Addressing My Past

This page exists because I know people will ask.

Some will ask in good faith.

Some will ask because they are uncomfortable engaging the evidence elsewhere on this site.

Some will ask because they believe a label tells them everything they need to know.

It doesn’t.

This page is not a defense brief. It is not an appeal. It is not an attempt to relitigate a criminal case. The matters discussed here are part of the public record and were adjudicated years ago.

What follows is context — not excuses.

Why I’m Addressing This Directly

I have learned that silence allows others to define you. I’ve lived that.

I also know that certain accusations carry enormous emotional weight, and I do not dismiss that reality. I am not asking anyone to minimize harm, ignore discomfort, or accept my account as fact.

I am asking only that this part of my past not be used as a shortcut to avoid examining the evidence, filings, and records that are the subject of the cases documented on this site.

The Role of Labels in the System

The justice system relies heavily on language.

Certain words are designed to end conversation rather than begin understanding. Once applied, they replace a person’s entire history, character, and complexity. Context disappears. Inquiry stops.

This is not accidental. It is efficient.

I have lived under that reality for most of my life.

My Criminal Record — Plainly Stated

My record includes serious charges, including a sexual offense, for which I served a lengthy prison sentence.

I understand how difficult that is to read. I understand why people react strongly to it. I am not asking anyone to ignore that reaction.

What I am saying is this: a conviction tells you what the system concluded, not how it arrived there, what failed along the way, or what was lost in translation between human experience and legal categorization.

What I Will and Will Not Say About It

I will say this:

  • I did not harm anyone.
  • I did not commit the acts the label suggests.
  • I believed, wrongly, that truth alone would protect me.
  • I underestimated how quickly context collapses once fear enters the room.

I will not:

  • Describe allegations in detail
  • Debate memories, dreams, or accusations in public
  • Ask strangers to “take my word for it”
  • Attack anyone else involved

That is not because I lack an explanation.

Because public narrative is not where truth survives. I have learned that openness, when stripped of context, is often weaponized rather than understood.

What Prison Taught Me About Truth

Prison is where I learned how little labels care about reality.

Inside, I watched people reduced to a word and treated accordingly. I also watched how easily good deeds, growth, and integrity were erased by a single line on paper.

I survived by learning, teaching, and helping others. But I also learned something else: the system is not built to revisit its own conclusions. It is built to finalize them.

Why This Does Not Define the Case on This Site

The cases documented on this website are not about my past. They are about:

  • corporate records
  • filings
  • exhibits
  • procedural history
  • statements made in different legal forums


Those materials stand or fall on their own.

If the evidence is weak, my past won’t make it stronger.

If the evidence is strong, my past won’t make it disappear.


Why I Still Speak

I speak because I know what happens when people with complicated histories are told they no longer get to participate in truth-telling.

I speak because silence would be easier, and because I know exactly who benefits from that.

You do not have to like me.

You do not have to trust me.

You do not have to agree with me.


If a label is enough to make you stop reading the record, then the system has already done its job. History shows that powerful and wealthy people are repeatedly entangled in serious misconduct, yet retain credibility through money, counsel, and connections.

Now ask a harder question: what happens when you have none of those things? When you don’t have lawyers on retainer, public relations teams, or institutional protection. When scrutiny begins early, and a person becomes a target before they ever have the resources to defend themselves.

That disparity—not innocence versus guilt, but power versus vulnerability—is what determines whose story gets heard and whose truth gets buried.

Closing

This page exists so no one can say I avoided the subject.

It also exists so that this subject does not eclipse everything else.

I am more than the worst thing ever said about me.

And the truth is more than a word.

If you choose not to engage further after reading this, that is your right.

If you choose to continue, the record is there — unchanged, documented, and public.