Mass. couple to plead guilty to Ponzi scheme that conned dozens out of a total of $3.2 million
Milendophe Duperier, 33, and Vanessa Joseph, 26, have agreed to plead guilty to one count each of conspiracy to commit wire fraud, the U.S. Attorney's office said in a press release.
In a Ponzi scheme, fraudsters solicit money from individuals with false promises of investing it in a particular venture that will generate high returns with little or no risk, according to the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission. Instead, the fraudsters use money from new investors to pay old ones while pocketing some of the funds.
In the case of Duperier and Joseph, Duperier posed as an investment advisor, soliciting money from individuals and advising them that their funds would be invested in the securities markets, while Joseph pretended to be his business partner, according to the U.S. Attorney's office. Between early 2018 and December 2022, the couple is alleged to have defrauded dozens of investors by instead using the money to pay for personal expenses such as luxury cars, mortgage debts and credit card payments.
Duperier and Joseph covered their tracks by using funds from new investors and small business loans to pay back purported returns to existing investors, the U.S. Attorney's office said. Duperier is also accused of making false statements and excuses to investors — some of whom entrusted him with their life savings — to explain why he had not made promised interest payments or could not return their original investment.
The charge of conspiracy to commit wire fraud provides for a sentence of up to 20 years in prison, three years of supervised release and a fine of up to $250,000 or twice the gross gain or loss from the offense — whichever is greater. The couple's plea hearings have yet to be scheduled.
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CBS News
2 days ago
- CBS News
Colorado man sentenced to six years in prison for stealing nearly $1 million from friends
A Denver who misrepresented himself as a legitimate investment broker was recently sentenced on securities fraud and theft and ordered to repay $966,045 he obtained from a half dozens friends and acquaintances. Jason Lobins, 48, pleaded guilty and was sentenced Aug. 8 in Denver District Court. A month earlier, he pleaded not guilty in a separate but similar case in El Paso County. That case is headed to trial in October. More on that later. According to court documents in the Denver case, Lobins began telling friends in March 2019 that he was certified with the U.S. Securities and Exchange commission and had established a wealth management fund. The fund would have an initial total value of $650,000, Lobins reportedly told investors -- all of whom he had a relationship of some degree with. Lobins provided investment agreements and promised monthly statements on the earnings, yearly tax documents, yearly audits of his investments by a third party, and projected a 28% return on investments for the fiscal year 2019, per the arrest affidavit. Lobins started receiving funds from his investor friends the next month. The scheme began to unravel as soon as the first victim attempted to make a withdrawal at the end of that month. Jared Stoots of Denver gave Lobins $80,000 in September 2019. "He was a neighbor and a family friend. My daughter and I spent Christmas Eve and Thanksgiving with him" the year before things turned sour, Stoots told CBS Colorado. Lobins signed a promissory note to repay the full amount in 10 days or suffer a 5% late charge every day. The money never arrived. When contacted, Lobins told Stoots the transfer was due to a bank error - a line he used on almost every victim in his case, according to the affidavit. Later, Lobins told Stoots he was suing the bank to unfreeze his assets. But Denver investigators never found evidence of such a lawsuit being filed. Nor did they find any evidence Lobins had a investment broker's license. Nor did they find any evidence Lobins had registered an investment fund. To compound matters, Stoots was on the verge of buying his first home at the time. "When I tried to get the money, he came up with all these excuses, and I lost the house a week from close," Stoots said. "And he went radio silent." Stoots said complaining to his one-time time about the missing money "just made me sound like a sketchy person." But he persisted and eventually filed a civil suit against Lobins. "I could accept that the money was gone," Stoots said. "I couldn't accept doing nothing." When Lobins didn't show up, the judge awarded Stoots more than half a million dollars in a default judgement. None of that money has made its way to Stoots, either. And Lobins, at the time, walked freely in the neighborhood despite Denver's criminal investigation. "I thought this was pretty open and shut," Stoots said. "He had a warrant, doesn't drive a car," and should be easy to arrest. "That was five years ago." It was during this time that Lobins made death threats against Stoots in conversations with mutual friends, according to Stoots. Recordings of the alleged threats were provided to Denver prosecutors, but discounted since the threats were not delivered directly to him, Stoots claimed. "I just hope the next person in my situation has a little more support," Stoots said. The case turned last year when Stoots sought publicity for the case in the media. Five other victims "came out of the woodwork," as Stoots described, including one who was a friend of Lobins since grade school. Investigators accelerated their efforts and Lobins was arrested at a local bar. "I think I was so emotionally exhausted by the time everything was validated" by the arrest and the charges from the Colorado Division of Securities. "He had told me he had cancer, was bringing up his had just been through so much. It's really difficult going from trying to help somebody to realizing nothing they say is true." The plea deal reached between Lobins and Denver's prosecutors was against the wishes of all six victims, Stoots said. And he doesn't agree with the sentence, either, considering the judge removed more than a year from the six-year prison term for time Lobins had already spent behind bars for the case. On top of that, the alleged death threats have Stoots feeling uneasy about Lobins's eventual release. He said he has installed a home security system, purchased a gun, and no longer lets his daughter walk home from school. "I'll be looking over my shoulder." In the upcoming El Paso County trial, Lobins is accused of approaching a longtime friend in 2023 and claiming he was dying cancer, as stated in the arrest affidavit. Lobins told the man that he had money to give away and wanted to invest in the man's coffee shop in downtown Colorado Springs, and potentially buy the friend a hotel. Lobins instructed them to pay fees to start the joint business venture. The man and his wife sent Lobins more than $9,000 before losing their faith in him. According to the affidavit in the Colorado Springs case, Lobins put off their complaints by complaining about his health and cell phone. Lobins pleaded not guilty to theft in July in that case.
San Francisco Chronicle
3 days ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
He earned a small town's trust. He owed $95 million in what authorities say was a Ponzi scheme
HAMILTON, N.Y. (AP) — For decades, Miles 'Burt' Marshall was the man you went to see in a stretch of upstate New York if you had some money to invest but wanted to keep it local. Working from an office in the charming village of Hamilton, down the road from Colgate University, Marshall prepared taxes and sold insurance. He also took money for what was sometimes called the '8% Fund,' which guaranteed that much in annual interest no matter what happened with the financial markets. His clients spread the word to family and friends. Have a retirement nest egg? Let Burt handle it. He'll invest it in local rental properties and your money will grow faster than in a bank. Marshall was friendly and folksy. He gave away gift bags with maple syrup, pickles and local honey in jars labeled with cute sayings like, 'Don't be a sap. For proper insurance coverage call Miles B. Marshall." 'He would tell you about all the other people that invest. Churches invest. Fire companies invest. Doctors invest,' said one client, Christine Corrigan. 'So you'd think, 'Well, they're smart people. They wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't okay to do ... Why are you going to be the suspicious one?' Then it all came crashing down. Marshall owed almost 1,000 people and organizations about $95 million in principal and interest when he filed for bankruptcy protection two years ago, according to the trustee's filings. This summer, the 73-year-old businessman was indicted on charges that his investment business was a Ponzi scheme. He could face prison time if convicted. Marshall's lawyers declined to comment. Total losses by Marshall's investors fall short of the multibillion-dollar Ponzi scheme masterminded by Bernie Madoff. But they loom large in the small, college town of about 6,400 people and its largely rural surrounding area. Many investors were Colgate professors, laborers, office workers or retirees. Some lost their life's savings of tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars. Corrigan and her husband, who own a restaurant 30 miles (48 kilometers) east, were owed about $1.5 million. Now they're wondering how someone who seemed so reliable, who held annual parties for his clients and even called them on their birthdays could betray their trust. 'You look at life differently after this happens. It's like, 'Who do you trust?'' said Dennis Sullivan, who was owed about $40,000. 'It's sad because of what he's done to the area.' A reliable local businessman Marshall and his wife lived in a brick Victorian, blocks from his office. Aside from insurance and tax preparation, he rented more than 100 properties and ran a self-storage business and a print shop. His parents had run an insurance and realty business in the area and the Marshall name was respected locally. Though he quit college, he was a federally enrolled tax professional. To many in the area, he seemed knowledgeable about money and kept a neat office. 'He had French doors and a beautiful carpet and a big desk and he just looked like he was prosperous and reliable," Corrigan said. Marshall began taking money from people to buy and maintain rental properties in the 1980s. People got back promissory notes — slips of paper with the dollar amount written in. Withdrawals could be made with 30 days' notice. People could choose to receive regular interest payments. Participants saw the transactions as investments. Marshall has called them loans. For many years, Marshall made good on his promises to pay interest and process withdrawals. More people took part as word spread. Sullivan recalls how his parents gave Marshall money, then he did, then his fiancee, then his fiancee's daughter, then his son, and even his snowmobile club. 'Everybody gets snowballed into it,' Sullivan said. A number of investors lived in other states, but had connections to the area. The promise of 8% returns was unremarkable in the '80s, a time of higher interest rates. But it stood out later as rates dropped. Marshall told a bankruptcy proceeding that he assumed appreciation on his real estate would more than cover the debts. 'That's obviously false now," he said, according to filings, "but that's what I always thought.' The money stopped flowing by 2023. Marshall filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection that April, declaring more than $90 million in liabilities and $21.5 million in assets, most of it in real estate. He explained in a filing that he had been been hospitalized for a 'serious heart condition' that required two surgeries, costing him $600,000. As news of his illness spread, there was a run on note holders asking for their money back. The bankruptcy trustee, Fred Stevens, blamed Marshall's insolvency on incompetent business practices and borrowing from people at above-market rates. The trustee contended that by 2011, Marshall was using new investment money to pay off previous investors, the hallmark of a Ponzi scheme. Prosecutors claim Marshall falsely represented the profitability of his real estate business and had his staff generate "transaction summaries' with bogus information about account balances and earned interest. Money was funneled into his other businesses and he spent hundreds of thousands of investors' dollars on personal expenses, including airline travel, meals out, groceries and yoga studios, according to prosecutors. Marshall's clients feel betrayed. 'We left it there so that it would accumulate. Well, it accumulated in his pocket,' Barbara Baltusnik said of her investment. The ripple effects of multimillion-dollar losses Marshall pleaded not guilty in June to charges of grand larceny and securities fraud. He's accused of stealing more than $50 million. Marshall's home and properties were sold as part of bankruptcy proceedings, which continue. People who gave Marshall their money stand to recoup around 5.4 cents on the dollar from the asset sales. Potential claims against financial institutions are being pursued, according to the trustee. Baltusnik said she and her husband were owed hundreds of thousands of dollars and now she wonders how she will pay doctors' bills. Sullivan's mother moved in with him after losing her investment. In Epworth, Georgia, retiree Carolyn Call will never see money she hoped would help augment her Social Security payments. She found out about Marshall though an uncle who lived in upstate New York. 'I'm just able to pay my bills and keep going," she said. "Nothing extravagant. No trips. Can't do anything hardly for the grandkids.'
3 days ago
He earned a small town's trust. He owed $95 million in what authorities say was a Ponzi scheme
HAMILTON, N.Y. -- For decades, Miles 'Burt' Marshall was the man you went to see in a stretch of upstate New York if you had some money to invest but wanted to keep it local. Working from an office in the charming village of Hamilton, down the road from Colgate University, Marshall prepared taxes and sold insurance. He also took money for what was sometimes called the '8% Fund,' which guaranteed that much in annual interest no matter what happened with the financial markets. His clients spread the word to family and friends. Have a retirement nest egg? Let Burt handle it. He'll invest it in local rental properties and your money will grow faster than in a bank. Marshall was friendly and folksy. He gave away gift bags with maple syrup, pickles and local honey in jars labeled with cute sayings like, 'Don't be a sap. For proper insurance coverage call Miles B. Marshall." 'He would tell you about all the other people that invest. Churches invest. Fire companies invest. Doctors invest,' said one client, Christine Corrigan. 'So you'd think, 'Well, they're smart people. They wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't okay to do ... Why are you going to be the suspicious one?' Then it all came crashing down. Marshall owed almost 1,000 people and organizations about $95 million in principal and interest when he filed for bankruptcy protection two years ago, according to the trustee's filings. This summer, the 73-year-old businessman was indicted on charges that his investment business was a Ponzi scheme. He could face prison time if convicted. Marshall's lawyers declined to comment. Total losses by Marshall's investors fall short of the multibillion-dollar Ponzi scheme masterminded by Bernie Madoff. But they loom large in the small, college town of about 6,400 people and its largely rural surrounding area. Many investors were Colgate professors, laborers, office workers or retirees. Some lost their life's savings of tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars. Corrigan and her husband, who own a restaurant 30 miles (48 kilometers) east, were owed about $1.5 million. Now they're wondering how someone who seemed so reliable, who held annual parties for his clients and even called them on their birthdays could betray their trust. 'You look at life differently after this happens. It's like, 'Who do you trust?'' said Dennis Sullivan, who was owed about $40,000. 'It's sad because of what he's done to the area.' Marshall and his wife lived in a brick Victorian, blocks from his office. Aside from insurance and tax preparation, he rented more than 100 properties and ran a self-storage business and a print shop. His parents had run an insurance and realty business in the area and the Marshall name was respected locally. Though he quit college, he was a federally enrolled tax professional. To many in the area, he seemed knowledgeable about money and kept a neat office. 'He had French doors and a beautiful carpet and a big desk and he just looked like he was prosperous and reliable," Corrigan said. Marshall began taking money from people to buy and maintain rental properties in the 1980s. People got back promissory notes — slips of paper with the dollar amount written in. Withdrawals could be made with 30 days' notice. People could choose to receive regular interest payments. Participants saw the transactions as investments. Marshall has called them loans. For many years, Marshall made good on his promises to pay interest and process withdrawals. More people took part as word spread. Sullivan recalls how his parents gave Marshall money, then he did, then his fiancee, then his fiancee's daughter, then his son, and even his snowmobile club. 'Everybody gets snowballed into it,' Sullivan said. A number of investors lived in other states, but had connections to the area. The promise of 8% returns was unremarkable in the '80s, a time of higher interest rates. But it stood out later as rates dropped. Marshall told a bankruptcy proceeding that he assumed appreciation on his real estate would more than cover the debts. 'That's obviously false now," he said, according to filings, "but that's what I always thought.' The money stopped flowing by 2023. Marshall filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection that April, declaring more than $90 million in liabilities and $21.5 million in assets, most of it in real estate. He explained in a filing that he had been been hospitalized for a 'serious heart condition' that required two surgeries, costing him $600,000. As news of his illness spread, there was a run on note holders asking for their money back. The bankruptcy trustee, Fred Stevens, blamed Marshall's insolvency on incompetent business practices and borrowing from people at above-market rates. The trustee contended that by 2011, Marshall was using new investment money to pay off previous investors, the hallmark of a Ponzi scheme. Prosecutors claim Marshall falsely represented the profitability of his real estate business and had his staff generate "transaction summaries' with bogus information about account balances and earned interest. Money was funneled into his other businesses and he spent hundreds of thousands of investors' dollars on personal expenses, including airline travel, meals out, groceries and yoga studios, according to prosecutors. Marshall's clients feel betrayed. 'We left it there so that it would accumulate. Well, it accumulated in his pocket,' Barbara Baltusnik said of her investment. Marshall pleaded not guilty in June to charges of grand larceny and securities fraud. He's accused of stealing more than $50 million. Marshall's home and properties were sold as part of bankruptcy proceedings, which continue. People who gave Marshall their money stand to recoup around 5.4 cents on the dollar from the asset sales. Potential claims against financial institutions are being pursued, according to the trustee. Baltusnik said she and her husband were owed hundreds of thousands of dollars and now she wonders how she will pay doctors' bills. Sullivan's mother moved in with him after losing her investment. In Epworth, Georgia, retiree Carolyn Call will never see money she hoped would help augment her Social Security payments. She found out about Marshall though an uncle who lived in upstate New York. 'I'm just able to pay my bills and keep going," she said. "Nothing extravagant. No trips. Can't do anything hardly for the grandkids.'
