that the BOP will not credit ETCs toward early release for inmates who are 18 months or less from release. At 18 months, the BOP says, “the release date becomes fixed, and all additional ETCs are applied toward” HH/HC.
The practical effect of this language is that no inmates with sentences of less than 42 months will have enough time to collect ETCs, entitling them to 12 months off their sentence (the maximum allowed by law).
BOP has taken the position that ETCs will be applied first to reduce sentence length and second to more halfway house and home confinement (HH/HC). It is also apparent that the BOP has been doing that since last January but never announced that as a policy.[1]
Moreover, the Memo stated:
· “as a reminder, the unit team will determine an inmate’s eligibility to earn FTCs based on [2]the current conviction and prior criminal convictions.” This means that fundamental decisions applying the statute are decentralized among nearly a thousand unit teams. Given some of the errors already made by unit teams unschooled in the FSA, the amount of administrative remedy and judicial review decentralization will likely spawn significantly; · “inmates who refuse or fail to complete any portion of the needs assessment and/or refuse or decline any program recommended to address a specifically identified need area is considered “opted out” and will not earn ETCs.”
This language assumes that the failure to complete needs assessment or refusal or decline to take a program is intentional. More than one inmate has reported being marked “refused” for not taking a program that was unavailable at the time.
To earn 15 days credit for every 30 days instead of 10 days, inmates must either (1) start their incarceration with a low- or minimum-risk PATTERN level; or (2) have dropped to a low- or minimum-risk PATTERN level and maintained it for two consecutive assessment periods. This is good news because some who entered the system with low or minimum scores have been told to have two consecutive assessment periods under their belts before getting 15 days a month.
• The memo states that “all components of the SPARC-13 needs assessment must be complete to be eligible to earn ETCs. Failing to do so is considered ‘opted out.’ In other words, if an inmate fails to complete a required survey to enroll in a recommended program which addresses a specified need, the inmate will not be eligible to earn FTCs.” The SPARC-13 is the “Standardized Prisoner Assessment for Reduction in Criminality,” a battery of surveys mandated by a BOP study last March.
Anecdotally, it appears that few have been given the surveys to complete. Even if they are asked to do so now, it is not clear whether any programs completed between January 15 and September 8 will count if the SPARC-13 was not done before that time.
The Memo states, “while inmates continue to earn FTCs, they can only apply the FTCs if they have no detainers, unresolved pending charges, and unresolved immigration status issues.” These restrictions do not appear in the First Step Act.
As for RDAP graduates, the Memo confirmed that ETCs might be applied toward early release in addition to the early release benefit for RDAP graduates. RDAP now double counts toward early release, up to 12 months off for successful completion of the program, as well as an additional credit of up to 150 days ETC credits for finishing RDAP. This also means that unless an inmate can complete the in-custody of RDAP with at least 18 months left, the RDAP ETCs will apply to more HH/HC, not more time off.
Of course, all of this can be challenged and will be. Bear in mind that the Administrative Procedure Act (5 USC 552) governs just about all federal agencies with its “arbitrary and capricious” standard. However, Congress stated in 18 USC 3625 that the APA does not “apply to the making of any determination, decision, or order under this subchapter.” The catch is that Sec 3625 applies only to 18 USC Chapter 229, Subchapter C. The portion of the FSA establishing ETCs is set out in the newly-created Subchapter D. Congress either decided not to exempt the BOP’s implementation of the ETC from the APA, or it just forgot to do so.
[1] Any HH/HC awarded using ETCs will be granted “in addition to release needs-based recommendations made under the Second Chance Act.” In other words, if the Second Chance Act would have entitled you to placement in HH/HC for six months even without ETCs, and you have 120 days of ETC credit applied to HH/HC, you would be placed for ten months.
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Robert Simels is a former attorney who practiced for over 35 years. Bob was a prosecutor in the NYS Special Prosecutor’s Office that investigated corruption in NYC and a Criminal Defense Attorney, most notably as the attorney for Henry Hill of “Goodfellas” acclaim. Mr. Simels now acts as a Sentencing and BOP Consultant. You can reach Bob at: Legal-help.us
Huge thanks to our friends at Interrogating Justice for permission to reprint and link.
The Unexpected Impact of Dobbs on Criminal Justice: Part I, by Fred Aaron
A legal precedent is something that has the force of settled law. It is a court decision that has gained such wide-ranging acceptance that the legal community views it as foundational. That is why it was a major shock when the Supreme Court in Dobbs v Jackson Women’s Health Organization not only deemed the Mississippi law limiting women’s access to abortion constitutional but also overturned the 50-year precedent established in Roe v Wade, allowing states to now outlaw abortion completely in the process.
In fact, 14 states have laws banning or restricting abortions that immediately came into effect as soon as Roe v Wade was overturned. These so-called trigger provisions stripped women of their abortion rights in the blink of an eye. While the impact on women’s healthcare from the Dobbs ruling has been well known, what has not been reported is the far-reaching implications of Dobbs for justice-impacted people and the effect of Dobbs on the criminal justice system.
What is Precedent?
Now that the Supreme Court has overturned Roe v Wade by the slimmest of margins (5-4 with Chief Justice John Roberts concurring only in allowing the Mississippi law to stand but dissenting on the issue of overturning Roe), what is the future of other legal precedents? Keep in mind that four of the five justices in question stated under oath during their Senate confirmation hearings that Roe v Wade remained settled law, while noting the doctrine of stare decisis that gives significant weight to prior Supreme Court decisions.
For example, Justice Samuel Alito, who wrote the opinion in Dobbs, stated during his confirmation that “Roe v Wade is an important precedent of the Supreme Court. It was decided in 1973, so it has been on the books for a long time.” Justice Alito wasn’t alone in these sentiments.
Similarly, Justice Neil Gorsuch made the strong point that “Roe v Wade, decided in 1973 is a precedent of the United States Supreme Court. It has been reaffirmed. A good judge will consider it as precedent of the U.S. Supreme Court worthy as treatment of precedent like any other.”
Justice Brett Kavanaugh made a similar comment, describing Roe v Wade as “settled as a precedent of the Supreme Court, entitled to respect under principles of stare decisis.”
Justice Amy Coney Barrett made analogous comments as well, while noting that Roe is not a super-precedent like Marbury v Madison, which dates from the earliest days of the U.S.
Four of the five justices who voted to overturn Roe v. Wade called the case “important precedent,” “precedent” that has been “reaffirmed,” “settled as precedent” and “entitled to respect under principles of stare decisis.”
The Unexpected Impact of Dobbs On Criminal Justice: Part II, by Fred Aaron
My wife and I welcomed our first child into the world 19 years ago. It was a beautiful, sunny Friday afternoon in New York City, and my wife and son spent their first night together in a room with another first-time mother and her child. In fact, all the new mothers at New York Hospital were sharing rooms that September weekend, except for two.
The first was a wealthy woman who was in a huge, private suite at the end of the hall bedecked with enough flowers to send everyone to the allergy ward. The other mother in a private room really wasn’t alone. A member of the NYPD stood guard outside her room, with another police officer stationed inside. The new mother had her right wrist handcuffed to her bed and had to request the police officer to release her if she needed to use the bathroom. She was incarcerated at one of the many detention centers scattered around the five boroughs of New York.
The reality of that woman is lived by every pregnant person currently incarcerated in this country. And the ruling in Dobbs v Jackson Women’s Health Organization makes that already-bad situation much worse. Healthcare for incarcerated people is already something that is less than optimal. Dobbs promises to make neonatal care even worse, while limiting the right to terminate any unwanted or risky pregnancy.
Pregnancy has always been an issue inside of jails and prisons.
Prisons are and always have been segregated based on gender. Officials house biological women in different facilities from biological men, with different states and the federal government treating transgender, non-binary and intersex individuals differently depending on where they’re at.
For example, The Transgender Respect, Agency, and Dignity Act (SB 132) requires that the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation house transgender, non-binary and intersex individuals according to their gender identity. CDCR has identified 1,616 individuals who fit this profile as currently incarcerated in California. This is why many people would assume that pregnancy is not an issue with incarcerated people.
The reality is that an average of 58,000 pregnant individuals are admitted into jails, prisons and detention centers every year, according to a study by the Prison Policy Initiative. These individuals require specialized healthcare that is often lacking inside of correctional institutions. Pregnant inmates are more likely to miscarry, with the same study finding that miscarriage rates are 19% to 22% depending on the state, far exceeding the national average.
Fred Aaron is the Grant Writer for Interrogating Justice, as well as a contributing writer for Interrogating Justice and How to Justice. Becoming a justice-impacted person wasn’t on Fred’s bucket list, but a series of bad decisions and errors in judgment led him to a 14-month bid at FCI Otisville. Prior to that, Fred had practiced law in New York State for over 25 years, including conducting a number of federal and state trials, and assisting nonprofits obtain IRS certification. Fred’s experience with the criminal justice system has given him insights into the need for reform and better opportunities for justice-impacted people. While at Otisville, he completed half of his course work for an MBA in Leadership from Adams State University, which he completed upon release. This gave him firsthand experience with the barriers and hurdles inmates must overcome in order to exercise their right to college and post-graduate classes. Before coming to Interrogating Justice, he worked as a management consultant for a real estate development company and content director for an on-line life simulation game. He also writes freelance articles for the automotive industry. A native New Yorker, Fred currently lives on Long Island with his wife and college aged son and daughter. He holds a Juris Doctor from NYU Law School where he served as the Executive Editor of the NYU Review of Law & Social Change. Fred also has a BA with Honors in Politics from Brandeis University, where he was one of the leaders of WBRS-FM, the college radio station. In his free time, Fred is a social media enthusiast, pop culture junkie, diehard Mets and Rangers fan, and lifelong amateur guitarist. Fred can be reached at [email protected].
You can survive prison, you can recover from prison, but prison never leaves you. I lived among one hundred other inmates. More wilderness than community. There is nothing more solitary than living among the exiled. I entered prison as a ghost and returned an apparition.
HOMECOMING
I’ve moved on from the sentiment described herein. But my goal was to capture the reality confronting felons upon their release and the failure of the prison system to prepare inmates for reentry.
The moment of release is a kind of fool’s gold. A conviction to make amends, start over, re-build a life . But returning home from prison, the relief fades sooner than you’d think. The old failures still reside there, and prison makes the trip home with you.. The experience of incarceration: its agony, sense of exile, isolation and the misery of day-to-day confinement lingers long after the arrival home. Even in the relatively low-security environment of a federal prison camp, confinement becomes an internal form of torture, no matter its locale or facility. The presiding judge told me that I already sentenced myself to a prison without bars. Still, a prison nonetheless, a prison of the soul, that I was not connected to humanity, disconnected to what makes life meaningful and worthwhile. He said I had a challenging life ahead, and I must figure out how to release myself from this prison of my own making. Returning home, I embraced a life of contemplation, renewal and self-reflection. I concluded that my crime was a failure of character, something intrinsic, revealed only under great duress and crisis. But no one’s the same as you remembered them. Friends are uncomfortable, distant, measuring and opportunities foreclosed. Ambivalence follows warm greetings. And then there are the questions asked and the more painful ones, not asked, but implied in half measures and stares and pauses, more revealing, hurtful than a thousand insults. You try to put on a good face, show courage, believe it yourself for a while. But it doesn’t last, resonate. You’re damaged goods because prison doesn’t prepare you. All the stuff on the bulletin boards, the courses, seminars: resume building, reentry strategies, interview preparedness, family orientation, all bull-shit. Every inmate leaves with only a T-shirt, a new pair of jeans, a pair of sneakers, a felony conviction and maybe $200 from his prison-store account. The excruciating self-loathing, a permanent consequence. I had hoped that release from incarceration would provide a spiritual balm and the seeds for growth. How I wish there was one. But very little of that, like planting seeds on concrete, and failure the only real prism from which to measure. Then I tried to focus on the turning points; but it’s always a moving target and too many of those to count or measure. There just isn’t a path to go back or go forward. I huddle in a cocoon and harbor the simplest entreaties and memories of my past that promise an epiphany, but it never reveals itself, and I remain exiled in relentless remorse and turning points that passed. In the end, there’s really no going back. Sometimes I don’t think I’ve changed at all. No matter how many times I run my life’s reel, the ending is always the same, and so is the beginning. No escape yet from the “prison of my own making, the prison without bars, the prison of the soul.” Only the dark corridors of incarceration I thought I’d left behind.
HELL FREEZES OVER
The prison camp was a maze of dark corridors and in the winter mornings, the darkest season, we stumbled through them in silence and more than any other time, the long days loomed. I arrived late fall, temperatures falling, days shorter and the dorm freezing but I never thought that Hell would be freezing, not fire but ice the torture of preference for the Bureau of Prisons. We slept in overcoats and winter hats and shivering for hours tossing and turning our way to warmth and just when I managed to somehow find sleep there was the three AM count and the guards flashlight in my face and then another hour to try and morph my shaking into sleep and then the alarm would go off at Five AM and it was morning and time to get up in the meat locker and I’d ask the guard about the heat and he told me to “fuck off because all you guys are a pain in the ass─whose hot whose cold─” and then I’d go to work in the kitchen washing dishes and scrubbing pans but at least it’s warm for five hours and I’d finish up and go back to my bunk exhausted but still cold, colder even and ten minutes later I’d be shivering again. A different kind of hell.
PRISONERS LAMENT
After anguished farewells, the door closed behind me. I was given a uniform, like an invisible swaddling cloak, a sense of prey and predator lurking like creatures in the canyons of the seabed and it’s mysterious leagues. There were no mornings, only dreaded waking, a grim seizure of place and confinement, sleep no measure of solace, the prospect of turmoil and dreams that always find their breath. Over time yearning and longing found their way to cruel memory and false hope and the sad delirium of counting days.
TAKING STOCK
I was born in a sanitarium in New York City but my mother said that was not what you think but I don’t know what I thought except sanitariums are not nice places and my mother said that it wasn’t true that I was born in New York City or in a sanitarium and that I was born in Mount Vernon where I grew up and that was always what my mother did which was always reassuring me because nothing was ever really what it seemed, at least when it came to me and when my sister told me by mistake one day that I had seizures when I was a little boy, my mother put a hand over her mouth and told me that it wasn’t true and what does this have to do with me now sitting here in prison at age seventy-seven and I don’t have the answer except that I’m trying to take stock of everything and this is where I started or where I’m ending or maybe it’s just another new beginning because I love new beginnings and I’ve compiled them my whole life but I have a blind spot for the end of things and my father told me that’s why I keep walking into mud or maybe I haven’t a clue as if there are any clues, despite we spend our lives looking for clues and reasons when there are probably no reasons as we just do our best to manage the turmoil of our lives because there are no ordinary lives, certainly not mine but I’m just starting to take stock because that’s what you do in prison and maybe I’ll find some clues.
GRANDDAUGHTERS VISIT
She arrived, even in this tangled prison, her beguiling innocence still intact. With her parents in tow, she kipped out of the car, everything fair and starlight, the magic of everyday life that only seven-year old’s possess. Still not aware of her own beauty, nor the world hers, we shared like always, not a hint of place. “Do you know I love you,” I said. “You always say that Papa,” and smiled. Three missing teeth, that rare beauty of absence in a childs smile and stories of the tooth fairy. But on goodbye, she paused and finally grasped the scene, all these men in garbs of green. In the softest of words, as if only we could hear, “Is it hard?” she asked. I wanted to say yes but didn’t. Enough perfection and innocence to burn a shameful hole right through you. But a final wave from that perfect face of petals and smiles even I couldn’t spoil.
BURY ME─PLEASE
I told my brother that I want to be buried because he would understand that and not that I know what he will do because he doesn’t like to talk about those things and also because his wife was cremated and wanted her ashes spread over somewhere which I can’t remember now but he never did it anyway and not like my wife who wants her ashes spread over the little river near our first house on a beautiful pristine hill before we knew anything about what we were facing as it was the beginning of our lives really but of course we weren’t aware of it as you never are when you’re young marrieds and the last thing you’re thinking about is how you want to be buried but I don’t want to be ashes and spread anywhere because I want to be put in a box and know the weight of me will be felt by some unknowns who struggle lowering me down and it doesn’t matter that they don’t know me but only that they know that there’s somebody in there that was alive once and I take comfort knowing that but just don’t make me ashes and spread me anywhere because no matter where you spread them it’s really nowhere and I was here once and at least I’ll know that there’s a place that says I was here no matter what I was or wasn’t.
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A former real estate developer, John Dimenna was sentenced to eighty-five months in prison for two counts of wire fraud in 2016, at the age of 76. Fortunately, he received a reprieve after eighteen months due to the COVID-19 pandemic, and was re=sentenced to serve three years of home incarceration until May 2023. He currently reside in Vero Beach, Florida, with hisy wife of fifty years and writes full time. John Can be reached at [email protected].
Huge thanks to Rich Roll for including my visit to his podcast (Ep. 440) in his MasterClass on Addiction & Recovery. What a gift and blessing to be among these incredible interviewees to share our stories and offer hope to others suffering from the disease of addiction. – Jeff
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Watch on YouTube:
The third in an ongoing series of curated deep dives, today’s show is a masterclass on addiction & recovery, featuring personal stories of sobriety from past guests & wisdom from lauded mental health experts.
Guests featured in this episode (all hyperlinked to their respective episodes) include:
NEW TO RICH? Hi I’m Rich Roll. I’m a vegan ultra-endurance athlete, author, podcaster, public speaker & wellness evangelist. But mainly I’m a dad of four. If you want to know more, visit my website or check out these two the NY Times articles: http://bit.ly/otillonyt , http://bit.ly/vegansglam
An attorney who is in recovery from addiction to alcohol and opiates relates five warning signs of addiction for other lawyers. Jeff Grant, who was disbarred but recently regained his license, discusses what to look for in oneself or in others.
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Recognizing the warning signs of addiction is a spectacularly difficult thing to do when you are deep in in the throes.
I should know.
I’m a lawyer who became addicted to prescription opioids, was disbarred and then served almost 14 months in federal prison for a white-collar crime. Step-by-step, lesson-by-lesson, I worked my way through my ordeal.
On May 5, 2021, my law license was reinstated by the Supreme Court of the State of New York. On Aug. 10, 2021, I celebrated 19 years of sobriety.
Here are some warning signs I wish I had recognized before I got clean and sober.
Plate Spinning
As the head of a law firm, I had hundreds of plates spinning up in the air, maybe thousands. It was all way too much, especially on a daily ration of alcohol and prescription opioids. Incredibly, I was still able to show up for work, show up for clients, and become even more successful—until I wasn’t.
I became burned out and exhausted, ravaged by over a decade of abuse. But I couldn’t find an elegant way out of my situation.
Lesson learned: Things did not get better until I let the plates crash to the floor.
Imperceptible Changes
I couldn’t see theday-to-day changes. But if I had been able to pull back and view my life in five-year slices, it would have been painfully obvious. My weight had blown up to 285 pounds. I was vomiting up blood from anxiety, spending way more money than I was making, and taking out home equity loans to subsidize my lifestyle. Family vacations had gone from resorts in exotic locations to using frequent flyer miles to pay for cheaper hotels.
Lesson learned: I was suffering both the distortion of perception and the distortion of thinking.
Leading a Double Life
Of course, I became a master at hiding things from my family, friends, colleagues, and clients. Or so I thought. But eventually there were too many empty liquor bottles and pill vials, and too many missed appointments, too many excuses to hide. The day came when the jig was up.
Lesson learned: I was really only fooling myself.
‘I Can Do it Tomorrow’
I thought I had the luxury of unlimited time. Why do today what I could put off until tomorrow? But it’s funny, the days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. When I woke up from my stupor, a decade had gone by, as did the promise of a young man’s happiness and success.
Lesson learned: Every day is a precious gift.
Savior Syndrome
And yet, I had good, solid advice for everyone else. I thought I was high functioning and a bastion of the community as I was a softball coach, on the school board, a confidant and friend to everyone around me. When the truth came out, no wonder they were all so disappointed and hurt that they stopped talking to me. I had deceived them all into thinking I was stable enough for the responsibilities of being a good friend, lawyer, and citizen.
Lesson learned: Like passengers’ instructions on an airplane, I had to put the oxygen mask on myself before I could help others.
The Truth, the Whole Truth, and Nothing But the Truth
The truth—what a concept? The road to recovery was paved in my acceptance that I was an alcoholic and drug addict. In living one day at a time. In doing estimable acts. In doing the next right thing and turning over the outcome.
Lesson learned: There is a solution—not for those who need it but for those who want it.
This column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Bureau of National Affairs, Inc. or its owner.
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Jeff Grant practices law at GrantLaw PLLC in New York City. He serves as private general counsel for people and businesses prosecuted for white collar federal and state offenses and other personal and business crisis situations.
This is perhaps my most incisive podcast ever (at least I think so). How could it not be, as I was interviewed by Prof. Sydney Finkelstein of the Tuck School of Business at Dartmouth College. A must-listen if you and/or someone you care about have been prosecuted for a white collar crime. – Jeff
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Episode Summary:
He is addicted to prescription opioids, he attempts suicide, he’s found guilty of white-collar crime and serves 13 months in prison. Now he’s out, free, and has a chance to do something good for others, and himself, with the rest of his life. This was, and is, Jeff Grant, and on this episode of The Sydcast we hear his story. Link to Sydcast on Art19.com: https://art19.com/shows/the-sydcast/episodes/b6473d6d-3cc5-4484-b4ba-42ddad226991.
Syd Finkelstein is the Steven Roth Professor of Management at the Tuck School of Business at Dartmouth College. He holds a Master’s degree from the London School of Economics and a Ph.D. from Columbia University. Professor Finkelstein has published 25 books and 90 articles, including the bestsellers Why Smart Executives Fail and Superbosses: How Exceptional Leaders Master the Flow of Talent, which LinkedIn Chairman Reid Hoffman calls the “leadership guide for the Networked Age.” He is also a Fellow of the Academy of Management, a consultant and speaker to leading companies around the world, and a top 25 on the Global Thinkers 50 list of top management gurus. Professor Finkelstein’s research and consulting work often relies on in-depth and personal interviews with hundreds of people, an experience that led him to create and host his own podcast, The Sydcast, to uncover and share the stories of all sorts of fascinating people in business, sports, entertainment, politics, academia, and everyday life.
Jeff Grant
After an addiction to prescription opioids and serving almost fourteen months in a Federal prison (2006 – 07) for a white-collar crime he committed in 2001 when he was lawyer, Jeff started his own reentry – earning a Master of Divinity from Union Theological Seminary in the City of New York, majoring in Social Ethics. After graduating from divinity school, Jeff was called to serve at an inner city church in Bridgeport, CT as Associate Minister and Director of Prison Ministries. He then co-founded Progressive Prison Ministries, Inc. (Greenwich, CT), the world’s first ministry serving the white collar justice community.
On May 5, 2021, Jeff’s law license was reinstated by the Appellate Division of the Supreme Court of the State of New York.
Now again in private practice, Jeff is an attorney and counselor-at-law providing private general counsel, legal crisis management, and dispute strategy and management services to individuals and families, real estate organizations, family-owned and closely-held businesses, the white collar justice community, and special situation and pro bono clients. He practices in New York and in authorized Federal matters, and works with local co-counsel to represent clients throughout country
For over 20 years Jeff served as managing attorney of a 20+ employee law firm headquartered in New York City, and then Westchester County, NY. Among other practice areas, the firm engaged in representation of family-owned/closely held businesses and their owners, business and real estate transactions, trusts and estates, and litigation. Jeff also served as outside General Counsel to large family-owned real estate equities, management and brokerage organizations, in which role he retained, coordinated and oversaw the work of many specialty law firms, including white collar defense firms.
Insights from this Episode
Why Jeff wanted to become an attorney
Family struggles Jeff went through during his auto-medication addiction problems
How Jeff ended up in prison and what his experience was
The steps of Jeff’s return journey to life after prison
How Jeff supports white-collar criminals
Patterns of white-collar crimes
Institutional challenges towards fraud
Quotes from the Show:
“I became addicted and slowly I started to deteriorate where I couldn’t show up at work anymore and I couldn’t run my firm even though it was continuing to be successful” – Jeff Grant [12:11]
“I was betting my livelihood and health of my family and my future in ways that were just reckless” – Jeff Grant [17:02]
“I learned more about human nature and respect and care and character in prison than I’ve learned in my entire life.” – Jeff Grant [24:48]
“[About his early life as a successful attorney] Positional power and money bought me the illusion that I had anything important to say and that anybody ever cared what I had to say, and the truth was that I was just a narcissistic mess” – Jeff Grant [27:18]
“I’m afraid that what we are doing is that we are teaching business leaders and political leaders…we are teaching them the wrong values” – Jeff Grant [50:17]
“[About people who make fraud] It’s not okay to take advantage of the system so long as you, either don’t get caught or if you do get caught, you won’t get prosecuted for it” – Jeff Grant [50:34]
Fellow Travelers Mike Neubig and Jeff Grant are featured in this article, and are members of of our White Collar Support Group that meets online on Zoom on Monday evenings.
Pour yourself a cup of coffee, because this is quite a read.
Who’s more despicable: a thief who robs a 7-11 at gunpoint, or Elizabeth Holmes, the former billionaire (on paper) accused of perpetrating a massive fraud with her blood-testing company, Theranos?
It may be easier for the armed robber to be forgiven than Holmes. He wasn’t born and raised in an environment of privilege. She had everything.
There are several programs helping “blue-collar” ex-felons find jobs and start life over after prison, but there are no such programs for white-collar ex-cons. (“White collar” traditionally describes a nonviolent crime involving financial fraud.)
“You had your chance and you blew it,” says Mike Neubig, a former CEO convicted of lying to investors. He’s struggled to find steady work, and he realizes that most people couldn’t care less. He says their message is, “We don’t have sympathy,” but he asks, “How long do you want us punished?”
Even in a tight labor market, where accountants in particular are in high demand, few companies will take a risk on someone who’s broken trust in the past.
There are tens of thousands of highly skilled men and women who’ve done their time and need to go back to work. They’re testing different interview strategies. Some succeed, some don’t, and now some of these former inmates are leaning on each other. “White-collar guys are smart,” one told me.
Meet three men who explain what they did wrong, what’s next, and what you need to know if you ever end up in prison.
THE HIGH-PROFILE AUDITOR CAUGHT IN AN FBI STING
I was surprised several months ago when Scott London reached out to me on LinkedIn with a nice message about an online forum I moderated. Surprised, because the last time we saw each other was in 2013, when I was chasing Scott around a federal courthouse in downtown Los Angeles after he was arrested by the FBI.
But Scott London is a nice guy.
A nice guy who broke the law.
Scott was a senior partner in the Los Angeles office of auditing giant KMPG. He gave a friend, Brian Shaw, insider information on a couple of companies, and Shaw used that information to trade shares and make about $1.6 million.
“I gave him a series of tips over 10, 12 months,” Scott admits. He says he crossed the line from legal to illegal slowly, after listening for months as Shaw explained how his business was struggling. Scott says he had no idea that Shaw would use the information to make such huge gains. “I thought he was going to trade and make $10,000, $20,000.”
Still, “The facts were that I gave him that information,” and in exchange, Scott received money and gifts worth between $50,000–$70,000.
But the suspiciously timed trades netting a whopping $1.6 million got the attention of law enforcement.
The FBI contacted Brian Shaw, and he agreed to set up his friend in a sting, meeting Scott in a parking lot and passing him an envelope filled with $5,000 (money provided by the FBI). This gave the feds the evidence they needed to bring a case.
When federal agents showed up at Scott London’s door, they pulled out the photo of him taking the cash. “I did it,” he told them on the spot, admitting everything.
When we met again recently for this newsletter, Scott told me that when he first went to prison, he was sent to the same facility housing Brian Shaw. He says prison officials were concerned about having both of these ex-friends in the same place, so Scott was immediately put in the SHU (pronounced “shoe”), the Special Housing Unit, aka solitary confinement.
Nobody told Scott why he was going to solitary or how long he’d stay. “It was the worst period of time in my life.” He had no access to a phone for a week, and he spent 23 hours a day in a small cell. “There are people screaming in there.”
He was there for 30 days.
Then he was moved to the general prison population at a federal facility in Lompoc, California, where he spent most of his days doing landscape maintenance at Vandenberg Air Force Base.
“There’s a feeling I used to have daily: ‘How could I be so stupid and do something like this?’,” he tells me. Fortunately, Scott’s family survived on savings and his wife’s income.
Shortly after his release from prison, he reached out to a friend who ran a tech company. “I said, ‘I don’t care what I do.’” The CEO took a chance on him, even though hiring a high-profile ex-felon caused some “awkward conversations” at the company.
Within a few months, Scott was promoted to Chief Operating Officer.
He realizes that his success after prison is very unusual. Scott thinks the main reason he was able to bounce back is because he never denied the charges. Not to the FBI. Not to his friends.
“I had more people advising me, ‘Deny, deny, deny, there’s no evidence.’” But Scott thinks being honest saved his career. “That builds credibility amongst the community you live in.” It’s something he talks about in ethics training for aspiring accountants.
Still, he knows he’ll never again be a top manager at a top accounting firm.
“I don’t think there’s any way that anybody who committed a white-collar crime can go back to the industry they were in,” he says.
THE EDUCATION CEO“I wouldn’t trade it. It’s created the person I am now.”
Mike Neubig used to worry that a potential employer would find out about his criminal record. Now he writes about it openly on a blog.
Mike was the youngest of five children in a poor household. “I felt invisible.” He was also the first to go to college, where a professor was impressed with his writing. “Nobody ever told me I was smart before.” That sparked an interest in education: “I wanted to give back and try to impact the type of kids that I was, that were kind of invisible.”
He ended up becoming a teacher and eventually got involved in restructuring education. He wrote a book, created his own business — Capture Educational Consulting Services — and raised $3.9 million in startup funds from investors.
Then things went south.
He lied to investors about how well the company was doing.
“I think that investors make the assumption that you are ready to handle sudden success, hundreds of thousands of dollars,” he says.
His board fired him.
Then one day two years later when he was home alone, the doorbell rang.
“I peeked out and I thought I saw the sleeve of a policeman’s uniform,” Mike recalls. “I’d never had anything besides a speeding ticket in my lifetime, and my heart started pounding.”
He went to open the garage door to see if anyone was in the back. “There was a bunch of police cars out there, and they came underneath the garage door and said they had a warrant for my arrest and to put my hands behind my back, and I was just in shock.”
Soon everyone heard the news. His wife’s prayer group found out. So did the parents of the football team he helped coach. “People looked at me like I had the plague.”
Unlike Scott London, Mike Neubig has struggled to find a job. His story is more common. As soon as an employer does a background check, it’s all over. Google “Mike Neubig” and see what pops up.
Every time he lands an interview, he tries to figure out when to reveal his past. Sometimes he mentions it right off the top; sometimes during a second interview (but only halfway through, “so that you can finish the interview with reminding them how great you are”); sometimes he waits until after he receives a conditional offer of employment.
None of it’s worked out, even when he’s been told he’s the perfect candidate. Mike has been fired from two jobs after managers discovered his record, and he’s had three offer letters revoked. “Once they know, they don’t want anything to do with me,” he says. “How do you build trust again?”
Even entry-level custodial jobs may be off-limits. “Can you trust the white-collar ex-felon late at night alone in an office?”
THE $140,000 JOB
Here’s one particularly painful example. Mike says he landed a job in San Francisco after his indictment but before his conviction. It was a great job, paying $140,000, and somehow he passed the background check (obviously no one Googled him). He started working, and then he flew to New York for a week of training.
Two days in, his boss calls a meeting. “I start to show him my computer and all the things I’ve done, and I look up, and the lady from HR is on the screen.” The boss revealed they’d learned about his indictment and demanded he immediately hand over the computer. “The lady on the screen says, ‘Tell us a little bit about what happened,’” he says, “but they had already taken my computer.” (I reached out to the company and the boss, but I never got a reply.)
Mike is no longer running from his record. “It’s all over my LinkedIn page.” He thinks it’s important to be public about his past and to share what he’s learned. “As my therapist said, ‘You have to rebuild your whole identity at age 50.’”
He’s even started to get a little work. Newsflash: Just last week, Mike landed a contract to be a marketing director. The company knows his background and hired him anyway. “It’s really brought me self-esteem I haven’t had in a long time.”
Despite everything, he says the experience made him a better man. And his wife and daughters stuck with him.
“It was awful, but I wouldn’t trade it. It’s created the person I am now.”
THE LAWYER TURNED PREACHER “I tried to kill myself that night…”
Jeff Grant was a very successful lawyer in New York who became addicted to prescription opioids after rupturing his Achilles’ tendon. He started stealing money from clients. Then to save his business after 9/11, he applied for a Small Business Administration loan, falsely claiming his office was a block from Ground Zero. “It was a stupid, crazy thing to do.”
He received $247,000.
In July of 2002, when it became clear he’d committed fraud, he surrendered his law license. “I tried to kill myself that night with an overdose of prescription opioids.”
Friends came to the rescue and drove him to rehab. Jeff became sober. Then, nearly two years later, “I got a call from two federal agents to tell me that there was a warrant out for my arrest in connection with the misrepresentations I made on the 9/11 loan.”
He turned himself in and pled guilty. “All I wanted to do was accept responsibility and pay my debt and move forward.”
In 2006 he went to prison for over a year.
Jeff was sent to a correctional institute in Pennsylvania, where he says there were “five stockbrokers, two former doctors and one former lawyer — that was me — and about 1,500 drug dealers.” (More on lessons he learned in prison below… wow!)
When Jeff got out of prison, his life was a mess. “I didn’t have a job. My family was in disarray.” He was still in recovery, though, and went to court-managed drug and alcohol counseling several times a week. A counselor advised him to begin re-establishing his reputation by doing volunteer work. That led to some paid positions.
In 2009 he decided to go to seminary, even though he’d been raised Jewish. He received a Master of Divinity degree from Union Theological Seminary and started working in churches.
He started Progressive Prison Ministries in 2014 to specifically provide emotional and spiritual support to white-collar criminals and their families. The group holds virtual meetings every Monday night, and everyone from ex-cons to people awaiting trial call in. “We give them hope and some guidance on how to move forward,” Jeff explains. While the program is “spiritually oriented,” it is non-denominational. “We serve people of all faiths or no faith whatsoever.”
The group includes former CEOs, captains of industry, a former local sheriff and a discredited ex-district attorney. Many of them share their stories on Jeff’s podcast, White Collar Week.
“This is hard work, Jane. This is like therapy on steroids.”
Time for their advice…
HOW TO SURVIVE PRISON
— If you’re going to prison, memorize important phone numbers or have them mailed to you inside. Nobody remembers phone numbers anymore.
— Tell visitors not to handle any cash ahead of a visit, because there may be drug residue on it.
“The single most important thing to know about going to prison is to show respect and be able to receive respect,” says Jeff Grant, who adds that respect is mostly demonstrated by “keeping your mouth shut.” People who ask a lot of questions are suspected of being rats.
Prison has a lot of rules which are not intuitive at first. “It’s like being on a plane and landing in Manchuria,” he says. “You can get off the plane, but you don’t speak the language, you don’t know the customs, you don’t know the culture, you don’t have the money.”“You don’t want to know how he acquired it.”
For example, on his third day in prison, Jeff went over to a weight stack to bench press. It was very early in the morning, and nobody was working out.
“Somebody came up to me and said, ‘Are you planning on using that equipment?’ And I said, ‘Yeah.’” The guy told Jeff, “When you’re done, come talk to me.” Jeff said he was so freaked out, he did one bench press before going back to talk to the guy, who suggested Jeff talk to his “cellie,” his cellmate.
When Jeff asked his “cellie” what the deal was, the cellmate told Jeff the man who spoke to him “owns” the weight equipment during that part of the day. “You don’t want to know how he acquired it,” the cellmate told him. “If you want to use that equipment during that time of day, you’ve got to pay him for it.”
Jeff asked why the guy didn’t just tell him that. “He doesn’t know you,” his cellmate said. “He doesn’t know if you’re a rat.” White-collar inmates are generally older and often white, as is Jeff, and that can make other inmates suspect them of being prison plants.
Jeff began to walk the track around the prison yard, 10 miles a day. “After about three months, a ‘shot caller’ came up,” he says, referring to the head of a gang. “He said to me, ‘I hear you can be trusted.’” Jeff knew by now not to speak. “So I just nodded my head, and he said, ‘All right, then.’”
The next day other inmates suddenly started talking to Jeff, the former lawyer, and asking for legal advice. He ended up helping many of them with divorces and bankruptcies.“You can’t trust anybody.”
Scott London paid a consultant a few hundred dollars to get advice before starting his prison sentence. “Turns out [the advice] was mostly wrong.”
Here’s what he learned on his own about prison.
“You can’t trust anybody, you can’t trust what people tell you, you have to look out for yourself.” Scott says there will be inmates who want to get you in trouble. At the same time, “Don’t treat people poorly.”
He says the first couple of weeks were a process of learning the rules, such as, “This thing is only for coffee. Don’t wash your hands in that sink.”
Then came the occasional challenges, “where somebody is exerting their influence.” Scott says you can react in one of three ways:
Cowering — “From that time on, they would kind of own you throughout your stay.”
Defiant — “You just go over the top and try and be aggressive with them.”
Something in-between — “Hold your ground and say, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any disrespect. I’m here to do my thing, you’re here doing your thing.’”
Scott chose the last strategy. “In the end, I made some reasonable friends there that I spent most of my time with.” Finding such people helped the time go by. “If you were just trying to be a loner, and you isolate yourself, it’s going to be very, very difficult to get through.”
AND AFTER PRISON?
There are “Fair Chance Employers” who are willing to hire someone with a criminal record to reduce recidivism rates, but Mike Neubig says they focus on blue-collar ex-felons, not people like him.
In California, the 2018 Fair Chance Act bans employers from doing a criminal background check until a conditional offer has been made. The offer can only be rescinded after “considering the nature and gravity of the criminal history, the time that has passed since the conviction, and the nature of the job you are seeking.”
It doesn’t take much to convince a company to rescind an offer to someone who previously committed fraud.
So Mike says he’s found value in volunteering with the youth ministry at his church, and with Jeff Grant’s Progressive Prison Ministries. “Find a support group,” he says. “Don’t be afraid to admit what you did… otherwise the shame will just kill you. It still does at times.”“Think about the people in your life.”
Scott London says white-collar ex-cons need to leverage the skills they have and reinvent themselves in a career different from the one they had.
He also has two pieces advice for staying out of trouble in the first place. First, don’t make critical work decisions when you’re vulnerable. “You might be going through a divorce, you might have financial issues.” This could put you in the wrong frame of mind to make moral and ethical choices.
Second, “If you are about to go over the line… think about the people in your life.” Those people will suffer greatly. “My son came home from school one day, and there was a news truck sitting outside, and he had no idea what was going on.” If Scott had that image in his mind before he broke the law, he says he wouldn’t have broken the law.“We have a right to a second life.”
Jeff Grant has done what seemed impossible and won back his law license. Even some of his old clients from 20 years ago have come back.
This gives him hope.
“We’re now hopefully being regarded not so much as castoffs anymore,” he says, “but more as people who’ve gone through some difficult challenges, albeit mostly by our own hand, and who have a right to recover, have a right to a second life.”
Jane Wells would love to hear what you think. Please feel free to email [email protected].
Hiring a white-collar defense lawyer is a monumental task — and one that most entrepreneurs and businesspeople, even those who are sophisticated legal consumers, are monumentally unprepared to do.
I should know.
I’m a lawyer and entrepreneur who became addicted to prescription opioids and served almost 14 months in federal prison for a white-collar crime.
I was disbarred, and then step-by-step, lesson-by-lesson, I worked my way through the ordeal.
On May 5, 2021, my law license was reinstated by the Supreme Court of the State of New York. Here are some takeaways I learned from over three decades of experience on both sides of the legal system:
1. You are in trauma, whether you know it or not
Your entrepreneurship, intellect and survival skills have betrayed you. You are in pain, and will do — and pay — almost anything to make the pain go away. You’ve probably been looking over your shoulder for a long time. It’s normal to be terrified; who wouldn’t be?
Practice point: no matter what you do, the pain is not going away any time soon. Beware of anyone who tells you differently.
2. Long-term plan instead of short-term relief
You know this, but you are probably in fear of what you think is the worst thing that can happen — prison. Prison is not the worst thing that can happen—the worst thing that can happen is not having a comeback story. Keep your eye on the prize. That is, a carefully and thoughtfully constructed long-term plan for health, purpose and prosperity for you and your family. It’s okay (in fact, it’s vital) to give yourself the time and space to step back and make good, thoughtful decisions. You are in the desert, and it will be a long journey to the promised land.
Practice point: This is a marathon, not a sprint. Pace yourself.
3. Your brother-in-law probably knows nothing about hiring a white collar defense lawyer…
…Neither does your dentist, haircutter or almost anyone else. Everyone around you is most likely offering “well-intended advice.” And maybe already picking at your bones. But, there is dependable professional help out there in the form of private general counsel with specific experience in the intricacies of white collar defense and all of the other legal, business, family and emotional issues you are likely to face.
Practice point: These are shark- infested waters and a great general counsel can help you navigate them.
4. There is very little chance that your case will go to trial
Over the past two decades, less than two percent of white collar prosecutions have gone to trial. This means that whether a “trial lawyer” has spent much of the last twenty years as a prosecutor or as a criminal defense attorney, they probably have no (or very little) white collar trial experience. But, we are stuck in an old paradigm where we think we need a trial attorney to swoop in and save the day. This might happen on television, but it almost never happens in real life.
Practice point: Are you suffering from Perry Mason syndrome? Get real, and fast.
5. Ever wonder why lawyers have such fancy offices?
Do you want to pay for expensive overhead (maybe you do) or for excellent lawyering? Isn’t it more important to find out if you and an attorney have a great connection, and can work together? Has your defense attorney taken the time to really understand you and your family, your back story, all of your issues, and your life goals?
Practice point: Are you sure these are the professionals you want to trust with your life?
6. Your criminal defense budget
Your criminal defense lawyer can’t do it all; you’ll need a team. Your defense attorney’s job is to marshal the best resources in order to make a persuasive presentation to the prosecutors, to the probation officer at your pre-sentence investigation, and to the judge. How much of your criminal defense budget/retainer will be allocated for experts (forensic accountants, investigators, mitigation experts, medical experts, etc.) to give a complete and accurate picture of you, your family and your side of the facts?
Practice point: Make sure you fully understand — and approve — the plan and budget up front.
7. Outside your criminal defense budget
Your issues are most likely way bigger, and more complicated, than just your criminal matter. How much of your overall budget will be allocated for other attorneys and professionals (business attorneys, tax attorneys, bankruptcy lawyers, family law, civil litigation, estate planning, accountants, etc.)? How much of your overall budget will be allocated for other obligations (restitution, fines, forfeiture, taxes, antecedent debt, alimony, child support, etc.)?
Practice point: Your defense attorney’s job is to get you the best sentence — they will probably not help you balance other important issues that need to be addressed.
8. Does your spouse/significant other need separate counsel?
In a word, yes. Or at least, probably. You’ve been shouldering this thing alone for so long, it’s hard to be a good partner again. Believe it or not, your spouse’s interests are probably not fully aligned with yours. They have their own body of rights that deserve professional attention.
Practice point: Tell the truth, don’t tell your spouse/significant other that everything will be “okay.”
9. Out of isolation and into community
You don’t have to go through this alone. Believe it or not, there is a rich community of people who have been prosecuted for white collar crimes, and their families, who want to give of themselves freely to help you.
Practice point: Don’t be afraid to reach out, join a white collar support group and benefit from the experiences of those who have been there before you.
Jeff Grant, Esq.
GrantLaw, PLLC, 43 West 43rd Street, Suite 108, New York, NY 10036-7424
Jeff Grant is on a mission. After a hiatus from practicing law, he is once again in private practice and is committed to using his legal expertise and life experience to benefit others.
Jeff provides a broad range of legal services in a highly attentive, personalized manner. They include private general counsel, white collar crisis management to individuals and families, services to family-owned and closely-held businesses, plus support to special situation and pro bono clients.
For more than 20 years, Jeff served as managing attorney of a 20+ employee law firm headquartered in New York City and then Westchester County, New York. The firm’s practice areas included representing family-owned and closely-held businesses and their owners, business and real estate transactions, trusts and estates, and litigation.
After nearly two decades without practicing, Jeff Grant got his law license back this May.
He served over a year in prison for lying about office space to get federal relief money after 9/11.
He then went to seminary and opened a ministry serving white-collar defendants.
Jeff Grant started his law career the way many young lawyers would dream of starting. He launched his own firm shortly after graduating from New York Law School in 1981 and grew it, first in Manhattan and then in Westchester County, adding employees and clients. He served as outside general counsel to two large real-estate companies and kept adding staff.
But then the cracks appeared.
After rupturing his Achilles tendon in a basketball game in 1992, he was prescribed opioids for pain relief. He said he quickly became addicted and continued to take them daily for the next decade.
He made a habit of borrowing money from his clients’ escrow accounts to cover payroll, which he was in danger of not paying because of his personal spending habits and inattention to the business.
And after the attacks on September 11, 2001, he lied about his office location on an application for a low-interest Small Business Administration loan. He wrote that he had a satellite office just a few blocks from ground zero, but he had only an agreement with another firm in that building to use a conference room, which he had never used. He received a $247,000 loan and used it to cover personal credit cards, which he said were used to keep his firm afloat, and other personal expenses.
A New York attorney grievance committee launched an ethics investigation into his misuse of client funds, while federal prosecutors initiated a criminal inquiry over the loan.
Grant was disbarred in December 2002, five months after surrendering his legal license. He pleaded guilty to one count each of wire fraud and money laundering and was sentenced to 18 months in prison in 2006. In the interim, he went to rehab, and he said he has stayed sober since.
On the road to recovery
He served nearly 14 months in a low-security prison, where he attended services for a range of religions: Catholicism, Protestantism, and Islam. After he was released in 2007, Grant spent a couple of years volunteering. Then a friend recommended he attend seminary. Grant was hesitant.
“I was a Jewish kid from Long Island,” he said. “I didn’t even know what it was.”
But he enrolled in Union Theological Seminary in the City of New York, earning his master of divinity in 2012. He accepted a position as an associate minister later that year in Bridgeport, Connecticut, and later became an ordained minister in an Independent Catholic church (not affiliated with Roman Catholic). He said he was also baptized as a Protestant and still identifies with Catholicism, Protestantism, and Judaism.
In 2013, he and his wife founded Progressive Prison Ministries in Greenwich, Connecticut. He says it’s the world’s first ministry helping people prosecuted for white-collar crimes. His work came to include mentoring, career counseling, and spiritual support.
But something was missing, he said.
He said that while he loved doing “the good work,” it could get frustrating. The people Grant ministered to always had legal questions, he said, but he was barred from giving legal advice.
In 2018, he decided to try to get his law license back.
‘Light at the end of this crazy tunnel’
Grant submitted a motion for reinstatement to the New York State Bar at the beginning of 2019 that included a tell-all, 10,000-word narrative of how he’d unraveled his life and then worked to put it back together.
The committee on character and fitness investigated him — lawyers need to show remorse and prove that they’ve changed and are trustworthy and honest in order to be reinstated — and recommended his approval in October 2020. But a state court still needed to officially OK it.
Every day for the next several months, Grant checked to see if his name appeared on the court’s docket.
Then, on May 5, Grant saw it: He was a lawyer again, effective immediately.
He hasn’t struggled to find work since, he said.
Grant says he’s one of the very few practicing attorneys who have been prosecuted and incarcerated for white-collar crimes. His clients seek him out because of his past, he said.
“It brings hope and comfort that there actually might be light at the end of this crazy tunnel,” he said.
Some of his old clients even gave him a shout when he shared the news that he had his license back, asking for him to represent them once again.
Four decades after graduating from law school, Grant says he feels content.
“This might be the first time in my life where I feel like I’ve arrived at where God needs me to be,” he said.
_________________________
Jeffrey D. Grant, Esq.
GrantLaw, PLLC, 43 West 43rd Street, Suite 108, New York, NY 10036-7424
Now again in private practice, Jeff is an attorney and counselor-at-law providing private general counsel, legal crisis management, and dispute strategy and management services to individuals and families, real estate organizations, family-owned and closely-held businesses, the white collar justice community, and special situation and pro bono clients.
For over 20 years Jeff served as managing attorney of a 20+ employee law firm headquartered in New York City, and then Westchester County, NY. Among other practice areas, the firm engaged in representation of family-owned/closely held businesses and their owners, business and real estate transactions, trusts and estates, and litigation. Jeff also served as outside General Counsel to large family-owned real estate equities, management and brokerage organizations, in which role he retained, coordinated and oversaw the work of many specialty law firms, including white collar defense firms.
