Nearly three years ago I spoke with a man who told me he was embezzling money. He was not the target of an investigation. I told him to stop the bleeding and not make it worse, and I referred him to five lawyers. He didn't call one. He had convinced himself, the way I once did, that another wire and another quarter would fix it and no one would know. He didn't fix it. The losses doubled. More victims, an indictment, a guilty plea, a conviction, and more than six years in federal prison. When we spoke again, he told me he wished he had taken my advice three years ago.

Someone new to our community asked how Ippei got 57 months while his co-defendant, Matthew Boyer, got a year and a day. I told him it's not the right comparison. Ippei stole $16 or $17 million, and even if Shohei is the greatest athlete in the world and a billionaire, he's still a victim, and the case did real damage to his brand. But look at how the two men responded. Ippei blamed Shohei in his letter to Judge Holcomb; I read that letter and made a long YouTube video about it. Matthew treated it as an evidence challenge instead of a legal one. He built a narrative about what he would do going forward, volunteered with Prison Professors, and spoke at business schools including USC about the consequences of cheating. I attended both sentencing hearings and filmed a video right after Matt's, reciting what Judge Holcomb said. Judge Holcomb is cynical. He expects defendants to say one thing and do another.

When I went to federal prison I got the severity of my conduct. Standing for count, the 2 a.m. fire drills, visiting with crying parents. You realize maybe you can do better. When I settled with the Securities and Exchange Commission, really a toothless agency, I didn't get it. I had to go inside. I think that's the case for a lot of people serving time for very small frauds, $10,000 to $50,000 in PPP fraud, and for the many who go to prison for obstruction with no financial loss at all. If you reward bad behavior, if you go to prison and get clemency you didn't earn, you come home and keep breaking the law, like George Santos did. He bet on Kalshi, the prediction market, got caught, they took $17,000, and he's banned from those markets. People go to prison for $17,000. There's no consequence for him, so he's going to continue. Prison worked for me because I understood the severity of it. Santos went to prison and got clemency, so he can keep breaking the law knowing he will never go back. It is indeed a two-tiered system of justice, them and us.

I was on a phone call with a federal defendant and his wife, and twice she said, you got that right. Most people who come into our community went into business with good intentions, then things happened and before they knew it they were in trouble. A small number go into business to steal and do harm, and by this defendant's own admission, that was him. He took shortcuts. He said one thing and immediately did another. He stole and he deceived. It's easy to blame spouses, the ones who love the life and the country club and the lifestyle, but much of the time, and especially in this case, they had no idea. She was deceived like a victim. She could not believe this was happening, and she said, I just want to go back to how it was. I told her that life is over. This is who he is, by his own admission. Then I asked if she would want that life, built on the backs of the people her husband stole from. After a five or 10 second pause she said, yeah, you got that right too.

What would happen if you went to federal prison and said, I'm going to write 300 words six days a week for the 15 months I'm here? Document what you're reading and why. The lessons you're learning. How you became immersed in a government investigation and why it will never happen again. The steps you're taking to grow your network, develop new skills, and prove worthy of a second chance. You would leave with a body of work so extensive you could share it for weeks, months, years, and generations to come. And at 300 words a day, six days a week, you will have worked your way through the massive collateral consequences that accompany a criminal conviction. I did it with help. So can you.

At a sentencing hearing most judges hear I'm sorry, I'll never do it again, I'll spend the rest of my life making amends, I'll pay all my victims back. The judge says, we'll see. Then you serve 24 months. You come home to the bills, the mortgage, the rent, and the rebuilding is hard. You walk to the mailbox and the IRS has sent you a check for just under $10,000. You tell yourself they took your freedom and your reputation and they didn't take this, so clearly they want you to have it. You deposit it. Six months later your probation officer audits your books, sees the deposit, and calls to say this can't be right. Within a week you're back in front of the same judge you promised to make your victims whole, and your judgment and commitment order says any inheritance, refunds, or lottery winnings go to victims. Twelve months back in jail or prison, three years added to supervision. It's not a lack of information. It's making the bad choice seem reasonable again.

Eighteen months ago a man told me the FBI betrayed him, destroyed his life, and ruined his marriage. He had lied on some forms to get a loan, then began cooperating, and he decided the FBI were his friends because he was helping them. They don't care about your family, your values, or your kid's Little League. They care about victims and prison. He also hid from his wife that he had put her name on the loan documents to get the fraudulent loans, and he figured she would never find out, until the FBI told her that her husband put her name on the loans, that they had to interview her, that she should get a lawyer, that she might be in trouble too. She was cleared. She told him she knew about the investigation, but he lied to her about this, and they could have gone through it together, and she was disgusted, and she was leaving. My only advice on that call was that he would be happier and more successful when he stopped living as a victim. They both called me today. She thanked me and I asked what for. She said her husband no longer lives as a victim. They're still together. He's still going to prison. The feds are not your friends. Don't be naive and don't live as a victim.

Judge Wilson told me at my sentencing that he was tired of salesmen turning the other way for money, that most don't get caught, that I did, and that he was going to make an example out of me and send me to prison. The truth is I did much worse than turn the other way. I aggressively facilitated a fraud at Bear Stearns and then UBS, and I schemed with my colleagues so the commissions would keep coming. I'm flying up north to see several people in our community. One of them is a young kid who worked in healthcare, obstructed an investigation, got nervous and scared, lied, was indicted, pled guilty, and got probation. Here's my policy idea. I earned every collateral consequence that followed my terrible decisions. I should no longer sell stocks. You can argue prison should have been part of the sanction, and a good dude, probation officer Isaiah Murrow, oversaw me for three years. Should this kid carry the same consequences I do? There should be varying levels of consequence for a felony. How is he fired from Bank of America? How can you be Bank of America and fire felons? Should he be denied a license? Should he have the Department of Justice press releases, because in an out-of-character moment he lied and responded poorly? He's a felon and he's enduring the consequences, but should it last forever? Mine should be much more severe because of what I did. I don't think the same should follow for him. Do you agree or disagree?

Five years is a long time to deal with a white collar case, and finally getting clarity is a good thing. An executive facing sentencing has done his best to show why he's a candidate for leniency, but he keeps missing the message because he focuses on himself. On our call I asked him who the hero of this story is. He said no, who? Five years in and he didn't know. The hero is the executive during COVID who didn't cheat, who has a wife and children and a business, and who didn't submit fraudulent applications. He found a way around it. That's who you have to identify with, because that's the only thing your judge is going to be thinking about, that same husband and father who didn't cheat when you did. You're not the hero. They are. You've had five years to embrace the message and you failed. The best time to start was five years ago. The next best time is right now. He said, wow, you're right.

An FBI agent left a card on an executive's front door, and I told him this on my way home from dinner with my good friend Lawrence. Don't make matters worse. You make it worse by lying and by reaching out to people you shouldn't reach out to, and it's easy to want that because you need comfort right now. Focus on what you can and cannot control. You don't know yet if you're a witness, a target, or a subject. Too many people at this stage play director in their own mind, jump straight to the worst case, can't function, and make really bad decisions. So before I refer you to three lawyers I trust tomorrow morning, go to your computer right now and purge. Speak openly and honestly to yourself in a recorded transcript. Who did you know? When did you begin working there? What were your communications like? Everything you did while working for that company. If an agent left a card asking you to call, you can presume they've been speaking with people. The FBI agent who arrested me told me that when they show up at your home, we're in the bottom of the eighth. What the defendant does next sets the tone.