Varsity Blues | The Side Door | 2

Audible subscribers can binge new seasons of American Scandal early and ad-free right now. Join Audible in the Audible app or by subscribing on Apple podcasts. American Scandal uses dramatizations that are based on true events. Some elements including dialogue might be invented, but everything is based on historical research. It's late afternoon in 2005 at the Sacramento County Day School. Classes are over and the campus has begun to empty. Groups of students drift toward the parking lot while teachers carry briefcases and armfuls of papers to their cars. Inside the headmaster's office, Steve Repscher sits behind his desk running through his schedule for the rest of the week. Country Day is one of the top private schools in Sacramento and Repscher has been its headmaster for the past two years. The chair of the math department steps inside, closing the door behind him. Hey Steve, you have a minute? Repscher nods toward the chair opposite him. Yeah, sure, what's up? It's about Rick Singer. Oh, not again. Yeah, I'm afraid so. Another parent called this afternoon, one of Singer's clients. They said we're grading their son too harshly and it's hurting his college application. But I assume the grade is correct. Yeah, I checked it myself. Kid has earned his C. They want me to turn it into A minus them. Repscher shakes his head. This is getting out of hand. I've got teachers who say they don't want Singer's clients in their class anymore. Not because of the kid's behavior, but because of his. I know the math department used to be regarded as a weak link around here, but we've worked hard to turn it around. So I'm upset that he's out there badmouthing us to parents. Yeah, I know. Well, I've tried speaking with him. I invited him to meet with me, but he never showed. I gave him another date and the same thing. No explanation? Not at all. He didn't even call to apologize. So what now? Repscher leans back in his chair. Well, I've spoken with the principals at Rio Maricano, train at Bay about this. He's doing the same thing there. They've stopped inviting Singer to speak at school events, and perhaps it's time we did the same. Well, he's got plenty of support among the parents. Yeah, but the board hired me to run the school, not Rick Singer. Tomorrow morning, I'll let the staff know he's no longer welcome on campus. And if he turns up anyway, then I'll have to have security as cool to him off the property. Parents are entitled to hire whomever they like, but when someone starts undermining my teachers, my staff, my school, then it becomes my business. For months, Steve Repscher has hoped he could resolve the issues with Rick Singer without such drastic action, but each new complaint has made that harder. Again and again, Singer has encouraged anxious parents to believe that disappointing grades are the schools fault, and that they can get a different outcome if they just apply enough pressure. But now Repscher has had enough. Singer is no longer welcome at Country Day, and as other elite schools in the area are also closing their doors to him, with any luck, Rick Singer won't be in the college counseling business for much longer. Hi, I'm David Brown, the host of Business Wars from Audible Originals. In our new season, we tracked the Roomba's incredible rise as it sweeps into American homes, bringing in billions in revenue, and how the company behind it is now fighting for its life. Listen to Business Wars on Audible or wherever you get your podcasts. James Arthleray was a charismatic self-help guru who promised his followers a path to wealth and enlightenment by becoming the best versions of themselves, but not all who followed him finished their journey. For the Best Vengeable Series, listen to the Audible True Crime podcast wherever you get your podcasts. From Audible Originals, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American Scandal. [Music] By early 2005, Rick Singer was telling the world that his new college counseling business was thriving. In a profile for a newspaper in Sacramento, he claimed he had hundreds of clients across the country working with a network of 12 specialist coaches. He may have been exaggerating, but one thing was certainly true. He was making plenty of money. He drove a Porsche. He cultivated connections at Sacramento's exclusive Arden Hills Athletic and Social Club, and increasingly, he moved among California's status-conscious elite. But losing access to Sacramento's private schools was a real blow. They had been the bedrock of his business, and without them, Singer was forced to look farther afield for new clients. Fortunately for him, there was no shortage of wealthy parents willing to invest thousands of dollars in their children's education. And before long, Singer would discover a new way to extract even more money from them. This is Episode 2, The Side Door. It's a cool mid-morning in January 2008 in Palo Alto, California. Inside a modest house, not far from Stanford University, former admissions officer John Rydor sits at his dining room table with his laptop open. On its screen is the website of independent college counselor Rick Singer. Over the years, Rydor has heard some unsettling stories about Singer. High school staff have complained about his confrontational style. Other college counselors have said he stretches the truth about his clients' achievements. But parents describe him as someone with unique insider knowledge of the admissions process, a man who can help their children win a spot at the University of their dreams. And Rydor has seen plenty of consultants make bold claims over the years. There's now an entire industry built on reassuring anxious parents that admission can be engineered with the right guidance. But it isn't Singer's salesmanship that is bothering Rydor tonight. It's his company's advisory board. Prominently displayed on Singer's website is a list of current and former leaders from some of the most prestigious universities in the country. Rydor knows them all. They've spent decades building impeccable reputations in higher education, and they're all apparently advising Rick Singer. Something doesn't feel right. If people of this stature were advising Singer, Rydor feels sure he would have heard about it. So he studies the page again, puzzled that so many respected educators would choose to associate themselves with such a divisive figure. Rydor decides there's only one way to find out why. He opens his email, and then one by one he writes to the members of Singer's advisory board. It's the same message to each of them, explaining what he has heard about Singer and bluntly asking them, "Do you want to be associated with this guy? He is the epitome of sleaze in the private counseling business. How did he get your names onto his website?" Rydor adds a link to Singer's page, checks what he's written one last time, and then clicks send on each email. He doesn't hear anything until a few hours later when the telephone rings. It's one of the men he emailed former dean of admissions at Princeton, Fred Hargiton. Until he retired, Hargiton was one of the most respected admissions officers in the country, and Rydor knows him well. But on the phone, Hargiton sounds bewildered. He's just read Rydor's email and visited Singer's website. It tells Rydor that he has absolutely no connection to Rick Singer or his business. He's never authorized the use of his name and has no idea how it ended up on the website. If Singer is presenting him as part of an advisory board, then Singer is doing so without Hargiton's permission. Rydor isn't surprised to hear this. Fred Hargiton is not the kind of guy who would lend his name to any business, let alone one like Singer's. The conversation lasts only a few minutes more, but it confirms all Rydor's suspicions. At least one of the names on Singer's website does not belong there, and if Singer isn't telling the truth about his advisory board, Rydor wonders what else he's lying about. But by the time Rydor begins asking these questions, Singer's website has already been live for a few years. With private schools and Sacramento having closed their doors to him, Singer had been forced to turn to the internet to drum up new business. Fortunately for him, in the mid-2000s, online learning was becoming more common. A growing number of schools had started offering virtual classes that students could complete remotely from anywhere in the country. Singer immediately saw the business opportunity that represented. Online education would allow him to reach students from across the United States, while avoiding any contact with skeptical teachers or guidance counselors. So he soon secured a deal that allowed him to coach students through Sagemont School, a Florida-based institution offering programs over the web. Later, he also started working with Laurel Springs, another rapidly growing online school out of California. Around the same time, he changed the name of his company from College Source to the Edge College and Career Network, though he usually referred to it simply as "the key." This rebranding was deliberate. Singer had stopped thinking of himself as just a counselor, and that title felt too restrictive. He wanted his clients to see him as something bigger, a mentor, a life coach, a man who could unlock a student's potential and help them achieve the life they deserved. This new approach has paid off. By 2008, Singer's sleek website and its illustrious advisory board are helping him find clients not just in the United States, but abroad as well. Well, among these clients is Douglas Hodge, an executive at the Investment Management firm PIMCO. In early 2008, Hodge is based in Tokyo, Japan, heading up the firm's interests in the age of Pacific region. But 5,000 miles away, his oldest daughter is finishing classes at one of California's elite boarding schools. Being so far from home has left Hodge feeling disconnected from his family, especially now that his daughter is beginning the process of applying to college. Thankfully, one of Hodge's colleagues made a suggestion. His children recently went through the college application process and they found the help of an independent counselor to be invaluable. In the colleague's words, Rick Singer is the best there is, so Hodge has hired him to oversee his daughter's application. And even though Hodge is all the way in Tokyo, Singer makes sure to keep him updated on progress. Hodge is in his office, high above the streets of Tokyo. He has stacks of work to do, but when he sees who's calling, he picks up the phone straight away. Hey, Rick, how are you? I'm great, Doug. It's now still a good time. Yeah, perfect. I just got into the office. Well, you're starting a work day just as I'm finishing mine. I was just reviewing your daughter's file. Hodge churns toward the window and kicks his feet up onto a credenza. Ah, so what's your assessment? Well, she's a strong student, good school, good profile, but I'll be candid with you, Doug. I know she wants to go to Georgetown, but that's going to be tough. It's getting swamped with applications right now. All right, what do you think her chances are? Well, best case 50/50. Oh, wow. It's no reflection on her, Doug. I mean, she is great. But schools like that, they reject valedictorians every year. We're talking kids with perfect scores. It's insane. Ah, that's, that's disappointing. What about the donor route? And the circle's Hodge moves in. Everyone understands that money can open doors. Admissions officers are always willing to take a closer look at an application linked to a major donor. Well, it's an option, yes, but it's not where I'd spend my money. It's inefficient if you understand me. You can sign a huge check and still get no certainty. And how much would we be talking about? Well, to really move the dial eight figures. Eight. You're kidding. No, I'm completely serious. There are too many wealthy families chasing too few spots. Ah, so what do you recommend? Well, there are only a few ways into any university. There's the front door, which is grade scores and essays, a normal application process, right? But there's the back door, donations. And then there's what I call the side door. Side door? What do you mean? It means I may be able to help your daughter get where she wants to go without relying on chance or eight figure donations. But what I need to know, Doug, is whether you'd be interested in me pursuing that. Nick Singer's so-called side door into Georgetown depends on a personal connection inside the university. Georgetown's tennis coach, Gordon Ernst. Singer first met Ernst years earlier through his college counseling business in Florida and the two men have stayed in touch ever since. As a coach, Ernst occupies a powerful position. Athletes recruited by coaches receive special consideration when it comes to their college applications. And as long as they meet basic academic standards, they are almost always admitted. It's a loophole that Singer has learned he can exploit, as long as he can identify a coach willing to go along with him. But on the surface, Ernst hardly seems like the sort of figure to become entangled in a criminal conspiracy. Around campus, he's known for his easy sense of humor, and on court, his players appreciate his relaxed style and encouraging manner. But behind that upbeat demeanor, Ernst is under pressure. As head coach of Georgetown's tennis program, his job depends on the team's success when he operates with limited resources. Georgetown may compete in division 1 athletics, but the university's priorities are obvious to everyone. At Georgetown, basketball is king. It dominates attention, prestige, and funding. Gordon Ernst operates in an entirely different world. His equipment budgets are tight. Facilities are shared with other sports, and Georgetown offers only a single half-scholar ship for tennis, far less than many competing schools. Then there's Ernst's salary. Despite coaching at a prestigious university, Ernst earns roughly $65,000 a year. It's a respectable income by ordinary standards, but tiny compared to the $2 million paid to the school's basketball coach. But in Ernst's unhappiness, Rick Singer has spied an opportunity. On one side, he has Douglas Hodge, a wealthy, worried parent, desperate to help his daughter gain admission to Georgetown. On the other side, is Gordon Ernst, an underpaid coach dealing with institutional indifference. The two men have matching needs, and Singer can profit from them both. The arrangement begins to solidify in February 2008. Hodge is at his breakfast table in Tokyo, a mug of coffee cooling beside him when the email from Singer comes through. He quickly scans the short note. One sentence jumps out immediately, reading, "I spoke with my connection at Georgetown and he will work with us." Hodge checks his watch. It's still late afternoon in California, so rising from the table, he walks toward the apartment window overlooking the Tokyo skyline, dialing Singer's number as he goes. Singer answers quickly. Hodge asks for details of this Georgetown connection, and Singer explains his plan. Hodge must make a targeted donation to the university's tennis program. In return, Gordon Ernst will identify Hodge's daughter as an elite tennis recruit and support her application. Singer frames it as a practical, efficient solution. There's nothing improper about helping an underfunded athletic program, and once Hodge's daughter arrives at Georgetown, she won't even have to play. No one's going to keep track of whether a tennis recruit shows up to practice or not. After ending the call, Hodge remains standing by the window, Blackberry's still in his hand. He understands the mechanics of the arrangement now, and recognizes the opportunity it represents. But it's still mad at him. Hodge's daughter has played tennis casually in school and at summer camps, the way many teenagers do, but she is not a division one tennis player and she never will be. What if AI could recreate the voice of somebody you loved who'd done it? What if it destroyed your reputation with words you never said? And what if you fell in love with something that was never human? I'm Mark Vannell, and in my brand new Audible original podcast, I'm traveling the globe to investigate the very personal ways. AI is already changing our relationships, our memories, and our sense of what is real. Unreal. Listen now on Audible. In December 2024, United Health Care CEO Brian Thompson was gunned down on a Manhattan sidewalk in broad daylight. Five days later, police arrested 26-year-old Luigi Mangioni, and to millions of Americans, he became something no accused killer should ever be. A folk hero. For 21 months, he said he was not guilty. Then in a Manhattan federal courtroom, he stood up and confessed, "I shot Mr. Thompson and he died." I'm Candace D. Long, former FBI profiler and host of the podcast Killer Psychie. Now, I sit down with legal analyst Josh Ritter to unpack the stunning turn in this case. Follow Killer Psychie wherever you get your podcasts. Audible subscribers can listen to all episodes of Killer Psychie one week early and ad-free right now. In 2008, the same year the Douglas Hodges daughter applied to Georgetown. More than 400,000 students participate in a long-standing American tradition college sports. In the United States, sports are not just a fun addition to campus life. They're a huge business in their own right. Every weekend, thousands of fans pack into stadiums across the country, millions more watch on television and networks pay top dollar for the rights to broadcast college football championships and the annual March Madness basketball tournament. This all means that recruiting talented new players is not simply a matter of school pride, but one of financial imperative. For many universities, success on the field translates to cash in the bank and that gives athletes a powerful advantage in the admissions process. The very best athletes receive scholarships covering tuition, housing, meals, and other living expenses. Over a four-year degree, a full ride can be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, but the numbers are strictly limited. The National Collegiate Athletic Association regulates how many scholarships schools may offer in each sport, so to build a competitive team, coaches rely on a second pathway for talented athletes walk on recruits. Walk-ons receive no financial aid, but they are still formally approved by coaches and supported through admissions. Like scholarship athletes, these walk-ons must meet minimum academic standards, including acceptable transcripts and standardized test scores. But once those thresholds are met, admissions officers rarely reject an applicant with a coach's endorsement. As a former college basketball coach himself, Rick Singer understands the system. More importantly, he recognizes that it's vulnerable to abuse. There are few checks and balances. Coaches can recommend any student as a walk-on recruit, and for the right price, some might endorse an applicant even if they're not a deserving athlete. All singer needs is a coach willing to participate and in Georgetown tennis coach Gordon Ernst, he has exactly that. Singer assembles an impressive fictional tennis profile for Douglas Hodges' daughter. According to her application to Georgetown, she's a top tier youth player whose won multiple tournaments sanctioned by the United States Tennis Association. In reality, she's never even entered a single competitive event. Nevertheless, her application moves forward. And in November 2008, coach Ernst flags Hodges' daughter as a tennis walk-on recruit and recommends her admission. The following month, she receives a conditional acceptance letter. As long as her grades remain stable through the end of senior year, she will join Georgetown's incoming freshman class. And the following fall, after his daughter enrolls at Georgetown, Hodges mails two checks totaling $75,000 directly to Gordon Ernst's home address. The money never makes it to Georgetown's tennis program. Instead, it goes straight into Ernst's pocket. Hodges' daughter never shows up to tennis practice, but since Ernst doesn't say anything, no one seems to notice. Over the next few years, Singer expands this successful operation to more schools. Each time the procedure follows a similar path. Affluent families pay a bride. A corrupt coach flags their child as a walk-on recruit and Singer profits from every transaction. In the fall of 2012, one satisfied client becomes a repeat customer. By now, Pimco Executive Douglas Hodges has been promoted to the firm's chief operating officer and has moved back to the United States. And when it comes time for his next daughter to apply for college, he knows just who to call. Rick Singer is, of course, delighted to hear from him, and soon a meeting is arranged at the family's sprawling hillside property in Laguna Beach, California. Singer looks around at the polished stone floors, modern artwork, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Pacific. Doug, this place is unbelievable. Oh, thank you. But it's my wife who deserves a credit. She does all the decorating. Please sit down. Two men settled into a sitting room facing the ocean. Hodges pour sparkling water into two glasses, hands one to singer. So here we go again. Yeah, here we go again. Where are we looking this time? Well, my daughter, she wants USC. Okay, that's workable. You got people there too? Oh, Doug, I've got relationships all over the place. That's good. She's good. Smart. But USC, just as competitive as Georgetown, every top school is. Yeah, no. So let's go through the details. Your daughter was adopted internationally, right? Yeah. From Morocco? Right, yeah. That's useful, actually. Hodges frowns. Well, I don't see what that's got to do with anything. Well, schools respond to a good story. They want a personal journey. And the international adoption gives us that. We can build on it. Well, I guess. I know what I'm doing, Doug. We'll shape her application around questions of belonging, identity, navigating between cultures. Admissions officers eat that stuff up. But at the end of the day, that's still the front door, right? There's always uncertainty attached to it. We want to be certain about this thing. Of course. So does your daughter play any sports? Well, she's more of an academic type. That could be a problem. Singer shakes his head. No, not at all. You just let me work my magic. Singer stands and offers his hand to Hodges. So should we set this thing in motion? I think we both know how this works by now. In December 2012, Douglas Hodges' younger daughter submits her application to the University of Southern California. This time, Rick Singer's side door runs through the Women's Soccer Program. According to the document submitted, Hodges' daughter competes for an expatriate national team. The application receives the backing of USC coach Ali Hosro Shaheen, who enthusiastically recommends Hodges' daughter for admission. He describes her in glowing terms, calling her top drawer and part of the estimated number three recruiting class in the nation. In reality, she does not even play for her high school soccer team. This is much the same approach that Singer has used in the past. But in one area, his operation has become more sophisticated. When Hodges first used the side door, he mailed checks directly to the coach's home address. This system was effective enough to work, but crude and easy to trace. By now, Singer has created an additional layer between parents and coaches. At the end of 2012, he established the Key Worldwide Foundation, a tax exempt nonprofit that claims to support worthy causes in the United States and Cambodia. On paper, the foundation appears legitimate. It distributes enough money and performs enough real charitable work to maintain outward credibility. But its true purpose is to act as a financial clearinghouse. Instead of paying coaches directly, parents funnel money into Singer's charitable foundation. Singer then redistributes portions of the funds to coaches or to organizations connected to them. And to an outsider, the payments seem entirely legitimate. Some families even treat them as tax deductible charitable donations, but in fact, they are simply rhymes. In Hodges' case, he pays Singer's foundation $200,000. Half of that makes its way to soccer clubs operated by coach Osro Shaheen and one of his assistants. Singer takes the rest. In return, Hodges' daughter gains admission to USC as a walk-on soccer recruit. But just like her older sister at Georgetown, she never actually joins the USC team after enrolling. No one notices, and in the fall of 2013, Singer repeats the trick with another client. And around the same time, he expands further into USC athletics through Jovonne Vavik, the university's water polo coach. And he continues to work with Gordon Ernst at Georgetown, placing multiple students into the university as fabricated tennis recruits. Away from USC in Georgetown, Singer uses the same approach to arrange admission for a student to UCLA and another to the University of Texas at Austin. Each time Singer presents the side door to parents in the same way, as a virtual guarantee of admission, something even major donations can't promise. But the scheme still has a vulnerability. It depends entirely on coaches acting as his accomplices, and Singer knows from his own experience that coaching jobs are notoriously unstable. That proves true again in late 2013, when USC fires coach Hosra Shaheen after a run of poor results for the women soccer program. Almost overnight, one of Singer's most productive side doors slam shut, and with it comes a realization, if Singer wants to protect his operation in the long term, he needs a more permanent foothold inside USC, someone higher up, who isn't subject to the fluctuating fortunes of individual teams. So in 2015 Singer snags a meeting with USC Athletic Director Pat Hayden and Senior Associate Athletic Director Donna Hynell. As Singer, Hayden, and Hynell walk down a hallway, they pass frame photographs of the school sporting glory years, championship teams, high-spin winners, and Olympic athletes frozen in their moments of triumph. Hayden then reaches a door and shows them into a plush office. The three take seats, and for the first few minutes the conversation stays light, General talk about admissions pressure, changing demographics, and the competitiveness of elite universities. Then Singer gently steers a conversation toward his own work. He explains that many of his clients come from wealthy families, and these parents are willing to spend a lot of money to secure their children's futures, and that potentially includes making donations to athletic programs. But Singer can tell his words aren't having much of an impact with Hayden. The athletic director's eye start wandering to a television in the corner that's carrying coverage of a USC game. But Singer senses that his pitch is landing better with Associate Director Hynell. She asks probing questions that show she really understands the detail and regulations covering athletic admissions. And eventually, after the meeting winds down, Singer rises from his chair, smiling again as he shakes hands. And he disappears down the same hallway, reflecting on the conversation he's just had. Hayden remains difficult to read, but Hynell's interest is more promising. Like all colleges, USC is a sprawling institution with layers and layers of bureaucracy, committees, and procedures. The trick to making Singer's game work is identifying the right person to cut through all of that, and in Hynell, Singer thinks he may have found exactly who he needs. Now he has to make it worth her while. You stepped out for your morning jog, except it's not your usual morning jog. You started listening to an epic sci-fi book Unaudible. 30 chapters later, you've accidentally run a half marathon. You lost track of how far you've run, somewhere just past the city limits. You can't stop. You have to find out what happens next. Then it's over. The universe seems bigger. You feel different. You feel like you have no idea where you are. Audible. Stories that speak to you. James Arthur Ray was a charismatic self-help guru, who promised his followers a path to wealth and enlightenment by becoming the best versions of themselves, but not all who followed him finished their journey. After Ray appeared on Oprah, thousands flocked to his events, but what many people didn't know about were his more extreme methods. Methods that push his followers to their limits, giving some the transformative experience they envisioned, and killing others. For the Best Bingeable Series, like the one I just told you about, listen to the Audible True Crime Podcast, wherever you get your podcasts. Audible subscribers can get all episodes early and ad-free right now. (dramatic music) - Shortly after the meeting with Rick Singer on the University of Southern California campus, athletic director Pat Hayden decides to keep his distance. Singer strikes Hayden as too transactional, too focused on money and too full of vague promises. There are enough red flags that Hayden chooses not to develop the relationship any further. But Hayden subordinate Donna Heinal reaches a very different conclusion. She wants to hear more from Singer. As a senior administrator, Heinal occupies an especially influential position within USC athletics. She acts as a gatekeeper between the athletic department and the admissions office, reviewing and approving candidates before applications move forward. And beyond Heinal herself, the process operates with remarkably little oversight. She presents prospective recruits to an athletic admissions subcommittee, but they rarely question her decisions. So once she signs off on a student athlete, admission is as good as guaranteed. So Heinal is perfectly positioned to facilitate Singer's scheme. And unlike some of his earlier accomplices, she is not tied to a single sport or at risk of losing her job if one team goes on a losing streak. But securing her cooperation does not come cheap. Heinal drives a hard bargain before she signs on, demanding monthly checks for $20,000 mailed directly to her home address. Officially, she joins Singer's payroll as a consultant and the payments are for advisory work. But in reality, they are the price of access to USC and Singer intends to get his money's worth. In July 2016, he travels to Los Angeles to meet with another high-profile client. Massimo Giannulli made a fortune through his fashion label and then became part of the Hollywood elite when he married sitcom actress Lori Loughlin. Now, like countless others before him, Giannulli is looking for help navigating the stressful college admissions process for his eldest daughter Bella. And he's invited Rick Singer to his home for a meeting. Singer stands near the kitchen island, flipping through school papers while his host prepares coffee. Giannulli feels two mugs and offers Singer cream or sugar. Singer says he takes his coffee black. So as Giannulli slides the mug across the counter, Singer gives his assessment of Bella's application. She has real strengths, personality, extracurriculars, and a polished presence, but academically, the picture is less encouraging. Giannulli confesses that Bella's school counselor has been urging her to consider Arizona state, but he finds that suggestion almost insulting. He's a die-hard trojan and he wants his daughter to attend USC. Singer warns him that USC has become extremely competitive, but Giannulli says the university has already begun reaching out to the family. Bella has been offered a personalized campus tour complete with a private guide and someone has suggested they could flag her application. Singer shakes his head and says he recognizes the tactic. USC is fishing for a donation, but he explains that even a major gift would be no guarantee. Universities accept money from wealthy families all the time without formally promising admission in return. Legally, they have to be careful. They can't tell parents that a spot can simply be bought. And that's why people come to him, Singer says. His method is different. Unlike the traditional backdoor of a huge donation, he can guarantee results and for a fraction of the price. By the end of this meeting, Mozamo Giannulli has become Rick Singer's latest client. Over the weeks that follow, Singer once again puts his USC side door into action for Giannulli's daughter Bella. But even with Donna Highnell smoothing the path, every athletic application to USC requires supporting evidence. By now though, Singer has the process down to an art. For Bella, Singer settles on making her a coxon for the rowing team. Crew offers several advantages. Unlike football or basketball, it attracts little public attention. Few admissions officers know the sport well enough to spot inconsistencies. And because coxes steer the boat, there is less expectation that applicants be tall or muscular. So Singer constructs a fictional athletic resume for Bella. According to the documents submitted to USC, she's a cox for the Mac rowing program in Los Angeles. The application claims she competed in the prestigious head of the Charles Rigata in Boston and helps her crew win gold at the San Diego crew classic. None of this is true, because Bella has never rode competitively in her life. But the paperwork alone is not enough. USC will expect photographs as part of their athletic profile. So Singer asks the family for pictures. Giannulli emails a few shots taken on his smartphone, all showing Bella sitting on an indoor rowing machine in the family's home gym. She wears a loose gray t-shirt and black Nike sneakers while weights and exercise equipment crowd the background. These pictures look casual and improvised, not like those of an elite sportswoman who competes at National Rigatas. Singer quickly concludes they won't work. So he searches for an image of a real cox in whose face is partially obscured or difficult to identify clearly. It's not a perfect solution, but it just needs to be believable enough that no one asks further questions. Then once the application package is assembled, Donna Heinell takes over. She presents Bella to the Athletic Admissions Subcommittee as a legitimate rowing recruit. And as usual, they approve her recommendation and sign off on Bella's admission without question. Bella's father then cuts a $50,000 check that soon lands in Donna Heinell's personal account. Four months later, Bella's official acceptance letter arrives from USC. And shortly afterward, Giannulli sends another payment. This one for $200,000, payable to Singer's charitable foundation. The process works so smoothly that a year later, Giannulli returns to Singer for his younger daughter, Olivia's application. Like her sister, Singer decides to present Olivia as an accomplished coxen. But Olivia is a very different girl from her sister. She's an online influencer and already has a social media following that most celebrities would envy. More than a million subscribers on YouTube, watch her makeup tutorials, skincare routines and shopping halls, as well as carefully edited glimpses into Olivia's glamorous LA lifestyle. So with her wealthy parents and her own lucrative brand collaborations, college feels unnecessary to Olivia. Still in July 2017, when Singer asks the family to pose for some photographs for the application, she agrees to head to the home gym in the family's Hollywood mansion. As her father fuses over the settings of his camera, Olivia smooths down her expensive black leggings and then adjusts the straps of the white tank top. In the center of the gym is the rowing machine, looking oddly out of place when it's usual position against the wall. Olivia frowns. Dad, why is this thing in the middle of the room? It's better life. Come on, get on. I don't even know how to use it. You don't have to use it. You just have to sit on it. Olivia climbs onto the rowing machine and the seat shifts beneath her. Rick really needs these pictures. He says they'll help. They'll make the application stronger. They show you're committed, committed to rowing, to college, to USC. Dad, I've never rode in my life. But you've done sports? Up this board? That doesn't matter, just sit up straight. Genuinely circles her with his smartphone raised, studying angles like a photographer preparing for a magazine shoot. All right, back straight, chin up, and put your hands a little more forward. He steps closer and adjusts his position. More like this. Yeah, good, good. I still don't see why I have to do this. I already have work. It's got a video to finish tonight, two brands to call back. Well, you can do all of that at USC. I can do all of this without USC as well. Genuinely pauses. Now, Olivia, this is important. Yeah, to who? To you. This is important for your future. My future is online, Dad. That's what I'm good at. I know what college will give you options. I don't need options. I need to finish editing my video. And you can, all right? Just give me five minutes, five minutes, all right? Olivia gives him a skeptical look and then size. Fine, five minutes. She'll ridiculous, but you look great. Pull the handle toward you, all right? Now, shoulders back. Olivia falls silent and does as her father says. The rowing machine squeaks as she slides awkwardly back and forth. She newly lifts up his phone. Okay, hold that. Hold that right there. He takes several photos. No, no, don't look at me. Look past me. Past you. Like you're focused. Focus on what? And winning. Later that day, Massimo Giannulli emails the best images to Rick Singer. This time, the photos are good enough and Singer adds them to Olivia's USC application as part of another fabricated athletic profile. According to these documents, just like her sister, Olivia has competed in several prestigious regardless, even winning silver and bronze medals. Singer is stretching the truth further than ever before and he runs the very real risk of being exposed this time. Olivia's life is documented online in extraordinary detail. A simple glance through her videos would reveal a teenage girl obsessed with beauty products and luxury brands, not competitive rowing. But Singer does not seem concerned about that. He's not interested in slowing down or being careful. Instead, his network is only growing larger because while Singer is busy getting his clients into college through his He's also developing a second method for cheating the admission system, and in many ways it's even more brazen than the first. For model originals, this is episode two of Varsity Blues for American Scam. In our next episode, Rick Singer starts offering his wealthy clients another way into university, through fixing their standardized tests. American Scandal is only possible because of listeners like you, so thank you. And don't miss an episode. Be sure to follow American Scandal on Audible or wherever you get your podcasts. An audible subscriber can binge new seasons of American Scandal early and add free right now. And to find out more about me, including my other podcasts, my live show, the history tours I'm arranging and all sorts of other things, go to historyishuman.com. If you'd like to learn more about the College Admission Scandal, we recommend unacceptable, privileged, deceived, and the making of the College Admission Scandal by Melissa Corn and Jennifer Lowicz. Guilty admissions, the bribes, favors, and phones behind the College Cheating Scandal by Nicole Laporte, and the Netflix documentary Operation Varsity Blues, the College Admission Scandal. This episode contains reenactments and dramatized details. And while in most cases we can't know exactly what was said, all our dramatizations are based on historical research. American Scandal is hosted, edited, and executed produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. This episode is written in research by Scott Reeves, senior producer Andy Bakerman, managing producer Emily Burr. Fact checking by Alyssa Jung Perry, audio editing by Mohammed Chazee, original music by Throne, sound design by Gabriel Gould. Executive producer for Airship is William Simpson. Executive producer for Audible is Jenny Lauer Beckman, head of creative development at Audible Kate Naven, head of Audible Originals North America, Marshall Louis, chief content officer Rachel Giazza. Copyright 2026 by Audible Originals LLC, sound recording Copyright 2026 by Audible Originals LLC. Imagine your reading pride and prejudice, except you're not reading it. Harris Dickinson and Marissa O'Bella are reading it to you on Audible. Her barb sting you. His coldness sends a shiver up your spine. Your heart aches. Your ears burn. You yearn for Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy to profess their undying love for one another. You can't bear it any longer. Well, maybe a chapter longer. Performance is so good. You'll give love a second chance. Audible. Stories that speak to you.