(The Center Square) – Four Michiganders, including a sitting judge,
have been charged by the U.S. Department of Justice with
embezzlement-related charges.
All four are residents of Detroit
and allegedly conspired to steal hundreds of thousands of dollars from
incapacitated individuals.
United States Attorney Jerome F. Gorgon, Jr. made the announcement recently, which U.S. Attorney General Pam Bondi applauded over the weekend.
“No one is above the law – judges included,” Bondi said.
“Using the power of the bench to allegedly take advantage of vulnerable
people is a particularly vile crime. Thank you to our great prosecutors
in Eastern Michigan.”
Nancy Williams, Avery Bradley, Andrea
Bradley-Baskin and Dwight Rashad were all charged in a federal
indictment. The indictment came as part of an investigation by the FBI
and the IRS.
Federal prosecutors signaled in today's court filing that the corruption
probe into suspended 36th District Judge Andrea Bradley‑Baskin is far
from over and could soon grow larger, with the possibility of new
charges on the horizon. The filing comes on top of a Jan. 30 indictment
accusing Bradley‑Baskin and three Detroit residents of conspiring to
siphon money and property from vulnerable wards in Wayne County's
probate system. The case has reignited scrutiny of how guardians handle
estates for people who are elderly, incapacitated or otherwise unable to
manage their own affairs.
According to reporting by The Detroit News, prosecutors asked the court
for more time to work through a growing pile of discovery and warned
that additional defendants or criminal counts could surface as the
investigation continues. The outlet reviewed filings and public records
that it says add detail to an alleged pattern of asset‑stripping
involving wards who were elderly, mentally incapacitated or already
deceased. If prosecutors pursue a superseding indictment, it would be
unsealed and added to the public docket once filed.
What prosecutors allege
A press release from the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Eastern District
of Michigan says an indictment unsealed Jan. 30 charged Bradley‑Baskin,
her father Avery Bradley, Nancy Williams and Dwight Rashad with
conspiracy to commit wire fraud. The filing also includes multiple
money‑laundering counts and a false‑statement charge against
Bradley‑Baskin. Prosecutors say Williams’ firm, Guardian &
Associates, was appointed fiduciary in more than 1,000 probate cases and
that funds intended for wards were diverted to the defendants. "This
state judge and her cronies allegedly abused that high honor for
personal gain by preying on the needy protected by the court," U.S.
Attorney Jerome F. Gorgon said in the release.
What reporters found
Investigative work by The Detroit News and court records outline a
series of transactions in which homes and bank accounts belonging to
wards were allegedly sold or drained, with the proceeds routed to
associates. Prosecutors, as cited by the outlet, point to specific
examples: about $70,000 allegedly pulled to buy a stake in a bar,
withdrawals used to lease a Brush Park townhouse valued at roughly
$900,000, and tens of thousands of dollars for a two‑year lease on a
luxury SUV. The government also highlights property transfers and rental
payments tied to a co‑defendant’s group‑home business that, prosecutors
allege, billed for residents who never actually lived there.
Court action and next steps
Chief 36th District Judge William McConico approved an administrative
removal of Bradley‑Baskin from her docket in an effort to preserve
public confidence while the federal case plays out, according to CBS
Detroit. In the March 10 filing, prosecutors told the court the probe
remains active and that additional charges could be necessary. The U.S.
Attorney’s Office has also stressed that an indictment is an accusation,
not proof of guilt. Should a superseding indictment be filed, it would
be unsealed and the defendants would be arraigned on the expanded set of
charges.
Legal implications
The federal counts listed in the indictment, including conspiracy to
commit wire fraud, money‑laundering allegations and an alleged false
statement to investigators, carry significant potential penalties if
they result in convictions. They can also trigger state disciplinary
proceedings that affect a judge’s law license and ability to remain on
the bench. At the same time, families of alleged victims may pursue
civil remedies while FBI and IRS criminal investigators continue to
develop the case. Authorities have asked anyone with information about
wards handled by Guardian & Associates or Tri‑State Guardian
Services to contact investigators as the probe moves forward.
Taken together, the January indictment and the March 10 filing outline
what federal officials characterize as a years‑long scheme. The next big
public marker would be any superseding indictment, followed by fresh
arraignments that could pull even more details about the alleged
operation into open court.
Suspended
36th District Judge Andrea Bradley-Baskin helped loot dead people's
bank accounts during a conspiracy involving more than $2.9 million,
helped her husband acquire a dead person's home and lived a life of
luxury in an automotive executive's luxury townhouse after years of
financial problems, federal court records show.
A
fuller picture of the scale and scope of an alleged conspiracy to steal
money from incapacitated people in Wayne County's probate court system
emerges from a review of state and federal court records two weeks after
Bradley-Baskin was indicted alongside her father, attorney Avery
Bradley, and two others.
A review of court records also helps to identify
victims who are referred to by initials in the indictment and shows how
Bradley-Baskin and others are accused of targeting the elderly and the
ill, the isolated, the wealthy and the dead. Many of the 18 victims
identified in the indictment had fat bank accounts, homes that were
liquidated and flipped for profit, while others were charged rent at
group homes where they never lived, which are owned by a member of the
alleged conspiracy.
"Everyone is out for greed.
It's just apropos for what goes on in this day," St. Clair County
resident Bruce Affelt told The Detroit News after learning his late
cousin, retired Ford Motor Co. engineer William Kamin, was one of the
alleged victims. "It's wrong, and I think people should be held
accountable."
There have been immediate repercussions. Last month's indictment led to
Bradley-Baskin being booted off the bench and suspended with pay from
her $186,164-a-year job. The case also threatens to strip Bradley-Baskin
of her law license and send her to federal prison for 45 years if
convicted of conspiracy to commit wire fraud, two counts of money
laundering and lying to the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Bradley-Baskin, 46, did not respond to messages seeking comment.
The
alleged conspiracy spanned from January 2017 to July 2024, a timespan
that predates Bradley-Baskin's tenure as a judge. The case portrays her
as conspiring with others to enrich herself by embezzling money and
using false pretenses to keep money and property belonging to multiple
incapacitated wards of the probate system.
The victims of the alleged conspiracy were easy
targets, suffering from dementia, old age and health problems with no
support system.
Lawyer worth $5M targeted
Kamin, 92, is one of the wealthiest victims in the case. The retired
bachelor, who died in 2021, had no spouse, children or immediate family,
but was worth millions of dollars.
Kamin, like all victims in the case, is referred to in the indictment by
initials, “W.K.” But dates and dollar amounts in the indictment match
details from Kamin’s file in the Wayne County Probate Court, including May 25, 2022, the date Avery Bradley was appointed to represent the estate.
Kamin died in January 2021 and spent his whole
life in his childhood home, a brick bungalow 20 blocks west of his alma
mater, the University of Detroit Mercy. When he died, he had more than
$5 million in assets, mostly investments and life insurance proceeds, court records show.
Avery Bradley, a veteran lawyer in the probate court system, is accused of stealing more than $161,000 of the dead man's money.
Bradley
was appointed by the Wayne County Probate Court to gather Kamin’s
assets, pay bills and disburse money to his heirs as prescribed in
Kamin’s will.
Those heirs included Affelt, 75, a distant cousin.
“He was kind of a loner,” Affelt told The News about Kamin. “I never got to know him or meet him.”
Kamin's alma mater was supposed to receive a much larger piece of Kamin’s estate. For starters, Bradley cut a $17,437 check to the university in June 2023.
“Bradley never dispersed the funds for the benefit of the estate of W.K.,” the indictment reads.
Instead, Bradley deposited the money in his law firm’s account at Comerica Bank, prosecutors allege.
That same month, Bradley transferred $60,000 from Kamin's estate to his law firm's bank account, according to the government.
"Bradley never dispersed any of these funds for the benefit of the estate of W.K.," the indictment reads.
The same day, Bradley transferred $261,072 from Kamin's estate to the attorney's law firm, according to the government.
Bradley sent $185,964
to Detroit Mercy, consistent with Kamin's will. But the attorney never
dispersed the rest of the money, more than $75,100, the indictment
alleged.
Bradley, 72, is charged with
conspiracy to commit wire fraud, wire fraud and three counts of money
laundering. If convicted, he faces more than 20 years in prison. Bradley
did not respond to messages seeking comment.
Feds: Bradley directs widow's cash to daughter
The federal investigation into the finances and treatment of Kamin and others in the probate court system surfaced in July when The News obtained sealed FBI documents and search warrant records.
The records showed FBI agents had raided multiple locations in Metro
Detroit and seized more than $580,000 while targeting the judge, her
father and others.
In September, an investigation by The News
revealed Bradley-Baskin teamed with two criminals to help buy and sell
homes belonging to vulnerable people in the probate court system for far
less than the properties' market value.
In several instances, those homes were sold to the
boyfriend of a probate court guardian after Bradley-Baskin proposed the
sale or drafted the deeds. That includes a Dearborn Heights ranch that
was flipped in less than a month for a 72% profit.
Ethel Ciotti was a 92-year-old widow who worked at an insurance company,
at a Lincoln Park bowling alley and as a greeter at Meijer before dying
in 2018. Ciotti, who is referred to in the indictment as "E.C.," left
behind an estate worth more than $493,000, including almost $385,000 in
the bank and a bungalow.
A judge appointed the firm Guardian and Associates
to serve as the elderly woman's guardian in early 2017. The firm is
headed by Nancy Williams, a probate court veteran and criminal convicted of trying to influence the 2020 general election.
Williams and her boyfriend, group home owner Dwight Rashad, are charged alongside Bradley-Baskin and Avery Bradley.
During
the conspiracy, Williams placed court wards in homes owned and operated
by her boyfriend, prosecutors allege. She also authorized payments from
the wards' bank accounts of up to $6,000 a month to Rashad's firm,
Empowerment Homes.
In all, Empowerment Homes was paid approximately $2 million, the indictment alleges, which includes money for legitimate services.
Since
last year, FBI agents have seized at least $69,981 from Williams,
Rashad and their companies. Prosecutors also slapped a lien on
residential and commercial properties linked to Williams and Rashad in
Oakland County.
Bradley, meanwhile, was appointed to manage Ethel Ciotti's finances in April 2018.
One year later, Bradley cut a $4,460 check from Ciotti's bank account and gave the money to a landlord who owned a home in Westland rented by Bradley-Baskin, according to the government.
"The $4,460 check was not used for the benefit of
(Ethel Ciotti)," the indictment reads. "Bradley fraudulently issued the
check to benefit Bradley-Baskin."
Williams took
$25,000 from another victim and Bradley-Baskin used the money to
pre-pay a year's worth of rent at the Westland home, prosecutors allege.
Judge had money problems
During the alleged conspiracy, Bradley-Baskin's fortunes changed dramatically.
Before prosecutors said Bradley-Baskin started stealing people's money, she had big cash problems.
Bradley-Baskin
and her ex-husband filed Chapter 7 bankruptcy in 2013, listing more
than $278,000 in liabilities and $6,550 in assets, according to court records. The debts included $17,644 owed on the future judge's new Mercedes-Benz.
Bradley-Baskin overcame the financial problems by stealing from the vulnerable, prosecutors alleged.
That included Frankie James, a 70-year-old, incapacitated woman with health problems from Detroit. Her finances were being handled by Williams' firm, Guardian and Associates, in 2019.
Frankie James died May 11, 2020. Three days later, Williams gave the elderly woman's stately brick Colonial-style home to Bradley-Baskin's half-brother, prosecutors alleged.
The deed was drafted by Bradley, according to the indictment.
In December 2020, seven months after James died,
Bradley-Baskin took $26,500 from various wards' bank accounts and bought
the dead woman's home, according to the indictment.
In March 2024, the home was transferred for $1 to CAB Realty, a company owned by Bradley-Baskin's husband, Corey Baskin, prosecutors alleged.
"A little more than a year later, on or about April 25, 2025, CAB Realty sold the property for $140,000," the indictment alleged.
Corey Baskin did not respond to messages seeking comment.
Judge travels abroad, feds say
The judge's personal life, meanwhile, was improving.
Bradley-Baskin traveled the world in recent years, including jaunts to the Caribbean, Spain, France and Cancun, a court official said during the judge's arraignment. She bought a dive bar in Detroit and reaped an insurance windfall.
And in March 2024, Bradley-Baskin withdrew $54,250, and the money was used to lease a $900,000 Brush Park townhouse, according to the FBI.
The property is owned by Felix Weller, the former vice president of Cadillac in China, according to public records.
The 2,425-square-foot, three-story City Modern townhouse, across
Woodward from Little Caesars Arena, has three bedrooms, three-and-a-half
bathrooms, a private rooftop terrace and a one-car garage for
Bradley-Baskin, who leased a new 2023 Ford Expedition King Ranch SUV
with more than $20,000 stolen from another victim, prosecutors allege.
The judge’s life in the townhouse soured last fall as prosecutors prepared to indict the judge.
Landlord Greythorne Management LLC sued Bradley-Baskin and her husband
on Oct. 15 and accused the couple of failing to pay $8,650 in rent.
The lawsuit, since dismissed, was filed in the 36th District Court in Detroit — the judge's own courthouse.
Andrea Bradley-Baskin is a district judge on Michigan’s 36th District Court
By Greg Norman-Diamond
A Detroit judge and three other residents were
charged by federal prosecutors for their alleged roles in a "years-long
scheme" to embezzle money from incapacitated and vulnerable individuals.
The
U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Eastern District of Michigan said Andrea
Bradley-Baskin, 46, who is a district judge on Michigan’s 36th District
Court, is alleged "to have used $70,000 in a ward’s funds
to purchase an ownership stake in a local bar" and "money embezzled from
the estate of a ward to pay a two-year lease on a new Ford Expedition
for herself."
"We respect the authority that covers a black robe.
This state judge and her cronies allegedly abused that high honor for
personal gain by preying on the needy protected by the court," U.S.
Attorney Jerome Gorgon said in a statement. "This would be a grievous abuse of our public trust."
"Regardless of a person’s position in society, no one is above the law.
These four defendants allegedly conspired to steal from some of our most
vulnerable citizens — looting bank accounts, exploiting legal
authority, and profiting off those who relied on them for care and
protection," added Jennifer Runyan, Special Agent in Charge of the FBI Detroit Field Office.
The Attorney’s Office said Nancy Williams, 59, Avery Bradley,
72, Dwight Rashad, 69, and Bradley-Baskin, all Detroit residents, were
charged with conspiracy to commit wire fraud.
"The indictment also
charges Bradley with one count of wire fraud, Bradley, Bradley-Baskin,
and Rashad with several counts of money laundering, and Bradley-Baskin
with a single count of making a false statement to federal law
enforcement agent," it added.
Lawyers representing Bradley-Baskin did not immediately respond Saturday to a request for comment from Fox News Digital.
The Attorney’s Office, citing the indictment, said "probate courts
regularly appoint guardians and conservators to manage the personal and
financial affairs of adults, known as wards, who have been found by the
court to lack the capacity to do so themselves."
U.S. Attorney Jerome
Gorgon said Judge Andrea Bradley-Baskin "and her cronies allegedly
abused" her "high honor for personal gain by preying on the needy
protected by the court."(Brian A. Jackson/South Florida Sun Sentinel)
"The indictment alleges that Nancy Williams owned Guardian and
Associates, an agency that was appointed as a fiduciary by the Wayne
County Probate Court for incapacitated wards in over 1,000 cases. Avery
Bradley is an attorney, who, along with his daughter (and fellow
attorney) Andrea Bradley-Baskin, operated a law firm that often
represented Guardian and Associates in Wayne County Probate Court and
otherwise practiced regularly in that court," it continued. "Dwight
Rashad operated a series of group homes and residential facilities for
elderly individuals, including wards, who needed support and care."
"The indictment alleges
that the four defendants conspired to systematically embezzle funds
from wards, and to obtain and retain money for themselves that rightly
belonged to the wards and the wards’ estates," it also said.
Prosecutors
described how in one case, Bradley, Williams, and Rashad allegedly took
around $203,000 in funds from a ward’s legal settlement, with "none of
the money being used to benefit the ward."
"Williams is alleged to have paid Rashad rent for wards who did not live in one of Rashad’s homes," they said.
The case is being investigated by the FBI and the Internal Revenue Service-Criminal Investigations.
U.S. Attorney's Office, Eastern District of Michigan
DETROIT
- Four Detroit-area residents, including a sitting judge and a local
attorney, were charged for their roles in a years-long scheme to
embezzle money from incapacitated individuals, United States Attorney
Jerome F. Gorgon, Jr. announced today.
Gorgon was joined in the
announcement by Jennifer Runyan, Special Agent in Charge of the Federal
Bureau of Investigation Detroit Field Office, and Karen Wingerd, Special
Agent in Charge of the Internal Revenue Service-Criminal Investigations
Detroit Field Office.
Nancy
Williams, 59, Avery Bradley, 72, Andrea Bradley-Baskin, 46, and Dwight
Rashad, 69, all Detroit residents, were charged via indictment with
conspiracy to commit wire fraud. The indictment also charges Bradley
with one count of wire fraud, Bradley, Bradley-Baskin, and Rashad with
several counts of money laundering, and Bradley-Baskin with a single
count of making a false statement to federal law enforcement agent.
According
to the indictment, probate courts regularly appoint guardians and
conservators to manage the personal and financial affairs of adults,
known as wards, who have been found by the court to lack the capacity to
do so themselves. Guardians and conservators are fiduciaries who are
obligated to act in the best interests of their wards. The indictment
alleges that Nancy Williams owned Guardian and Associates, an agency
that was appointed as a fiduciary by the Wayne County Probate Court for
incapacitated wards in over 1,000 cases. Avery Bradley is an attorney,
who, along with his daughter (and fellow attorney) Andrea
Bradley-Baskin, operated a law firm that often represented Guardian and
Associates in Wayne County Probate Court and otherwise practiced
regularly in that court. Bradley-Baskin is currently a district judge on
Michigan’s 36th District Court. Dwight Rashad operated a
series of group homes and residential facilities for elderly
individuals, including wards, who needed support and care.
The
indictment alleges that the four defendants conspired to systematically
embezzle funds from wards, and to obtain and retain money for themselves
that rightly belonged to the wards and the wards’estates. The
indictment sets forth numerous examples of the co-conspirators working
together to misappropriate money belonging to wards. In one instance,
Bradley-Baskin is alleged to have used $70,000 in a ward’s funds to
purchase an ownership stake in a local bar. In another, Bradley,
Williams, and Rashad are alleged to have taken for themselves some
$203,000 in funds from a ward’s legal settlement, with none of the money
being used to benefit the ward. Williams is alleged to have paid Rashad
rent for wards who did not live in one of Rashad’s homes.
Bradley-Baskin, in yet another case, is alleged to have used money
embezzled from the estate of a ward to pay a two-year lease on a new
Ford Expedition for herself.
“We respect the authority that covers
a black robe. This state judge and her cronies allegedly abused that
high honor for personal gain by preying on the needy protected by the
court. This would be a grievous abuse of our public trust,” said U.S.
Attorney Gorgon.
“Regardless of a person’s position in society, no
one is above the law. These four defendants allegedly conspired to
steal from some of our most vulnerable citizens — looting bank accounts,
exploiting legal authority, and profiting off those who relied on them
for care and protection," said Jennifer Runyan, Special Agent in Charge
of the FBI Detroit Field Office. "Let me be clear: if you prey on the
vulnerable, we will find you and bring you to justice. Finally, I want
to recognize our FBI Detroit Area Corruption Task Force, alongside our
partners at the IRS Criminal Investigations Detroit Field Office, for
their dedicated work on behalf of these victims, as well as the Wayne
County Probate Court for bringing this matter to our attention and
assisting the investigation."
“No matter who you are, or what your
position is, it is entirely unacceptable to help yourself to money that
is not yours. What makes these allegations so disturbing is that the
victims are part of very vulnerable population and trusted the accused
to act in their best interest,” said Karen Wingerd, Special Agent in
Charge, Detroit Field Office, IRS Criminal Investigation. “IRS-CI is
proud to work alongside our law enforcement partners to protect the
financial well-being of the vulnerable and root out those who threaten
their security.”
If you have information concerning a ward of
Guardian & Associates or Tri-State Guardian Services, please visit
the FBI website at
An
indictment is only a charge and is not evidence of guilt. All
defendants are presumed innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable
doubt in a court of law.
This case is being investigated by the
Federal Bureau of Investigation, and the Internal Revenue
Service-Criminal Investigations.
The case is being prosecuted by Assistant United States Attorneys Robert A. Moran and John Neal.
A 36th District Court judge is among four people facing federal charges in connection with what officials call "a years-long scheme to embezzle money from incapacitated individuals."
At
an assisted-living home, Vinit Shinde lay paralyzed in bed attempting
to suck on a lollipop. One of his aides had positioned the phone so that
Vinit’s brother and sister-in-law could see him. Eventually when the
aide removed her hand from the stick holding the lollipop in Vinit’s
mouth, he seemed to gag, trying to activate any muscles of his jaw,
tongue, and throat to stop the lollipop from entering his throat or
dropping out of his mouth.
In
January 2018, Vinit suffered a severe and abrupt brain aneurysm at the
age of 45. Multiple doctors deemed him to be in an extreme vegetative
state, meaning that he did not have the typical brain function to
exhibit mood or affect, cognitive functioning, executive functioning,
language, or memory.
Today,
Vinit is alive because of a feeding tube and full-time care–but mostly
because of a decision made in Georgia’s Fulton County Probate Court,
transferring guardianship of his nearly $1 million estate and future
medical decisions from his brother to his ex-wife and court-appointed
attorneys. Vinit is now one of an estimated
1.3 million adults in the U.S. living under guardianship, whose
guardians control roughly $50 billion in assets. Across the country,
these arrangements are typically under the control of an insular group
of state judges and lawyers, who take on financial, legal, and medical
decisions for people who may be elderly or otherwise mentally
incapacitated.
Once
a guardianship has been cemented and a person is officially a ward of
the state, there is little recourse to change how their guardian makes
financial and medical decisions for them. While they’re done with the
interest of people like Vinit in mind, in practice, they can often be
mired in ethical, legal, and cultural dilemmas—posing a seemingly
unending string of impossible choices for the people who love and care
for them.
Before
the guardianship was transferred to Vinit’s ex-wife–whom he separated
from in 2012 and divorced from in 2016–his family had made the difficult
decision to move him into hospice. Without a will or advance directive,
his only living immediate relative, his brother, had signed a Physician
Orders for Life-Sustaining Treatment agreement with two doctors to
transition him off of life support. After years of consulting medical
professionals and believing that this would not have been a dignified
life for Vinit, they proceeded with the move to hospice.
Then
Vinit’s ex-wife—who would visit him from time to time—contacted the
Capitol Ombudsman Program director in Atlanta to allege that he was not
actually in a vegetative state but that he only appeared to be in one.
In public legal filings, she claimed that Vinit could watch television
and communicate with others by blinking, smiling, and laughing. (Slate
has reached out to Vinit’s ex-wife and her lawyer for comment, and has
not received a response.)
The
ombudsman set up time to observe Vinit, after which she determined that
removing his feeding tube was not in his best interests. Several
nonmedical staff at the home also expressed in a letter that they were
“distressed” about Vinit’s move into hospice, because “they believe [he]
responds to them with smiling and that he also smiles while watching
TV.”
In
depositions with two of his doctors, conservatorship lawyers for his
ex-wife presented the theory that there could have been a chance,
however infinitesimal, that he would be satisfied in a consciousness
that involved blinking his desires. She sought out to prove that not
only was Vinit conscious but that his condition could be improved.
Later, she filed a petition in the Fulton County Probate Court, seeking
to remove Vinit’s brother as his guardian and conservator, and
requesting that she be appointed the successor. With his ex-wife
emboldened by the support from nonmedical experts at the home and the
ombudsman, a fight over Vinit’s life and medical treatment—and the
conservatorship of his nearly $1 million estate—ensued.
Even
though both Vinit’s family and ex-wife may have his best interests at
heart and want to make the right decisions for him, they’re still left
with a set of decisions that have no right answer. What is in the best
interest for someone you love who can no longer care for or make these
choices for themselves? Can you let them go if there’s a chance—however
slim—that they can get better? These decisions underscore the complexity
behind the guardianship system at large. While this may not be the case
with Vinit, the system as a whole has long come under scrutiny amid
allegations of abuse, neglect, and even corruption throughout the
country.
While
individual family members or friends may have a myriad of desires and
opinions on how to handle care for an incapacitated loved one, the
financial and legal structures of the guardianship system can be ripe
for evading accountability and concentrating power among one or a few
stakeholders. For example, in Georgia, one 2020 investigation
uncovered apparent conflicts of interest in Fulton County’s
guardianship system, including a case where a court-appointed
independent lawyer donated to the judge overseeing the case. In New York, a ProPublica investigation
found rampant neglect and abuse, revealing that examiners tasked with
care “tend to focus almost exclusively on financial paperwork” rather
than the care and condition of wards. As a result, in August, the state announced a task force to overhaul the program, with some pushing for new legislation.
Other
states are taking notice: Pennsylvania now requires professional
guardians to pass certification exams, while Illinois lawmakers are
pushing to make it harder for private guardians to profit off of
vulnerable people who have no one else to look after them—after reports
that a private guardianship company and law firms representing hospitals
appeared to be colluding to run up costly bills at the expense of the
people under guardianship.
Georgia’s policies around life and death were recently thrust into the spotlight in the case of Adriana Smith,
a 30-year-old mother and nurse who was kept alive, brain-dead, as a
vessel to give birth to a baby without her consent. Smith was caught in
the crosshairs of the Supreme Court’s Dobbs decision,
validating a Georgia state law that considered her fetus a person if it
had a heartbeat. And the public at-large became familiar with the
concept of conservatorship because of Britney Spears, whose finances were tied up and controlled by her family after the system deemed her mentally unstable.
Then there’s Terri Schiavo’s case
in the early 2000s. Schiavo was considered by doctors to be in a
persistent vegetative state after her brain was deprived of oxygen.
While her husband conveyed what he thought her wishes would be—to have
life support withdrawn—her parents believed that she smiled and
expressed emotion. After life support was withdrawn, autopsies confirmed that she was indeed in a “persistent vegetative state.”
More recently, there has been a rise in what legislators are calling “death with dignity”
legislation. In several states, including Colorado, Maine, Montana, and
Nevada, legislation has passed or is being considered to allow for
people to choose physician-assisted death when they decide that life is
unbearable. But in these cases, many people still have the agency and
critical thinking skills to make that decision for themselves.
For example, one man in Maine chose physician-assisted death
last November after a long battle in ALS. His wife—now an advocate for
others to do the same—reported that he had lost the ability to speak and
swallow, and that his claustrophobia made him feel like he was
“drowning and suffocating” at the same time. Opponents or those with
more nuanced approaches to “death with dignity” believe that lines
should be drawn around depression or certain disabilities—that choosing
death while depressed is more about abandonment than autonomy.
But
what about people like Vinit, who could never have predicted a sudden
brain bleed rendering him with no autonomy? Who gets to choose for them?
Both Vinit’s family and his ex-wife may want the best for him—but even
they can’t know what exactly he would choose if he could right now. It’s
a case that’s emblematic of the core problem: These are impossible
decisions, and there’s no “right” choice with an impossible decision.
Several
years ago, Vinit was barely spending time in bed unless he was
sleeping. With no kids or pets and recently divorced, he had very few
grounding commitments beyond his job as an IT architect and a condo he
owned in Atlanta. According to friends and family, Vinit was a
gregarious person who liked to explore the world and had many friends.
His ex-girlfriend Sarah told Slate that he “knew no stranger,” was
“witty and funny,” and “everyone’s best friend.” One of his best friends
told Slate over text that “Vinit was vibrant, highly intelligent,
popular, and positive. Simply put, he was a pleasure to be around.” His
brother described him as a “kind, generous and very social person.”
On Jan. 27, 2018, Vinit’s 45th
birthday, he didn’t show up to work. Two days later, his employer
alerted his family. His family also had wondered if something was wrong,
as they hadn’t heard from him on his birthday either. Vinit’s best
friend, his best friend’s wife, and his ex-wife went to check on him at
his apartment. He was discovered by his best friend collapsed on the
floor, awake but incoherent.
Doctors
found that he had suffered a subarachnoid hemorrhage resulting from a
ruptured brain aneurysm. While they were able to coil the rupture and
keep his heart beating, he was extremely impaired—unable to swallow,
communicate, move his body, or control his bowel movements.
Vinit’s
brother recalls a neurosurgeon at the time saying that Vinit’s brain
was so damaged that the most he could ever do was “move his neck from
one place to another, or utter a few words,” he told Slate. In November
2018, around nine months after the aneurysm, another neurologist echoed
this analysis, telling the family that Vinit did not qualify for any
treatment options or experimental treatments because there was no
improvement in his condition.
Yet
Vinit’s family felt he was too young to let go. They moved him to a
brain injury rehabilitation center, but doctors there also concluded
that his brain condition was irreversible. It was around this time that
Vinit’s brother was appointed his conservator and guardian in Georgia.
He was moved to a nursing home, where physicians initially urged the
deescalation of life-sustaining care due to his negative prognosis and
poor quality of life. Vinit’s family was paying out of pocket for his
treatment, and they also crowdfunded
among friends and family to pay for some of his rising medical costs,
hoping that some progress could be made to improve his cognitive
functioning and quality of life.
But
two years after the aneurysm, Vinit was not showing any signs of
cognitive improvement. In a deposition, one of his doctors said he was
technically “demented,” but that his cognition was far worse than
someone who has dementia. A medical social worker also acknowledged that
Vinit was on a percutaneous endoscopic gastrostomy tube through which
all medication and nutrition were administered, and that he had “no
awareness of his surroundings and no purposeful movements.” A note
reviewed from his care center to a Georgia ombudsman referred to him as
“essentially brain-dead.”
His
brother told Slate that he imagined that the Vinit who was single,
enjoying his local bars, drinking beer, and traveling the world would
not have wanted to live in a bed covered in sores, unable to
communicate, and without the ability to feed, clothe, or bathe himself
unless fully assisted.
He
also reflected upon a conversation that the brothers had in 2017 at
their mother’s funeral, where they agreed that neither brother would
want a long or painful death like that of their father, who died of a
prolonged battle with cancer.
While
difficult to accept, Vinit’s brother and two doctors—the attending
physician at his home and the medical director of the hospice—signed the
POLST agreement, recommending discontinuation of care and designating
the three of them as the people who would make the end-of-life decisions
on his behalf.
In
January 2021, Vinit was referred to hospice, which the ethics committee
of the health care facility had no objections to. It was a
heart-wrenching decision for the family, but in a final letter written
to Vinit’s attending physician at the assisted-living home, his family
wrote: “[We] would talk to [Vinit] about settling down with a family and
buying a house. However, that was not his plan. He wanted to live
freely on his own terms.”
What
further complicates this answer about what is right or wrong for Vinit
is that researchers are giving pause to the idea that all people in
vegetative states have no consciousness—or that all people who become
nonverbal and paralyzed would rather choose death. These factors are
large parts of the reason why Vinit’s family and his ex-wife may try all
options—no matter how small the chance of success—of keeping him alive.
In August 2024, neurologists published a study
into the potential for consciousness among vegetative or minimally
conscious patients. They found that 25 percent of the patients studied,
who were asked to spend several minutes completing cognitive tasks like
imagining themselves playing tennis or swimming, responded with the same
patterns of brain activity seen in people with healthy brains.
Following the 2024 study that found potential consciousness in certain vegetative patients, it was noted in the New York Times
that “it is possible that people with disorders of consciousness may
one day take advantage of brain implants that have been developed to
help people with other conditions to communicate.”
But
since many of these vegetative states are brought about by a sudden
event like an aneurysm—meaning many previously healthy people may not
have had time to prepare a will or directive—the question of what they
would have wanted can be a tricky one to decipher. What also complicates
who lives or dies is the court systems, and the many people involved in
a family member’s life or death who might have competing interests—many
of which might be valid and well-intentioned, depending on the
perspective.
At
the end of the day, the decision for Vinit’s guardianship came down to
money. A judge ruled that Vinit’s brother had not received the proper
court approval to sell about $20,000 of Vinit’s stock in order to pay
for certain bills piling up—and that he should have sold their deceased
mother’s home in India instead.
In
a Fulton County Probate Court presentation reviewed by Slate—called
“Playing God: The Ethical Conflicts in End-of-Life Decisions”—Vinit’s
story is used as a case study to demonstrate the need for the court to
intervene and keep him alive. They even use Bollywood actors in one of
the slides about Vinit.
While
the Georgia probate court likely does not have jurisdiction over a
family home in India, the court was still able to claim that Vinit’s
brother was not acting as a proper fiduciary in the stock sale. As a
result, he was removed as guardian and conservator. Vinit’s ex-wife was
appointed as guardian to oversee his medical affairs, while a county
conservator was appointed to oversee his finances.
His
brother appealed the decision, but the court-appointed attorney for
Vinit agreed with the court’s decision to strip him of his guardianship
over his brother. The attorney’s statement to the Georgia Court of
Appeals said that fiduciary considerations were more important than the
POLST agreement or end-of-life considerations.
Today,
Vinit’s family FaceTimes him weekly from Boston to see his face, and
they travel from their home in Boston to Atlanta when they can. He seems
vacant and incomprehensible to them.
But
now, the family feels mostly in the dark about Vinit’s current and
future medical plans. Medical records reviewed by Slate show that Vinit
has been in and out of Emory University Hospital over the past few years
since his ex-wife became guardian. One document from 2023 states that
his insurance did not cover “post-transplant immunosuppressive drugs
when [he] got this service.” The family does not know what “this
service” refers to, but Vinit’s family and friends have observed an
increasing amount of “blinking” in their recent interactions with
Vinit—as well as the blurting of unrelated words and letters.
This
ambiguity is obviously frustrating to his family. Vinit’s sister-in-law
describes the perpetuation of his life, especially if his bodily
autonomy is indeed being transferred to his ex-wife’s decision-making,
as “cruel.” His brother adds: “As Vinit’s only living relative, I have
not been consulted or informed about ongoing medical treatment, raising
serious ethical concerns. Why are we excluded from medical decisions
about his care?”
In April 2023, the Shinde family received an amicus brief in support of their case from end-of-life care nonprofit Compassion & Choices, which wrote that:
The “court’s primary focus should be on uncovering what the
incapacitated person would have wanted and that the process followed by
the Georgia probate court in this case did not allow for that to
happen.” A spokesperson for Compassion & Choices shared with Slate
that they “weighed in with the amicus brief to ensure that the court was
prioritizing what Mr. Shinde would have wanted when determining what
treatment decisions were or were not appropriate.”
With various medical advancements over the years that allow for brain
injury patients like Vinit to be kept alive in care homes, the decision
about whether to withdraw life support and care—or not—can feel
unthinkable. There are open medical and scientific questions around the
presence of covert consciousness—and ethical and sometimes religious
questions around whether someone’s body should remain preserved, even if
the person who they once were feels all but gone. Then, there’s the
optimism around future medical developments for brain injury patients,
the notion that there is even the slightest chance that someone could
improve, especially when their faces may exhibit expressions we classify
with consciousness, like smiling. Although there may be no meaning
behind those reflexes in patients with severe brain injuries, the
presence of those seemingly human expressions may make it even more
difficult to let someone go.
Beyond
Vinit and his brother’s conversation at their mother’s funeral, there
is no documented information about whether he would have desired to be
kept alive in such a condition. (Vinit’s ex-wife and lawyers did not
respond to Slate’s request for comment.) Sarah, the ex-girlfriend who
perhaps knew him most intimately closest to his aneurysm, told Slate she
never spoke to him about whether he would want to stay alive in a
vegetative state. But she did say that “I 100 percent think that he
would not want to be sitting in a bed for seven years.”
When
asked about the family’s decision, Sarah said: “I would have supported
their decision. There are two avenues of thought: First, I don’t think
anyone should live this way, he wouldn’t want that. But it’s also not my
decision. It’s the family’s.”
A 75-year-old woman was
arrested Wednesday, Oct. 1, 2025 after troopers say she kept a severely
disabled woman confined in a swelteringly hot shed filled with garbage
outside a Hastings home in July. Neighbors said they saw medics take the
victim out of the brown shed.Finn Lincoln
By Darian Stevenson, Anne Hayes, Finn Lincoln
Hastings,
N.Y. — A 75-year-old Hastings woman was arrested Wednesday after
troopers say she kept a severely disabled woman confined in a
swelteringly hot shed filled with garbage outside a Hastings home this
summer.
The
46-year-old victim, who was non-verbal and physically disabled, was
confined in a shed where temperatures exceeded 100 degrees, Trooper
Jennifer Jiron, a spokesperson for the State Police said Thursday in a
news release.
The woman charged, Maria Y. Traub, is the victim’s mother, according to neighbors.
The victim was unable to sit up or hydrate on her own, had no access to water and was using a bucket as a toilet, Jiron said.
She was wearing the same soiled clothing for several days and was swarmed by flies.
The
woman had multiple broken bones, Jiron said. She was severely
dehydrated, lethargic and had multiple bruises on her body,
investigators said in a criminal complaint filed in the town of
Hastings.
The
woman was discovered on July 29 when troopers responded to the home in
the 1300 block of Route 11 in the town of Hastings for a welfare check.
A
health care provider called 911, expressing concern that the victim was
not receiving her medications, Jiron said. The nurse contacted police
after a “concerning” call from Traub, according to the complaint.
When troopers arrived, they found the woman in a “highly distressed state,” Jiron said.
When emergency medical services arrived, Traub tried to refuse access to the victim, according to court papers.
Neighbors
said they saw ambulance crews help the victim out of an old, brown
shed. She was dirty and covered in injuries, they said.
The neighbors also said ambulances and police had previously been to Traub’s residence.
The day before the woman was found, troopers said Traub tried to drag the victim inside her home.
When
Traub failed to drag the woman inside, she left her on a “concrete pad”
outside the front of the home where she slept that night, according to
the complaint.
The
next day, Traub dragged the victim into the shed and neglected to
provide necessary medical care, according to the complaint.
The
woman was taken to Upstate University Hospital where she was found to
be severely dehydrated and unable to walk. She remained hospitalized for
several days and has since been placed in the care of a court-appointed
guardian, Jiron said.
Traub
was charged with first-degree endangering the welfare of an incompetent
or physically disabled person and first-degree reckless endangerment,
both felonies, Jiron said.
Oswego
County District Attorney Anthony DiMartino said that Traub had
guardianship of the victim but was unaware of their relationship.
Traub was arraigned in Oswego County CAP Court and released on her own recognizance.
The incumbent treasurer of Chester County has twice been accused of
fleecing elderly persons she was in charge of protecting during her
career as a professional guardian. In another instance, attorneys she
was working with in a guardianship accused her of nonpayment.
Those accusations, combined with previous Broad + Liberty reporting — revealing Patricia Maisano received her master’s and doctorate from a diploma mill, and that she was removed from court cases after failing to meet standards as an expert witness — raise serious questions about her integrity and fitness for office.
Maisano, once a Republican who later turned
Democrat, was first elected as treasurer of Chester County in the fall
of 2017. With the switch of her party affiliation already in hand by
then, she belonged to a handful of Democrats swept into office that fall
whose elections began to foreshadow the tidal shift in the Philadelphia
suburbs away from a century of Republican dominance.
Her time as treasurer is uncontroversial. But it is her professional
work that has left a trail of embittered and disillusioned people in her
wake.
The case of Betty Winstanley
Elizabeth “Betty” Winstanley and her husband Robert, were well into
their retirement years when they moved into an independent living
facility in Lancaster County in 2008. But, their idyllic retirement came
crashing down in 2014.
Betty, 92 at the time, was using a rolling walker one day and felt
faint, and decided to sit on the floor until she felt restored. But she
says staff at the facility claimed she had a fall, something that can
trigger an avalanche of precautions. Close to the same time, Robert
became ill and died that summer.
Because of the disputed “fall,” staff at the retirement home labeled
her as a resident that could no longer live independently. After
Robert’s passing, one of Betty’s two sons asked a court to appoint a
guardian for her.
For the unfamiliar, an elderly guardianship “is a legal relationship
created when a court appoints a person to care for an older adult. It
happens when the adult can no longer care for themselves,” according to
the website FindLaw.com.
“Unfortunately, there may come a time when an elderly parent or loved
one can no longer take care of themselves or make important decisions.
Illness, injury, or aging can all change a person’s decision-making
abilities,” the site explains.
Elderly guardianships are a necessary tool in society, but they’re
also open to abuse. For example, in 2019, the Delaware County district
attorney filed charges against three guardians with bilking over 100 seniors out of $1 million. One of the accused, Gloria Byars, took her own life on the day of her sentencing.
Betty’s struggle to free herself from guardianship was complicated by
the fact that there was discord among her children. One son wanted
Betty under the care of a guardian while two other siblings, a son and
daughter, did not. Her first guardian was removed just over a year into
his stewardship over Betty. When he was replaced, the court appointed
Patricia Maisano as her guardian in December 2015.
Betty’s other son, David, who didn’t want her in a guardianship, says he vividly remembers that shift in power.
“My sister and I, my attorney from Philadelphia, [we] thought that it
would be best that when [Maisano] was appointed the new guardian that
we go and meet with her. So we went to her office in Pennsylvania and
she was just very arrogant.” David recalled to Broad + Liberty. “She said, ‘From now on, Iam your mother.’ That’s a quote. My sister can back that up as well.”
The controversy caught the eye of journalist Diane Dimond, who chronicled the alleged overbilling.
“During the first three months guardian Maisano was in charge of
Winstanley’s life, she billed $50,599.18 for services rendered,” Dimond
wrote in her deeply researched and sourced book on guardianship, “We’re Here to Help: When Guardianship Goes Wrong.”
Dimond highlighted some of the more eye-popping billings, “including
two phone calls the guardian listed as having been made to one of
Betty’s children to discuss ‘dates for [a] Christmas visit.’ For those
two calls, the estate was charged a total of $1,560,” Dimond wrote.
“After Betty was rushed to the hospital with an unknown health
problem, the guardian’s logs show that she made no calls to any
Winstanley offspring to inform them of their mother’s setback. Three
days later, the guardian noted making a couple of calls to Betty to see
how she was doing. Maisano calculated that the time she devoted to those
communications was worth $990,” Dimond also noted.
“Then there was a $1,000 bill incurred because, as Maisano noted, her
‘computer emails appear[ed] to be breached…[and] extensive work [was]
done on my phone and computer as a result.’ The charge included time
spent calling her IT department and a consulting attorney. There was no
written explanation as to why Mrs. Winstanley should have been billed
for technical or legal assistance on Maisano’s devices, which were
surely used for more than just keeping track of her estate,” Dimond
pointed out.
David said he and his sister, who were hoping to move Betty to Maryland to be closer to them, felt powerless.
“[Maisano] called herself a guardian. She could make court testimony on mental capacity,” David told Broad + Liberty.
“She had all kinds of supposed degrees. And my private eye that I had
hired said that these were purchased, these were bought degrees. She
didn’t attend universities to get any professional schooling such as
neuropsychology or anything like that where she could accurately make a
determination.”
In two years of reporting on her, Maisano has never responded to
requests for comment from this outlet about her bogus masters and
doctorate degrees. Efforts to verify her nursing degree, a degree that
forms the very basis of all other elements of her career, have been
inconclusive. Broad + Liberty raised other issues about the resume Maisano has published online.
For example, she claims she has worked as a “national patient
coordinator” at “Crossroads Head Injury Center” in Pittsburgh, but Broad + Liberty
cannot find that any such center ever existed. In-depth internet
searches as well as inquiries to a small number of long-time healthcare
providers in that area have not turned up any evidence of a head injury
center by that name.
As explosive as the findings about Maisano’s billing practices were,
Dimond also had a personal experience so remarkable it’s still etched in
her memory.
Dimond says Maisano tried to take away Winstanley’s phone in retaliation for talking to her, a reporter.
Then one day, she went to a court hearing for Winstanley in Lancaster County.
“I walked into that hearing as if I belonged. No one stopped me,”
Dimond recalls. “I sat back in the upper back row and all of a sudden it
became clear that Patricia Maisano realized I was there, and her
attorney stood up and said to the court, ‘Your Honor, this person needs
to leave. Diane Dimond is sitting there.’”
Although only a single anecdote, it’s still a powerful representation
of the difficulty elderly wards have in being able to recruit and use
advocates while already being committed to the power of another person.
“There’s no reason to close this hearing,” Dimond recalls. “But
nonetheless, I was kicked out. I was escorted out by a security guard
and told never to come back again.”
The Starr report
Maisano’s conduct in other guardianships has also raised red flags.
In 2007, Maisano became the court-appointed guardian of a disabled
Delaware woman. Details of the case are limited because many of the
relevant court documents are not accessible.
But a source who requested anonymity out of fear of retaliation was
able to provide two documents from the case: a fact-finding report by
attorney Kristopher Starr, completed and submitted to the court in
January, 2009, as well as a follow-up report that reviewed Starr’s work.
The “Starr report” is unsparing in its frank assessment against Maisano, who was operating under her corporate name, IKOR.
“IKOR, for their part, egregiously overbills. There is no way to soften, sugar coat, or otherwise explain this finding,” Starr wrote.
“[A] thorough review of twenty-one (21) IKOR invoices from February
2007 through November 2008 evidenced disturbing billing trends and tens
of thousands of dollars in overbilled amounts.”
“When data evidences that each phone call, whether a voice mail, a
simple discussion, call to a creditor, etc., was at least 25 minutes per
call, it becomes incumbent upon IKOR to justify such a rate,” Starr explained.
“IKOR billed almost one hour for each letter sent. Check writing, and
bill review was over 30 minutes per event. IKOR billed an average of 20
minutes to type an email. IKOR required an average of 21 minutes to put
a fax in a machine, type in a number and hit ‘send,’” Starr continued.
In his conclusions, Starr said he concluded
“that IKOR engaged in a pattern of significant and systematic
overbilling…such that the disabled person was egregiously overcharged
for professional guardianship services rendered by IKOR.”
He then recommended that the court “[r]educe IKOR’s outstanding bill,
payable in the amount of $104,127.32 from [the disabled person’s]
funds, by $46,987.86,” — a reduction of 45 percent.
“More troubling is that the overbilling is from a sophisticated and
knowledgeable professional guardianship agency who regularly is
appointed to cases by this Court,” Starr wrote.
Starr was not the only legal professional alarmed by what he saw from Maisano and IKOR.
Another attorney, Richard Kiger, was tasked with reviewing Starr’s work. Kiger used some of Maisano’s billing for sending faxes as an example.
“Ten faxes were sent,” he noted
in one example. “It took IKOR 396 minutes, or 6.6 hours, to prepare a
fax sheet from a template and to fax about 30 pieces of paper to nine
creditors. The charge to [the ward] for all this comes to $462.00.”
“As one who has used a fax machine probably thousands of times by
now, it is hard for me to believe that it takes more than a minute or
two to fax a two page letter,” Kiger wrote
later. “An estimate of 18 to 24 minutes to fax that letter is insulting
as well as an arrogant grab at the funds of someone who in many cases
will be powerless to protest and is fully dependent upon others for
advocacy. The situation is that much more offensive when there is a
print-out showing that the 18 or 24 minute procedure actually took 1 or 2
minutes.”
Fourteen pages into his analysis, Kiger said,
“I have to agree with Mr. Starr’s assessment” that IKOR systematically
overbilled, and he likewise recommended IKOR’s payment be cut by tens of
thousands of dollars.
From the Kiger report, it’s also easy to infer that Maisano, acting as IKOR, filed a motion to strike
the Starr report. That motion apparently claimed Starr was aiming to
sabotage IKOR because the wife of one of Starr’s law partners also was a
guardian, and eliminating Maisano would be good for the friend.
Kiger was not having it.
“The charges made in the motion to strike are very serious. If they do not amount to defamation, per se,
they approach it. They are based on insinuation and supposition, but no
scintilla of evidence has been presented that misconduct of any kind
took place,” Kiger said.
“The kindest thing that can be said for the charges in the motion to strike is that they are churlish,” he concluded.
Attorney nonpayment
Another court document in a separate matter provided by a source requesting anonymity stems from a Philadelphia case.
In a filing from May, 2015, Maisano’s attorneys asked to be allowed
to withdraw as her counsel in the guardianship of an older woman with a
history of mental illness. Efforts to reach Gordon Wase, the filer of
that document, for comment were unsuccessful
“Irreconcilable differences have arisen…and Wase & Wase has
received no payments from any source over the course of the effort. Ms.
Maisano and IKOR have failed to provide counsel with payment of their
substantial legal bill now totaling $27,260,” the filing by the
attorneys said.
“Ms. Maisano and IKOR have given counsel no explanations as to why they have not provided payments to Wase & Wase.”
Conclusions
Maisano did not return emails and text messages requesting comment
for this article. When she was reached by phone by this reporter, she
hung up. It’s unclear whether Maisano still works as a guardian. A 2017
article from PennLive said RiseMark Brands acquired IKOR in
2014, but it did not provide any information as to whether Maisano had
any continuing role with the company.
The perils of guardianship are not unknown. For example, in 2023, Gov. Josh Shapiro signed a bipartisan bill
meant to curb the possibility of courts overrelying on guardianships to
solve difficult personal or family situations. But there are doubts
about the law’s effectiveness, and there is also an admitted shortage of
guardians for courts to choose from, according to media reports.
Still, the 2019 indictments in Delaware County stand testament to the
potential for financial abuse, if not outright embezzlement.
“They’re paying for vacations for themselves and their families at
Hilton [Hotel], while these incapacitated wards are in nursing homes,
alone, and their bills aren’t even being paid,” then-District Attorney
Kat Copeland said.
Now, with her book complete, Dimond took off her reporting hat to
give an unvarnished opinion on what she witnessed with her own eyes.
“I have, over the course of a decade, gathered so many abusive
guardianship case stories, and to my mind, Patricia Maisano is the
epitome of an out of control guardian who acts like a bully, overcharges
her wards, and is so arrogant and haughty as to make me think she needs
a completely different line of work,” Dimond told Broad + Liberty.
“Her unprofessionalism, her arrogance in thinking that she is really
the lord and master over a ward like Mrs. Winstanley — she can’t have a
phone; people need to have permission to go and see her; she can’t leave
the campus of the area where she lives; isolating her family members to
certain specific hours that they can come and visit — this is bullying.
This isn’t being the guardian angel that the public expects from a
guardian, a court-appointed guardian. This is outright bullying for
personal gain, in my opinion.”
The contrast between those accounts underscores the divide between
Maisano’s critics and her political allies — and raises deeper questions
about accountability in Pennsylvania’s guardianship system.
In a 2017 campaign video, Maisano referred to her work as a nurse and guardian before saying, “I know how to recognize and stop financial predators.”
Chester County Democrats renominated Maisano for her treasurer post in last month’s primary. Broad + Libertyapproached the county Democratic leadership last year for reaction to the story that Maisano had been kicked out of court cases as an expert witness, but her party allies remained silent.
In a recent Facebook post,
the Pennsylvania Federation of Democratic Women lauded Maisano as a
“quiet force with a powerful impact. From flipping Chester County blue
to mentoring countless candidates, Patricia leads with humility, heart,
and unmatched determination. Her journey from survivor to trailblazer
inspires us all.”
Where Dimond described Maisano as arrogant, the party described her as “humble.”
Not only does Maisano continue to receive the full backing of her
party as Chester County’s treasurer, she gives speeches on elder abuse
by guardians.
“March 5 Luncheon: Predatory Behavior,” the internet advertisement from the Charlotte Estate Planning Council said from 2019.
“This program will teach everyone in attendance the depth and breadth
of this increasing issue. How to recognize it, who are the potential
predators, how to address it with your client. There are also some
ideas of what you can do to break the cycle and protect your client
going forward.”
The featured speaker was Patricia Maisano. The corporate sponsor was IKOR.
(Editor’s note: At the height of IKOR’s influence, it sold
elderly care franchises, at least two of which are still in operation in
Pennsylvania today. Nothing in this article should be construed as
negatively reflecting on those two entities, which appear to operate
completely independently from Patricia Maisano. Broad + Liberty has no evidence of any kind of misconduct, alleged or otherwise, regarding those businesses.
About the documents in this report: Every effort has been made to
withhold the names of persons in the documents who do not have direct
bearing on the matter at hand. To that extent, names and other
personally identifying information has been withheld, and some pages of
the documents presented were completely deleted before publishing, but
only if the pages had no relevance.)
