American Scandal - Varsity Blues | Future Stars | 1

Episode Date: September 8, 2026

As competition for places at America’s top universities reaches new heights, a charismatic college counselor helps wealthy families gain an edge in the admissions race.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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 March 12, 2019 at the Edward R. Royal Federal Building and Courthouse in Los Angeles, California. An unmarked black sedan glides down a ramp into an underground parking garage. Headlights sweep across concrete pillars as it eases into a reserved bay. A federal agent steps from the passenger seat, opens the rear door, and helps a 50-year-old

woman out of the car. The self-help author and businesswoman Jane Buckingham is used to arriving in style, wearing designer outfits, accessorized with expensive jewelry. But today, she's in yoga pants, a t-shirt and sneakers. the workout clothes she was wearing when federal investigators hammered on her door this morning. The agent's grip tightens around Buckingham's arm as he escorts her into the courthouse. They take the elevator up one floor and the agent flips a switch to buzz them through a security gate. Gloved hands patter down. Someone slips a belly chain around her waist and cuffs her hands to it.

Then she's taken to the holding cells. Buckingham has never been arrested before. Still the other people inside the cell aren't what she expected. There are no hardened criminals glaring at her from the corners, just a cluster of frightened, middle-aged women and casual clothes just like her. One sits alone, head bowed, elbows on her knees. She looks up as the cell door bangs shut. Her hair is tied back in a messy ponytail, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, but there's still no mistaking her.

It's actress Felicity Huffman, star of the hit show Desperate Housewives. Buckingham knows Huffman, not just from television, but from years of dinner parties, fundraisers, and social events, around Los Angeles. She's the last one she expected here. Felicity? Huffman looks exhausted. Her eyes are red-rimmed. Jane. Buggy Ann lowers herself onto the bench beside her friend. What are you doing here? I was hoping you could tell me. What have they said? That I'm under arrest for conspiracy, something about mail fraud. And racketeering? That's what they told me, too. They said they had my emails and my phone records, and they took my laptop. Yeah, they took my phone.

What do you think it is? I have no idea. But they keep asking me about my daughters. How old were they? High school, one's a senior, the other junior, heading off to college soon. Buckingham's mind races, grasping for anything to explain their situation.

Did you use Rick Singer? You know Rick? Oh my God, yes. He helped my son with the ACT. Well, we did the SAT through him. He said it wasn't illegal, just strategic, making full use of the system. That's what he told.

told me, too. Across the room, another woman begins crying softly into our hands. Huffman looks around as though seeing the others in the cell for the first time. You think there's more of us? Buckingham looks toward the cell door. I think we're about to find out. Over the course of a single morning, the privileged lives of Jane Buckingham and Felicity Huffman have been turned upside down. Both are accused of participating in a nationwide criminal conspiracy of breaking the rules to secure their children and advantage in America's hyper-competitive college admissions process, and now the authorities are about to expose them. But Buckingham and Huffman are not the architects of this operation.

The mastermind is a charismatic college counselor named Rick Singer, a man who saw opportunity in a broken system and built a criminal empire to exploit it. James Arthur Ray was a charismatic self-help guru who promised his followers a path to wealth and enlightenment by becoming the best version. of themselves. But not all who followed him finished their journey. For the best Vingable series, listen to the Audible True Crime podcast wherever you get your podcasts. Hi, I'm David Brown, the host of Business Wars from Audible Originals. In our new season, Sweet and Low, Equal, and Splenda are locked in a bitter fight battling for billions,

while scientists and regulators threaten to shut them all down. Make sure to listen to Business Wars on Audible or wherever you get your podcasts. From Audible Originals, I'm Lindsay Graham, and this is American Scandal. During the first two decades of this century, America's college admissions process became brutally competitive. High school students and their families invested in enormous amounts of time, effort, and emotional energy chasing acceptance letters from elite universities. But the wealthy had an extra advantage. By offering large donations or leveraging alumni networks, the rich could open doors that the less well-connected and less well-connected. off never even knew existed. This had been a feature of the admissions process for generations,

but in the mid-2000s, one man began offering the rich and famous another route into the most competitive schools. Rick Singer began his career as a legitimate college counselor, helping ambitious students and anxious parents navigate a confusing high-stake system. Over time, though, his business evolved into something else. The scale of his operation was staggering, and by the time federal investigators uncovered his fraudulent activities, Singer's network included dozens of privileged families, from high-flying corporate executives to top Hollywood celebrities. When prosecutors unsealed indictments in March 2019,

high-profile arrests turned a story about academic admissions into a full-blown media spectacle. Television cameras captured images of famous parents and handcuffs, prominent figures facing charges once reserved for the kingpins of organized crime. But beneath the headlines was something more unsettling. This was not just about a few celebrities breaking the law. It exposed a system where privilege didn't just open doors. It allowed people to ignore the rules.

The inequalities in American college admissions had long been an open secret, but it took one man and his willingness to push every boundary to turn it into a national scandal. This is episode one, Future Stars. It's a Saturday afternoon in the fall of 1994 in Carmichael, an affluent suburb of Sacramento, California. Sunlight pours through the wide windows of Bill Templeton's study. Templeton is the CEO of Money Store, one of the country's fastest-growing mortgage lenders,

and he's reviewing the figures for last quarter. He often has to bring work home on weekends, but he tries to power through it quickly. Family time matters to him, and he hates letting business bleed into it more than necessary. So when the doorbell rings, he's already annoyed by the interruption. Laying his papers to one side, he heads downstairs. Standing on the porch is a lean, athletic-looking man in jeans, running shoes, and a polo shirt.

He looks more like a tennis instructor than a salesman, but he flashes the easy smile as someone used to knocking on doors. I'm sorry to interrupt your Saturday, sir. Am I talking to Bill Templeton? Templeton keeps one hand firmly on the door. Yes? Man extends a hand. Rick Singer, I was hoping to steal just five minutes of your time. Templeton ignores a handshake and begins pushing the door closed.

I'm not buying anything today. No, please, Mr. Templeton, no, no. I help kids get into college. That's what I do. Singer stops the door from shutting. You have two daughters in high school, right? You're, what, a college counselor? I'm an independent college counselor, sir, a big difference.

I didn't know there was such a thing. Well, most people don't, but that's their loss and your gain. Singer says it with such certainty that Templeton almost smiles at his brabado. He opens the door another inch. How old are you, Mr. Singer, I'm 34. I know, I've got a baby face, but I've got experience, too. I've worked in high schools, and I've spent the last few years coaching basketball at Sacramento State. Working with those kids has taught me a lot.

Templeton studies him more carefully now. And what exactly are you offering here? Well, it's a game plan, sir. Applying for college isn't all that different from basketball. On the court, it's not just about who's the fastest or the tallest. It's about learning to play to your strengths. A kid can have all the talent in the world and never reach their potential without the right coach guiding them. And you think you're the right coach.

I know I am. That's a bold statement. I'm a pretty bold guy, sir. Templeton, thanks for a moment. My oldest is starting to look at schools right now. Good GPA? Very good. Is she athletic?

Decent enough? Leadership stuff. Clubs, student government? Some? Singer tilts his head like a doctor, evaluating symptoms. And she's probably thinking, you see schools. That's right. Just like everyone else.

Well, it's competitive. But my job is knowing, what admissions officers want to see and making sure they find it in your daughter's application. All right. And how much does this kind of coaching cost? Well, that depends on how far you want to go. Templeton looks at him for a few seconds, and then he steps aside from the doorway. All right, coach.

All right. You talk good game. Come on in. Let's see what you've got. Rick Singer isn't intimidated by wealthy neighborhoods like the Sacramento suburb where Bill Templeton lives. He grew up in Lincolnwood, a similarly affluent area north of Chicago. And even as a child, he was intensely driven. In middle school, Singer struggled with his weight,

but before starting high school, he decided to reinvent himself, and over a single summer, he transformed his appearance through sheer willpower. He ran obsessively every day and survived largely on Diet Coke, raisins and peanuts. By the time classes began in the fall, the overweight middle schooler had become a lean athletic teenager. This transformation changed more than just his appearance, though. It gave Singer new confidence,

years remembered his easy smile, boundless energy, and fierce ambition. He wanted to become a millionaire and wasn't shy about him. But Singer's path to riches did not follow the traditional route. Unlike many of his classmates who headed off to prestigious universities, Singer bounced between colleges before eventually earning a degree from Trinity University in Texas. After graduating, he moved into basketball coaching, first at the high school level, then as assistant coach at Sacramento State University. Coaching suited his personality. He was energetic, enthusiastic, and comfortable mentor and teenagers, but it also exposed him to a hard reality. Coaching was an unstable profession. His career depended on the results on the court, and in 1992, after Sacramento State's

basketball team limped through a disastrous four-win season, the university fired the entire coaching staff. This setback forced Singer to rethink his future. He still wanted to coach, but in a different arena. Instead of basketball, he turned his attention to college admissions. He thought he understood teenagers and knew how high schools operated, and he had experienced navigating the college environment. Most importantly, his livelihood wouldn't depend on young players' points on a scoreboard, but on his own hard work. Singer called his new counseling business future stars and began hustling for clients the same way as salesman hunts for leads. He drove through affluent suburbs, pitching parents on his ability to help their children. Some, just

shut the door on him. Others listened politely and then said no, but a few signed up, and in the fall of 1994, CEO Bill Templeton joins them. Within days of knocking on Templeton's door, Singer begins meeting with his oldest daughter, a high school senior. At first, she hates this arrangement. Her schedule already feels overloaded with Homer, sports practice, music lessons, and whatever social life she can squeeze into the gaps between. For her, the last thing she wants is another adult hovering over her shoulder. But Singer gradually wins her over. Unlike most teachers or guidance counselors,

he treats college admissions less like an academic process and more like a competitive sport. One week, they break down her application. The next, they practice interview questions or review brochures from colleges. Singer rarely waste time on small talk. The sessions are quick and focused, but after the work is done, the atmosphere changes.

They wander outside with a basketball and spend 20 minutes shooting hoops in the driveway, chatting casually. During one afternoon session the following spring, Templeton's daughter shows Singer a draft of her college application essay. She leans back in her chair, trying not to look nervous, as Singer begins to read it. The room is quiet, except for the occasional bird song drifting through an open window. Then, without warning, Singer uncaps a red pen and starts crossing out the entire opening paragraph. The young girl blinks in surprise, but Singer keeps reading.

Another section disappears under red ink. Sentences vanish one after another. By the time he's finished, barely half the essay survives. As the girl stares at the pages and disbelieve, Singer calmly explains his reasoning. Her extracurricular activities are impressive, but that's not enough. These days, every applicant to elite school seems to play sports and volunteer in the community.

What colleges want is a clear identity, a brand, if she wants to call it that. one defining quality that will separate her from the crowd. The girl is taken aback, but recognizes the logic. What Singer is saying makes sense, but contradicts everything her school preaches about the importance of well-rounded applicants. For decades, high school guidance counselors have served as gatekeepers of college admissions. They help students identify suitable schools, narrow-down degree programs, organize recommendation letters, and navigate the complicated application process.

They also coordinate standardized testing. making sure students register for the SAT and the ACT on time. But that system is under strain. More American teenagers are applying to college than ever before. In 1980, fewer than half of high school graduates enrolled in higher education. But little more than a decade later, that number has climbed above 60%. It means high school counselors are often responsible for hundreds of students every year, and it's not just the sheer numbers that's making their jobs more difficult.

As college attendance increases, so does comprehensive. competition for spots at the best schools, and as competition grows, parents become more demanding, expecting a level of attention for their children that is simply impossible for overstretched counselors to provide. This has created an opening for a new industry, independent college counseling. Rick Singer is one of the early pioneers. Unlike school counselors, Singer has the time to visit clients in their homes, often spending hours with a single student. Through this highly personalized advice, he helps teenagers polish essays, prepare for interviews, and study for standardized tests. But despite the value parents see in his service, Singer quickly discovers a problem. There's not

enough money in it. Singer charges Bill Templeton $1,200 a year to work with his daughter, and for that fee, Singer visits the Templeton home every week or two, sometimes spending entire evenings helping her with applications and test preparation. But if he's going to earn a decent living, Singer needs dozens and dozens of families to sign up for his service, but there's only so many hours in the day. His evenings are already an endless cycle of SAT prep classes and essay reviews. Weekends are filled with back-to-back college coaching sessions. His car acts like a mobile office. He barely sees his own home and it's exhausting.

Singer had imagined things differently. He believed starting his own business would put him on the path to prosperity. Instead, he feels trapped, working longer hours than ever before, while barely. staying afloat. Singer wants status, recognition, and financial freedom, but future stars isn't delivering any of those things. So Singer decides to change course. One morning in early 1998, he wraps up another coaching session at the home of Bill Templeton. By now, Templeton's oldest daughter has successfully made it into college, and it's his younger daughter's turn to go through the same carefully managed process. College brochures, SAT prep books, and

essay drafts are spread across the dining room table. Singer gathers his paper, stuffing the daughter's folder into a worn leather briefcase. Normally, he'd wrap up a session with a few minutes of basketball in the driveway, but this time, he tells Templeton's daughter that he needs a quick word with her dad first. Bill Templeton stands in the kitchen, sorting through the mail, and Singer walks in with unusual hesitation. He clears his throat, then he asks whether Templeton can help him get a job at Money Store. This request catches Templeton off guard.

Over the last few years, he's come to regard Singer as a natural entrepreneur, a hustler with endless energy and absolute belief in himself. Asking for a corporate job feels out of character. But Singer explains that the college counseling business isn't taking him where he hoped it would. He's approaching 40 years old now, yet he still spends every day searching for new clients. And no matter how hard he works, financial security always seems just out of reach. Singer says he wants something different. Templeton listens carefully. He's been impressed with Singer's work with both of his daughters.

He's shown himself to be disciplined, ambitious, and exceptionally driven. Templeton respects that, so he promises he'll see what he can do. A few days later, Singer gets a call. Templeton has good news. Money Store has an opening as a call center manager, and if Singer wants it, the job is his. Singer accepts, and for the first time in years, he has a salary, benefits, and a clear corporate ladder in front of it. The rusty car, the endless tutoring sessions, the constant door knocking. All of it seems like a chapter he's leaving behind.

And it appears Rick Singer's career as a college counselor is over. In December 2020, United Healthcare CEO Brian Thompson was gunned down on a Manhattan sidewalk in broad daylight. Five days later, police arrested 26-year-old Luigi Mangione. And to millions of Americans, he became something no accused killer should ever. 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 Candice 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 Psyche one week early and ad-free right now. Join Audible in the Audible app or by subscribing on Apple Podcasts. Imagine you're reading Pride and Prejudice, except you're not reading it. Harris Dickinson and Marissa Abella are reading it to you on Audible. Her barbs 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. Rick Singer throws himself into his new corporate career

with the same intensity he once brought to basketball coaching and college counseling. At Money Store, he quickly establishes himself as an energetic and effective manager. His work is focused on recruiting and training call center employees, And the job plays to his strengths. Singer is charismatic, persuasive, and a natural motivator.

He thrives in the fast-paced environment of the call center, where confidence and salesmanship matter as much as technical expertise. So for the first time in years, his life appears stable. No more driving from house to house, searching for new clients, no more evenings marking up college essays at kitchen tables. Singer finally seems to have found the professional success he's been chasing. But this sense of security does not last long. Within only months of Singer joining Money Store, the company is acquired by banking giant first union.

This merger throws employees' futures into turmoil. New bosses consolidate departments and eliminate positions. And despite making a good first impression, Singer is still a recent hire and becomes one of the early casualties of the merger. He soon lands a similar management role at West Corporation, a call center provider headquartered in Omaha, Nebraska. But then another opportunity arises halfway around the world. In the late 90s, more and more American companies are outsourcing customer service operations to locations overseas, where staffing costs are far lower. First Ring is a startup operating out of India that aims to take advantage of this trend. It's just had a round of investment from venture capitalists, and the firm wants to hire an American executive to supercharge its growth.

But convincing someone suitable to relocate to South Asia has been difficult. Singer, though, sees it as a fast track to a higher position. He secures the job and it's a major promotion. For the first time, Singer is no longer a middle manager, but part of the senior leadership team, with all the status that brings. Even so, the salary and perks do nothing to ease Singer's culture shock when he first arrives in India. He lives out of a suitcase and a Bangalore hotel.

He refuses to try the local cuisine, convinced that it will make him sick, and he survives on little more than pizza and Diet Coke. But Singer is on more familiar ground in First Rings' Enormous Call Center. and he quickly sets about improving its performance. Under Singer's predecessor at the company, call center agents were evaluated on a range of metrics, including average call length. But Singer rips up the old rulebook and focuses on just one thing.

All he needs to know is the end outcome. For cold calls, that means sales. For service inquiries, it's customer satisfaction. But once again, despite performing well, Singer's new position proves temporary. In 2003, first ring, is acquired by an Indian bank, and Singer is laid off. This time at least, he receives a generous severance package, and he heads back to the United States with money in his pocket. A few weeks later,

he buys a four-bedroom property in Sacramento for almost $600,000. It's larger and more luxurious than anything he's owned before. And it proves that, on paper at least, Singer has done well for himself. For the first time in his life, he has genuine wealth. Still, the payout from the first-ring acquisition isn't large enough to guarantee lifelong financial security. Now the singer has tasted the executive lifestyle. He has no interest in giving it up. So one afternoon, as the smell of new paint still lingers, an unopened moving boxes remains stacked in the corner,

Singer begins making calls from his new home office. Leaning back in his chair with a cordless phone pressed to his ear, he reconnects with an old business associate on the East Coast. The conversation begins casually enough. They trade gossip and discuss mutual acquaintances. But beneath a small talk, Singer is testing the Warners. He wants to know whether anyone has worked for a man with his experience, and eventually the conversation turns to his future.

His friends suggest something Singer hasn't seriously considered in years, going back to college counseling. At first, Singer resists the idea. He's already tried that once and remembers the endless driving and overloaded schedule. Worse, it felt small time, not the kind of thing an executive would lower himself to. But then his friend mentions something that stops singing, Singer in his tracks. A colleague of his in Manhattan recently hired an independent college counselor for their child, and the consultant he's picked is charging $30,000. For a moment, Singer thinks

he misheard. Back in the 1990s, Singer charged families barely more than $1,000 a year. His grip tightens around the phone, because if what his friend says is true, he dramatically undersold his services. Clearly, there are some families willing to pay enormous sums for exactly the kind of help he once provided. By the end of the call, Singer is no longer thinking about corporate jobs. Instead, he's excited by the idea of building his own business again. And as he lowers the phone back into its cradle, his mind is made up. He's going back into college counseling. A few months later in 2004, Singer launches a new company from his home in Sacramento. He calls it college source. And from the beginning, it's very different from the small operation he ran a

decade earlier. Back then, Singer was essentially a one-man shot. driving from house to house, juggling almost every client personally. But his time at Money Store and First Rank have changed the way he thinks about business. Singer now understands how to scale operations and manage teams. So instead of personally handling every student, Singer envisions college source as a network of independent counselors working under his brand. He plans to recruit consultants across the country and train them in what he will present as his proven approach to college admissions.

The counselors will work with their own. clients, but they'll split a portion of their fees with Singer. As the man at the center of this operation, Singer styles his role as master coach. And aside from training college source counselors, he intends to maintain his own carefully selected roster of private clients, the elite of the elite, who will think nothing of paying premium prices. But even if Singer's idea looks promising on paper, he soon finds himself facing a familiar problem, finding enough clients. Many wealthy families don't know that they could benefit from the services of an independent college counselor, and they certainly haven't heard of College Source or Rick Singer.

He needs a lucky break, and it comes when Singer least expects it on an airplane high in the skies above California. The seatbelt sign has just turned off, and Singer has loosened his collar. Years of business travel have taught him the art of the power nap, 15 minutes of sleep, no more, just enough to be refreshing while keeping him sharp. As soon as he lands in Sacramento, he plans to spend the evening calling several potential college source recruits. So Singer is just about to close his eyes when he notices the woman seated beside him. She's bent over a paperback puzzle book, filling in a crossword, but the clues aren't in

English. They're in Hebrew. He glances again, curiosity, overtaking his fatigue, and after a moment, he leans slightly toward her. I think four down might be Yerushalim. The woman looks up in surprise. She's around 50, sharply dressed with reading glasses balanced low on her nose. You read Hebrew?

A little, enough to embarrass myself occasionally. Did you grow up speaking it? Yes, born and bred in Israel. I moved here for postgraduate studies and never left. I'm from a Jewish family myself, Chicago originally. But not anymore. No, I live in Sacramento now. Oh, me too.

Though I think I spend more time on planes these days. Huh, what line of work you in? Banking. I'm the CEO of a regional bank. Well, that's impressive. No, it's exhausting. Long hours, I bet. Well, the work is one thing. Then I go home and discover one of my children needs help with calculus. There's a school play. I know. I know there's always something. Always. How old are your kids? Well, I've got six. Oh, six. You've got a full plate. Two, though, have flown the nest. Still, I guess you must be in the college process for some of them, right? Oh, yeah, SAT prep, campus tours, all of it. It's become much more complicated than it used to be. Tell me about it. That's what I do, actually. What do you mean?

I run a college admissions consulting company. We help families like yours make sense of it. Testing, application, extracurriculars, what matters, what doesn't, where a student can stand out. And people hire someone for that? More and more, you'd be surprised. The process has become a game, and most parents don't realize that the rules have changed. The woman closes her puzzle book. Senior has her attention now.

You know, the biggest mistake I see families make is assuming good grades were enough. They're just not. Not anymore. Knowledgees want a narrative. They want something memorable. They want a brand. My kids need a brand now, though? That's terrifying. It's just one thing after another. Well, it can't seem that way. Unless you have someone who knows how the game works. By the time the plane descends into Sacramento, Rick Singer has exchanged business cards with a woman in the seat next to him. And within weeks, he's working with three of her children. And he charges far more than he used to when he ran future stars.

But higher fees also mean higher expectations. And if Rick Singer's business is to grow, he'll need to get results no matter what. What if AI could recreate the voice of somebody you loved who died? 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 Fennell, 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. What if AI could recreate the voice of somebody you loved who died? 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 Fennell and in my brand new Audible original podcast, I'm travelling 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.

During the mid-2000s, Rick Singer expands college source rapidly. To increase his client list, he doesn't just rely on chance encounters like meeting a bank CEO on an airplane. He attacks the problem with the same commitment he brings to everything else in life. He places ads in local newspapers and glossy lifestyle magazines aimed at affluent readers. He gives presentations at private schools, country clubs, and community networking events, pitching himself as an expert guide through the college admissions process. By now, it's clear there's a huge demand for his services.

In the years since Singer abandoned his first college counseling business, the percentage of high school graduates going on to college has climbed even higher. In theory, there are still enough spots for nearly every qualified student who wants one, but that's not where the pressure lies. The real competition centers on a relatively small group of prestigious universities like Johns Hopkins, MIT, Stanford, Yale, and Harvard. As applications surge, acceptance rates at these schools shrink year after year. Families who once assumed strong grades and a few extracurricular activities would guarantee admission

now find themselves confronting a much harsher reality. Even exceptional students are being rejected. And the growing anxiety over admissions transforms the process into something resembling an arms race. Academic administrators use a new term to describe the phenomenon, helicopter parents, mothers and fathers hovering over every aspect of their children's education, treating college admissions as a family project. They challenged teachers over disappointing grades and obsessed about SAT scores. Some families hire tutors, other pay for sports trainers, essay coaches, or leadership programs

in the hopes of impressing admissions offices. But the more people use these services, the more the wealthy, look for other ways to find an edge. Private admissions guidance is just another luxury they can afford, a weapon in the college arms race that few other parents can access. And Singer positions college source perfectly to take advantage of this growing market. His network of counselors expands into New York and his native Illinois, and in Florida, Singer begins working with IMG Academy,

an elite boarding school known for developing promising young athletes. And as Singer's business grows, he gains more clients through word of mouth. He's praised for his energy, his confidence, and the extraordinary attention he pays to the students. He seems exactly like the kind of advocate parents need in an increasingly unforgiving admission system. But not everyone views Singer's success so positively. His methods strike many educators as unusually intense, and some high school counselors grow suspicious of the promises he makes to clients. Among them is Jill Newman. She's a counselor at Rio Americano High School in Sacramento. And over the past year, she's heard Rick Singer's name

repeatedly from other parents, and she started to notice a pattern. Singer's clients always seem to have lofty ambitions and unrealistic expectations of their kids. To Newman, that just puts unfair pressure on students who are sometimes already struggling just to keep up. One afternoon, she has a meeting scheduled with the parents of a boy who has his heart set on playing Division I sports, but as she reviews his student file, the numbers don't add up. Come in! The student's parents enter first, both dressed more formal. than most attending a school meeting.

And behind them walks a broad smiling man in a sports jacket, carrying a leather folder. Newman immediately recognizes him. It's Rick Singer. He flashes a polished smile. Jill, so good to see you. Thanks for making time for us. Of course.

The family sits. Singer takes the chair closest to Newman's desk, but Newman ignores him and turns to the parents. Well, as we discussed in our previous meeting, I understand your son is still interested in attending a Division I school, right? But my concern is that he hasn't completed the coursework required specifically algebra two. And unfortunately, I just Singer leans forward.

Jill, I'm going to stop you there because that should never have happened in the first place. I'm sorry? The school should have put him in algebra two far earlier. Mr. Singer, he failed algebra one three separate times. Advancing him would not have been appropriate. Well, sometimes kids thrive when they're pushed harder. That may be true, but eligibility requirements are very specific. Newman looked back to the parents.

And at this point, I think community college is the most realistic path forward. He can complete the coursework there, improve his academic standing, and then transfer. The parents shift uneasily, but Singer doesn't give them a chance to speak. No, no, he really wants the full college experience, especially sports. I understand that, Mr. Singer, but right now we need to focus on what's achievable. Well, achievable according to who? According to his academic record. What about online coursework?

There are accredited programs he can complete remotely. Yes, but online classes still require a passing grade. Well, he'll get them. He's going to redo his junior class, too. That's too much. No, no, no, this is what I'm talking about. He becomes discouraged because people keep telling him what he can and can't do. Mr. Singer, my responsibility is to give honest advice.

Honest or limiting. Newman feels her temper beginning to fray. Mr. Singer, community college is not a failure. I don't want to hear anyone say that. Plenty of students take that route successfully. Yeah, and plenty of students get left behind because schools like this one stop fighting for them. The room goes quiet, and Newman straightens in her chair.

Even if he completes the missing coursework, admissions offices are still going to see the transcript history. Singer shrugs, then we position the story correctly. Position the story. Yes, everyone loves a comeback. Jill Newman feels the meeting slip away from her. She's convinced that the students simply cannot cope with the workload that Rick Singer is proposing. But despite her worries, over the next few months, the student somehow completes the online courses he needs to regain eligibility.

It's a positive outcome, but the sudden turnaround makes Newman suspicious. This boy has struggled academically for years. Yet now, he's submitting assignments and earning credits at remarkable speed. Newman wonders whether someone else has completed the online classes for him, but without proof there's nothing she can do. This episode is just one of several uncomfortable encounters between Sacramento schools and Rick Singer. All across the city, other counselors are noticing the same patterns as Newman. With Singer's encouragement, parents challenge grading decisions and demand teacher changes.

They ask for class transfers and special accommodations, and when counselors raise concerns, Singer accuses them of limiting the children's potential. In some cases, counselors' fun. Singer writing recommendation letters for his own clients, falsely presenting himself as affiliated with their schools. He gives glowing testimonies about the achievements and capabilities of his clients, and to many high school counselors, that crosses a clear ethical line. Recommendation letters traditionally come from teachers, principals, or school counselors, people whose job is to evaluate students objectively. Private consultants, like Singer, cannot possibly say the same.

But not all independent counselors are as willing to bend the rules as Singer. One of his competitors in Sacramento is Margie Amit. As a favor to a friend, she agrees to take a look at their son's application. The family has been working with Rick Singer for some time, but her friend wants another set of eyes to check it before everything's submitted. So Amit settles into her couch and opens up her laptop. A mug of coffee steams on the table as she logs into the application portal. And at first, as she reads, nothing seems unusual.

usual. The students' grades are solid enough, his test scores are respectable, and the personal essays polished. Amit scrolls through methodically, checking that all the dates and fields have been completed correctly. And then she stops. One entry claims the student helped raise thousands of dollars for playground equipment in Helen Keller Park. Ammit frowns because there is no Helen Keller Park in Sacramento that she knows of. She scrolls further and reads that the boy has television writing credits. This makes her pause yet again because she knows her friend's son enjoys writing as a hobby, but she's certain that she would have heard about it if one of his scripts had made it on

the screen. So she clicks into another section. It says that the applicant is a ranked tennis player, that he volunteers at a regional cultural festival, that the family speaks fluent Spanish at home. Ammit stares at the screen and disbelief because it's all nonsense. Hammett reaches for a legal pad and begins writing down every questionable class. she finds. Her neat handwriting feels line after line, and by the time she finishes, the list is disturbingly long. The next day, she reports back to the student's mother.

At first, the woman assumes that there's been some mix-up. Perhaps Singer accidentally copied details from another student's file. Maybe the information was pasted into the wrong application. But Margie Amit isn't convinced. The errors feel deliberate, designed to make the student appear more impressive than it really is. She suggests, that they change the password to lock Singer out of the account. Family hesitates, uncomfortable with the implication that Singer deliberately falsified an application, but eventually they agree.

That night, after the password had been changed and the false claims removed, Amit reflects on what she saw. For years, she's watched the college admissions process grow more competitive. She understands the need to polish an application and frame accomplishments in the best possible life. It's what she does every day. But this feels different.

This is not careful editing or strategic positioning. It's outright fabrication. And if Rick Singer is willing to invent accomplishments to help his clients gain an edge, she wonders how much farther he might go. From Audible Originals, this is episode one of Varsity Blues for American Scamp. In our next episode, Rick Singer discovers a loophole that almost guarantees his wealthy client's entry to elite universities

and creates a network of insiders to exploit it. 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. And 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. 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 history ishuman.com. That's history ishuman.com. If you'd like to learn more about the college admission scandal, we recommend unacceptable, privileged, deceit, and the making of the college admission scandal by Melissa Korn and Jennifer Levitts. Guilty admissions, the bribes, favors, and phones behind the college cheating scandal by Nicole Laporte,

and the Netflix documentary Operation Barcity Blues, the college admission scandal. This episode contains reenactments and dramatized detail. tales. 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 executive produced by me, Lindsay Graham for Airship. This episode is written in research by Scott Reeves, senior producer Andy Beckerman, managing producer Emily Burke, fact-checking by Alyssa Jung Perry, audio editing by Mohamed Shazi, original music by Thrum, 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 Navin, 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. Hey, it's Mike Corey, the host of Against the Odds from Audible Originals. In each episode, we share thrilling true stories of survival,

putting you in the shoes of the people who live to tell the tale. And sometimes we get to hear from, survivors themselves, in their own words. On our next episode, Sujo John will tell his story of September 11th, 2001. That day, he clocked into his job at the World Trade Center's North Tower. Sujo's wife, Mary, pregnant with their first child, worked just next door in the South Tower.

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the building, collapsing cubicles and walls. But as Sujo and his office mates raced to escape the smoldering building, they heard another massive explosion. and Sujo realized his wife an unborn child were also in grave danger. Follow Against the Odds wherever you get your podcasts. Audible subscribers can binge all episodes of Against the Odds early and ad-free right now. Join Audible in the Audible app or by subscribing on Apple Podcasts.