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White Collar Advice

Justin Paperny

Whether you're a defense attorney, a criminal defendant, or someone eager to learn about sentencing, federal prison, and white-collar crime, our podcast is an excellent resource. It's never too soon or too late to begin preparing for a government investigation, and here's why:

Statistics demonstrate the potentially life-altering consequences of encountering the criminal justice system. Beyond the initial indignity of an arrest or the notification of a criminal investigation, those targeted by law enforcement face additional challenges:

How will this situation impact my career and earning capacity?
What changes will my life undergo if I receive a federal prison sentence?
How will my family members be affected by my term of confinement?
In the face of such complex challenges, consulting with a competent defense attorney is crucial (please note we are not lawyers and do not offer legal advice). A skilled attorney will guide the criminal justice process and help individuals navigate these difficulties.

At White Collar Advice, our dedicated team focuses on assisting those seeking to learn how to:

Avoid charges or get the shortest sentence possible.
Serve their sentence in a federal prison camp or a facility with the lowest possible security level.
Establish meaning and confidence while in federal prison.
Transition back into society and pursue a new career path.
Create a record that leads to increased liberty during supervised release.
Our podcast offers more than just generic information through a quick internet search. We prioritize delivering insightful and personalized content to our audience.

As the host, I bring a unique perspective to the table. As a successful stockbroker at Bear Stearns and UBS, I specialized in representing professional athletes and hedge funds. My journey through the criminal justice system, including a felony conviction for securities law violations, has given me valuable insights. For an in-depth account, grab a free copy of Lessons From Prison at WhiteCollarAdvice.com.

White Collar Advice has also become a trusted resource for numerous media outlets, including Dr. Phil, The New York Times, CNN, Fox News, The Washington Post, Fortune, The New York Post, BBC, ABC, and NBC.

If you have questions or inquiries, please contact us at Support@WhiteCollarAdvice.com or call 818-424-2220.

I appreciate your interest in our podcast. We look forward to sharing valuable knowledge and empowering you with the information you need to navigate the complexities of the criminal justice system.

Justin Paperny

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  • Tuesday · 8 min

    Going to Prison Does Not Qualify You to Give Advice

    A journalist writing about white collar crime sent me about 50 questions before our call. We cut it to 25, and I answered the first three here. Who I am and why anyone should listen to me: going to prison does not qualify you to give advice, and neither does failing. What matters is what you did with the experience and whether you built a record someone can look at. How I went from USC and Bear Stearns to federal prison: not one decision, but pressure, opportunity, and rationalization, convincing myself I was the good guy while I took commissions I was not entitled to. And whether I deserved prison: I know I deserved consequences. I broke the law, I hurt people, and even though the victims got their money back, it did not replace the shame and pain they went through.

  • September 10 · 1 min· Video

    Why I Told This Lawyer Not to Ask for Probation

    I got a call from someone new to our community, asking me to speak with his lawyer, a guy with more MVP awards than Michael Jordan, Kobe Bryant, and Magic Johnson combined. Two things stood out. The defendant didn't know his own guidelines were more than seven years, even after signing a plea agreement with points and restitution; how do you sign that and not know your number? And of course, he didn't want to go to prison. We got into what the government wants versus what the defense should ask for, and the lawyer told me, I'll do whatever you want me to do. I told him if the government wants more than seven years and you ask for probation, that gap is too wide; the judge will want to know what you're doing about making amends, accepting responsibility, and the victims who want punishment. You don't hire a lawyer with that resume so he can hand the decision back to you. You hire him to lead, research the judge, and not make a request that angers the judge and gets your client more time.

  • September 10 · 1 min· Video

    USC vs North Carolina and the Ghost of 1995

    I look back on playing baseball at USC, where making the travel roster to Stanford felt like a big deal. I remember grounding out weakly against Cal State Fullerton reliever Mark Kotsay, who went on to a 17 year career in the majors, and the years I spent punishing myself over that at bat, a regret that followed me into federal prison. Today USC plays North Carolina for a shot at returning to the College World Series for the first time since 2001; back in 1995, my own USC team lost the national championship game to Cal State Fullerton. I tell this year's team to embrace it, win or lose, because the stage itself shapes the rest of your life. I'm proud to be a Trojan and I'll be watching, pulling for the win.

  • September 9 · 1 min· Video

    Her Father's Money Came With Two Conditions

    On my way back from Santa Barbara, I stopped near Ojai and met with a woman whose husband had just surrendered to federal prison for ten years. I write about this meeting in my new book, After the Fall, chapter 14. She knew he was under investigation but not how severe; he kept her in the dark, and she expected two or three years, so everyone was stunned when they heard a decade. Every time he calls from prison he tells her he's sorry, but that doesn't help her manage the kids, the bills, the fallout, and the shame. She finally reached out to her father for money. He said yes, but not as a loan: he wanted her to immediately divorce her husband and go back to her maiden name.

  • September 9 · 1 min· Video

    Just Get Him Home, She Said For Years

    Every time we spoke, she'd say just get him home from federal prison. Before he went in, her husband blamed the court, the lawyers, the judge, and the co-defendant who cooperated against him. In prison he complained about his bunkie, the food, the commissary, his job, and asked why he was in a camp with no fences when he owed restitution. After he came home he complained about his probation officer, the restitution amount, how she was parenting their kids, and the dinner she cooked. About nine months after his release, she quietly told him: my life was much easier when you were in prison.

  • September 3 · 1 min

    He Called Me Before the FBI Did. He Still Got 6 Years

    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.

  • September 3 · 1 min

    Ippei Blamed Shohei in His Letter to the Judge

    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.

  • September 2 · 1 min

    The SEC Didn't Get Through to Me. Prison Did.

    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.

  • September 2 · 1 min

    She Was Deceived Too

    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.

  • September 1 · 49 sec

    300 Words a Day for 15 Months

    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.

  • September 1 · 1 min

    Making the Bad Choice Seem Reasonable Again

    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.

  • August 22 · 1 min

    The FBI Told His Wife About the Loans

    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.

  • August 22 · 1 min

    He Lied, Pled Guilty, and Got Probation

    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?

  • August 21 · 1 min

    The Best Time to Start Was Five Years Ago

    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.

  • August 21 · 1 min

    Go to Your Computer Right Now and Purge

    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.

  • August 20 · 1 min

    They Want It All. This Is a Total Disaster.

    An executive texted me: they want it all, this is a total disaster. Earlier this week I did a live YouTube video on how to communicate with the government, starting with their perspective. Eighteen months ago this guy chose not to plan and not to put himself in the shoes of a prosecutor who wants it all. As a defendant you can make moves financially, transparently, without risk of getting in trouble. You can invest in real estate and disclose it. They could still take the real estate, and it's harder for them if it's illiquid. But if you pled guilty, you created victims, and you tell them you're sorry, you'll make amends, you'll do better, hold you accountable, all the clichés and buzzwords they've heard 800 times this year, and then they come across a million dollars in liquid cash, of course they want the money. So when he asks how he keeps the money, or gives them as little of that liquid cash as possible, and still gets a shorter sentence, it tells me he doesn't understand how government investigations work. I can't change what he didn't do 18 months ago. I don't chase. You either believe in mitigation and planning or you don't, and I'm not going to convince you.

  • August 20 · 1 min

    Call Me a Strict Parent

    Two things happened in the last 30 minutes. Three kids, about 17, no helmets, on their iPhones, riding e-bikes, ran me off the side of the road and I ended up in a bush. On the way in I thought, if I die, I'm glad my family is taken care of. A little dramatic, since it was a bush, but that's what goes through your mind. Will the wife remarry? Hard to find someone as witty, but in time, perhaps. The point is I had insurance. You prepare for the worst outcome. Right before that I got a call from a doctor in Texas facing sentencing in three weeks who told me his lawyer said it's time to begin preparing. He would have been stronger had he started before he saw his name versus the government, and certainly right after, not three weeks out while trying to persuade a judge he's a candidate for leniency. He's going to give a message that judge has heard 300 times since January. Alyssa and Jason, I love you. Call me a strict parent. You ain't riding no e-bikes.

  • August 19 · 2 min

    Michael Santos Told Me About Roman Fabrizi

    July 9th, 2008, four or five months into my sentence, around 3:45 in the afternoon just after mail call. Michael Santos asked if I knew the new prisoner who had transferred in from another prison, about 20 feet away, loud, showing off, telling everyone there's no deal he can't close, the jets he flew on, the models he slept with. I said no. Michael said that's Roman Fabrizi. Walking the track that afternoon he told me Roman Fabrizi isn't a person, it's a type of prisoner: the one who mocks other prisoners who are willing to try and build, and who cozies up to staff hoping for a benefit, more halfway house time, getting home earlier. He used the phrase putting on airs. I didn't know what that meant. He said it's acting superior when we're not. We're human beings and we can all become better. I wrote about it in my prison journal the next day and it hangs in my office. It connects to CZ, who said in an interview this week that guards asked him whether they should invest in Bitcoin. He probably knows. If he had answered the way they wanted, they might have sent him home early or given him some benefit. He said I don't know, walked back to that antiquated prison computer, and kept writing Freedom of Money. If one of the richest and most successful men in the world can say I don't know, so can you. Don't be Roman Fabrizi. Don't put on airs.

  • August 19 · 1 min

    Pity Was Worse Than Any Day in Prison

    I was working late with Breaking Bad on in my office, season two, episode six, and when Gretchen told Walter she feels so sorry for him I stopped and filmed this. When I was a defendant I took terrible care of myself. In-N-Out four nights a week. A thing of Red Man chewing tobacco every two days. My teeth would bleed and I wouldn't stop. I was punishing myself because I felt like I deserved it, and I got so used to the pain that I didn't even try to get better. Right after I was sentenced I played in a charity golf event at El Caballero Country Club in Tarzana, and an old friend, a retired athlete, came up and said he knew I was going to prison, that he was sorry, that he felt so sorry for me. It was sickening then and it's sickening now. Pity, with the opportunities I had and the way I responded to them, as if I couldn't handle it. That was worse than any day in prison, and it's exactly what Gretchen said to Walter. I stopped living as a victim in 2008. Prison was the best thing that ever happened to me because standing for count for 388 days forced me to look inward and finally get it together. We don't need anyone to feel sorry for us. We need to begin engineering a better outcome.

  • August 18 · 1 min

    Don't Pack Anything You're Not Prepared to Lose

    He called 90 minutes before surrendering to the camp at Fort Dix and wanted to know what to pack. I told him the longer you stay on the wrong train, the more expensive it is to get home. He said he didn't want to talk about the train, he wanted the packing list. So here's my story. Three days before I went to prison I looked at the Taft commissary list, saw white Reebok shoes and a Timex watch, drove to Big 5, bought them, and surrendered wearing them. They told me I could donate them or send them home. I think they went to the correctional officers trust fund. Don't pack anything you're not prepared to lose. Bring your medications, some money, your contact list, and your release plan. If they don't let you bring the money in, your family can send it through Western Union or to the drop box in Iowa. Share the release plan with your case manager, who may throw it in the trash because he's testing you, and share it with your probation officer. More importantly, don't complain and don't lament. You're moving into a place where men have lived for weeks, months, years, and decades. Today is a great day because you're one day closer to home. I kept trying to get him talking about getting off the train and onto the right track. It totally failed.

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