Navigating the federal criminal justice and prison systems with care and honesty.
To do everything possible to help you or your loved one receive a shorter sentence, serve time in the lowest security setting available, and reenter society prepared. I bring structure, timelines, and clear expectations—while ensuring your attorney does their job and doesn’t take shortcuts.
Most people picture prison life the way it’s shown on TV—dark, violent, and predatory. I did too. The images in my head before I went in were terrifying.
Fortunately, the reality is very different for the majority of federal inmates. The largest share of people are designated to minimum or low-security facilities, where violence and predatory behavior are virtually nonexistent. This is especially true in minimum-security camps, which I often compare to a poorly funded college dorm with no women.
While you will meet people you’d prefer not to associate with, you’ll also meet others who become lifelong friends. Like me, you may come out of this experience with bonds that will remain with you forever—friendships formed through the unique struggle and shared endurance of federal prison.
In my experience, the real fight was against boredom. Once you settle into a routine, you’ll be pleasantly surprised at how quickly the time passes. I share this knowledge freely, regardless of whether you hire me or not, because I want every visitor to leave with some peace of mind: it’s not nearly as bad as you imagine, and it will be over before you know it.
My trouble began when I was suddenly thrown into financial desperation. My elderly father was diagnosed with terminal cancer and dementia, and after a six-month hospital stay, he came to live with me. Because of his condition, he required round-the-clock care — very much like caring for an infant — and as the only available caregiver, I could not work.
It was during that time I discovered the full extent of the damage caused by his dementia: he had accumulated substantial gambling debts and made reckless financial decisions. By then, my savings were gone, my checking account drained, and I began selling off assets to stay afloat. Before this, I lived a comfortable life — a nice home, several cars, four-wheelers, and the kind of stability that allowed me to support my fiancée and family.
As the financial strain grew unbearable and every dollar vanished, I made a desperate decision that would alter the course of my life: I turned to selling drugs to cover debts and keep everything from collapsing. That single choice, born of panic and exhaustion, eventually brought me into the federal system.
I was remanded directly from court and endured what’s known as diesel therapy — the Bureau of Prisons’ practice of transporting inmates from one facility to another for weeks or months at a time, often unnecessarily. It’s a grueling, disorienting process designed more to wear you down than to move you efficiently.
I then served time in multiple settings: county jail, a federal detention center, an FCI, and a minimum-security camp. Determined not to waste my sentence, I threw myself into every program I could access, completing more than 11,500 hours of programming. Along the way, I earned a Pennsylvania CDL license, became certified by the Department of Labor as an animal trainer, obtained certification as a forklift operator, and completed correspondence courses to become a certified paralegal — graduating with distinction.
The Bureau of Prisons (BOP) has a documented pattern of disregarding federal laws and its own program statements, frequently harming inmates through neglect, mismanagement, and
Defendants in the federal criminal justice system are best served by accepting early that federal courts and their agents prioritize convictions and harsh sentences over
In recent years, a growing number of former Bureau of Prisons officials—case managers, counselors, guards, and administrators—have begun marketing themselves as federal prison consultants. On