Around five years later, the law is being flouted by people that Scott, as mayor, put into positions of authority to oversee the city’s legal commitments.

A Baltimore Sun analysis found that the city failed to properly report police misconduct lawsuits and settlements this year as required by that law. Experts say repercussions for the reporting agency are unlikely, since the law doesn’t outline any.

“There’s no teeth in laws like this,” said Matt Zernhelt, a Baltimore-based attorney and University of Maryland School of Law professor.

The law, enacted in 2020, requires the department to release semi-annual reports on police misconduct litigation in January and August. The City Law Department failed to publish a report in January.

Department spokesperson and deputy solicitor Stephen Salsbury did not respond to questions asking why the report was filed late, but said that department staff will work to publish future reports in a timely fashion.

The law department misses its deadline

The city law department published a partial version of a report in May in response to multiple requests from The Sun.

The Sun’s analysis compared that version to a Baltimore City Board of Estimates database, and found several police misconduct settlements were missing from the May report, which lists only one lawsuit filed in 2023 and 2024 each. The report lists none that were filed in 2022 or this year.

The May report also was missing information like the dates some cases were filed, and their outcomes.

The Sun also found more documentation and news reporting on other cases that were omitted from the report.

According to the May report, between 24 and 36 police misconduct cases were filed annually from 2017 to 2021, but those totals dropped dramatically in 2022, and have remained low.

Lindsey Eldridge, a Baltimore Police spokesperson, said that the recent decline in lawsuits are tied to the department’s new policies, comprehensive training and accountability reforms.

“Our department is committed to self-assessment, self-correction and early intervention, ensuring that issues are identified and addressed before escalating to serious misconduct,” Eldridge wrote in a statement emailed to The Sun.

But Philip Stinson, a criminology professor at Bowling Green State University heading the school’s Police Integrity Research Group, and leading National Institute of Justice-funded research into U.S. police crime, said it was “hard to believe” the law department had seen such a steep decline in recent years’ misconduct cases.

“Based on the population of the city of Baltimore, the number of sworn officers employed by the Baltimore City Police Department, and the number of cases filed in prior years, I find [the decrease in misconduct lawsuits in this report] surprising,” Stinson said.

Stinson said policing practices have largely stayed the same during his two decades of studying police misconduct, despite police reforms being at the forefront of public discourse.

Baltimore Police Accountability Board Vice Chair Joshua Harris said that the board has encountered faulty reporting pertaining to misconduct complaints shared by the Baltimore Police Department, which often go underreported and lack important information like geographical data.

Harris said keeping the public informed on police misconduct cases and how to file them are part and parcel to motivating citizens to call for police reform.

Several cases weren’t reported

Among the cases missing from the law department’s recent report are some notable police settlements from the last couple of years.

Three teenagers received settlements from the city in May after suffering serious injuries in a crash after a police officer ran a red light without activating his siren.

In 2023, the city paid a $225,000 settlement to a woman who was shot by a stray bullet fired by an officer in pursuit of a different person.

After Dennis Freeman lost his leg when he was struck by a police vehicle who ran a red light at 40 mph without its  sirens on in 2023, he threatened to sue the city. Before the case made it to court, the city settled with Freeman on behalf of the city, paying him $720,000. Numerous cases like these are not reported by the city, since they are not filed in state or federal court.

The Sun’s analysis also found that the report identified only 23 lawsuits totaling about $17.2 million related to the police department’s Gun Trace Task Force. But a tracker of settlement figures maintained by the Board of Estimates has the total spent by the city at nearly $23 million across 41 cases filed by victims of the task force.

What are the consequences?

Zernhelt, who has won appellate cases against BPD and the city, told The Sun the law department will likely see no consequences for failing to publish an accurate and timely report of misconduct cases.

“If [the law department doesn’t] follow the law, they have carte blanche until someone with the resources can come and challenge them,” said Zernhelt.

He said a public information lawsuit may result in a court order for the department to release the correct information — without any legal repercussions, though the department may be subject to oversight from the Office of the Inspector General if it fails to meet reporting deadlines.

The Inspector General’s office has previously stepped in to probe the law department, including in recent case involving a fraudulent settlement check. The office issued formal recommendations after uncovering these issues, and the law department adopted these reforms.

Scott, who appointed City Solicitor Ebony Thompson to lead the law department, is a vocal proponent of settling and publicizing cases of police misconduct and has been since his time in City Council, calling them a “reminder that [the city has] an obligation to own mistakes that were made” by law enforcement.

Scott’s office did not respond to a request for comment.

Consequences of the lawsuits

Cary Hansel, a Baltimore-based attorney who represented three Gun Trace Task Force victims, said that police misconduct settlements are valuable investments in police integrity.

“I think that there’s a good argument to be had that lawsuits, together with the reporting of the facts that they uncover, are the two most important things that drive [police] reform,” said Hansel.

Hansel referenced the consent decree agreement between the Baltimore Police Department and the U.S. Department of Justice, which he said was influenced by police misconduct suits, including the case of Freddie Gray, whose family received a $3.5 million settlement in 2022.

In April, a federal judge lifted two sections of the decree, ruling that the police department has improved its transportation of people in custody — a section shaped greatly by the conditions of Gray’s death — and police officer mental health support.

Councilmember Mark Conway, who chairs the Baltimore City Council’s Public Safety Committee, said recent police reforms could have led to a drop in police misconduct claims, adding that he doubts the reduction is as extreme as the law department’s report suggests.

Since the Gun Trace Task Force claims make up a large portion of Baltimore’s police misconduct settlements, Conway posited that the dwindling number of open cases relating to the task force could contribute to a decrease.

“We get tons of complaints [from] lots of people who have poor interactions with police officers across the city,” Conway said. “Those don’t always necessarily reach the legal stage.”

He said the Baltimore Police Department is a very different department today. Conway said that officers are now much more thoughtful about how they interact with the public, in large part due to the consent decree.

Harris acknowledged that the accountability board has noticed improvements in policing, and a decline in misconduct complaints, albeit at a lower rate than the law department’s report suggests.

The department still has a ways to go in terms of transparency, said Harris, adding that an important factor in the decline in police misconduct claims is that not enough people know how to file them.

He blamed this on the convoluted filing system — with several different channels of lodging the claims, and one of the most prominent being recently dissolved.

“We need data to tell the story, and if we have the wrong data, we may be telling the wrong story,” said Harris.

Have a news tip? Contact Mathew Schumer at mschumer@baltsun.com, 443-890-7423 and on X as @mmmschumer.

Editor’s note: The story has been updated to correct Joshua Harris’ title.This article noted that a settlement for $720,000 to a man hit by a police cruiser was not included in the Law Department’s data set provided to The Sun. This article has been updated to clarify that while the man did threaten the city with a lawsuit, he never filed and received a settlement instead.

The destinations included Bellagio on Italy’s Lake Como; Dublin; Belfast, Northern Ireland; Tel Aviv, Israel; and Orlando, Florida.

The traveling members, sometimes accompanied by their wives, included Sen. Chris Van Hollen, a Maryland Democrat, and Rep. Andy Harris, a Republican whose district includes Harford County, the Eastern Shore and a portion of Baltimore County. The members, who say the trips provide educational opportunities, did them as part of sanctioned congressional travel paid for by private parties. Under House and Senate rules, such travel is allowed as long as it’s not solicited by the member or sponsored by registered lobbyists or foreign agents.

While congressional rules permit such travel, the trips — which often include business-class airfare to exotic locations — “contribute to the lack of confidence people have in the folks that represent us,” said Todd Eberly, a political science professor at St. Mary’s College of Maryland. “No working man or woman is going to have a business spend $15,000 to send them halfway around the world,” Eberly said, for a conference that could be held in Washington for the price “of a cab ride.”

According to the documents, Van Hollen and his wife took trips to Italy and Ireland for seminars sponsored by The Aspen Institute, a nonprofit educational and research think tank that holds forums and conferences. The Aspen Institute also paid for Harris and his wife to travel to an Italy conference. The American Israel Education Foundation, which is affiliated with AIPAC — a pro-Israel lobbying group — paid for a Harris staff member to travel to Israel for briefings and discussions.

The J Street Education Fund, a nonprofit that says it seeks to “promote a nuanced understanding of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict,” funded a trip to Israel for a staff member for Baltimore County Rep. Johnny Olszewski Jr., a Democrat, to attend seminars. And the Conservative Partnership Institute paid for Harris and his wife to attend an Orlando conference of national conservative leaders.

“This is definitely a ‘benefit of being an elected public servant,'” said Roger Hartley, dean of the University of Baltimore’s College of Public Affairs. “Non-elected public servants don’t get to do this.”

The trips are considered educational, while also offering members the opportunity to travel to desirable locations with their spouses. The rules generally allow a spouse or other relative — but not both — to accompany a member, but specify that sponsors can pay only for necessary expenses, not entertainment.

The trip sponsors, Hartley said, “are getting a lot of time” with lawmakers. “The biggest thing you want is time to kind of shape their thinking,” he said.

The sponsors’ identities were contained in online disclosures designed to prevent potential conflicts of interest.

Privately funded trips must be approved in advance by the House or Senate. Such travel “used to be the wild west, but over time Congress tightened the rules to limit the potential for such trips to be mere junkets designed to curry favor with lawmakers,” said Hilary Braseth, executive director of OpenSecrets, a watchdog group.

These were the trips chronicled in the documents, according to The Sun’s review:

Trips to Italy and Ireland for Van Hollen and his wife

The Aspen Institute paid for Van Hollen and his wife to travel to Bellagio, Italy, from April 1 to 4, 2024, for $24,501, including business class airfare, hotel and meals. The airfare rose substantially, the disclosure form said, because the senator had to return two days earlier than planned for unspecified work reasons. The title of the conference was “Artificial Intelligence: The Promise and the Peril.”

The institute, which invites lawmakers from both parties to its conferences, also funded a trip from Aug. 10 to 15 for Van Hollen and his wife, which was split between Dublin and Belfast, at a cost of $20,529. The topic was Chinese and Russian foreign policy.

Van Hollen’s office told The Sun the trips “were bipartisan trips with a focus on discussing policy matters — specifically the challenges presented by China and Russia and the opportunities and threats posed by AI — among the members in attendance and issue area experts.”

Trip to Italy for Harris and wife

The Aspen Institute funded a $14,998 trip to Bellagio, Italy, from April 21 to 26 this year for Harris, with his wife, Nicole, who chairs the Maryland Republican Party. The topic was U.S. energy policy and competitiveness.

“The topic of energy/energy infrastructure is incredibly important at present, especially in my district, which has been subject to wildfires,” Harris wrote the House Ethics Committee in his authorization request. “I will learn firsthand how to help my district sustain energy even in the midst of extreme weather events.”

A Harris spokesperson did not respond to The Sun’s questions about his travel.

Israel trip for Olszewski staff member

The J Street Education Fund paid for a May 23 to 30 trip to Tel Aviv for Sean Naron, the chief of staff for Olszewski. The cost of transportation, lodging and meals was $6,795.

A spokesperson for Olszewski said the trip “provided key opportunities to strengthen ties with a global partner, meet with governmental and community leaders, and to have on-the-ground experience to help support ongoing efforts for regional stability and peace.”

Israel trip for Harris’ staff

The American Israel Education Foundation funded a Sept. 1 to 9, 2024, trip to Tel Aviv for Matthew Hutson, Harris’ chief of staff. The cost was $10,518 for transportation, plus $8,725 for lodging, meals and other expenses.

The foundation conducted seminars about Israel and the U.S.-Israel relationship for senior congressional staff.

Orlando trip for Harris and his wife

The Conservative Partnership Institute paid for Harris and his wife to travel to Orlando in February for a conference of conservative leaders, many of whom were from the Trump administration and Congress.

Among the scheduled speakers or guests were Russ Vought, director of the Office of Management and Budget; House Judiciary Committee Chairman Jim Jordan; Tom Homan, the Trump administration’s border czar; and FBI Director Kash Patel.

Harris was also listed as a speaker during the Feb. 7 to 9 retreat at the Ritz-Carlton Grande Lakes in Orlando.

The trip cost $3,037. “The agenda helped me learn and converse with other members to better serve my constituents and the United States,” Harris wrote in a post-travel disclosure form.

Have a news tip? Contact Jeff Barker at jebarker@baltsun.com. 

Over several weeks of investigation, The Baltimore Sun found Pranzo launched multiple restaurants across six states and then abruptly closed them, leaving staff, business partners or landlords behind, along with millions of dollars in unpaid bills. The full story ran in print Sunday (and is online here: baltimoresun.com/2025/05/30/docks-harbor-pranzo-baltimore), but here’s a quick take on what you should know about Pranzo’s business practices.

Celebrity partner: Pranzo has opened and closed restaurants in Florida, Georgia, Tennessee, North Carolina, South Carolina, Maryland, New York and Connecticut over the last decade. He routinely partners with celebrities — including Guy Fieri, Mario Lopez and *NSYNC’s Chris Kirkpatrick — and he has opened multiple franchises of Wahlburgers’ restaurants, the Wahlberg-brother-owned burger chain (Donnie, Mark and their celebrity chef brother Paul). All save two of Pranzo’s restaurants have closed, many racking up debt and health code violations along the way.

Pests in food storage areas: In Baltimore, Docks on the Harbor also earned a closure order from the city’s health department after an August 2024 inspection, that followed a customer’s complaint about “rats in the dining room.” Inspectors found 31 health code violations, including clouds of gnats, evidence of rodents and other pests in food storage areas, and a lack of water that prevented staff from washing their hands. The restaurant re-opened two days later, having satisfied most of the city’s requirements.

Health-related restaurant closure: Pranzo’s Raleigh, North Carolina, Wahlburgers franchise was shut down after the department found his restaurant had lacked hot water for more than three months. The restaurant chose to close instead of immediately fixing the problem, and was evicted for nonpayment of rent before it could reopen.

Multiple lawsuits: In Connecticut, Pranzo was sued by food vendor Sysco Connecticut LLC for an unpaid bill topping $30,000. Records show Pranzo has never responded to the suit and made no payments. In Georgia, Pranzo was sued by his former business partners, Finer Food Services, for more than $2 million. According to the agreement, signed by Pranzo, he admitted “that he withdrew this sum over time from [Finer Food Services] and/or the [Finer Food Services subsidiaries] without the knowledge and/or consent of … majority member and manager, Barry Bierenbaum.”

Unpaid judgments: The court ordered Pranzo to repay his partners, however, their lawyer said he has been unable to enforce the judgments. And in Florida, Pranzo is named in a lawsuit in district court, which alleges that he violated the federal Telephone Consumer Protection Act, a federal law that bans businesses from using phones or fax machines for unsolicited advertisements. In that 2019 suit, Pranzo was accused of spamming fax machines with more than 125,000 unsolicited faxes over two years to advertise the opening of an Atlanta Wahlburgers. The case is ongoing.

Docks on the Harbor property: In Baltimore, a civil suit against Pranzo by Cordish Cos. alleges Pranzo “plundered” hundreds of thousands of dollars in fixtures from his Baltimore restaurant early one morning, walking away with tables and chairs, signage, stoves, refrigerators, decor and more. The lawsuit alleges that Pranzo was caught on security camera footage between the hours of 1 and 7 a.m. on Dec. 9 emptying out the restaurant space he rented from Cordish.

$3.2 million lease allegedly unfulfilled: Pranzo also skipped out on a lease valued at about $3.2 million through 2032, a court document filed by Cordish’s legal team alleges. Past-due charges between October and early December totaled more than $130,000 for rent and trash, water/sewer and HVAC service, per an account statement. Cordish’s lawsuit argues Pranzo emptied out the restaurant with the intent to defraud.

“Pranzo’s bad intent is readily evidenced by the midnight timing,” the suit reads. “Why hide under the cover of night, unless he was following the playbook of Bob Irsay stealing the Colts in a Mayflower truck?”

Lorraine Mirabella contributed reporting to this story. Have a news tip? Contact Kate Cimini at The Baltimore Sun, at (443) 842-2621 or kcimini@baltsun.com. 

On Dec. 8, Makayla Hughes clocked in for a hostess shift at the self-described Inner Harbor’s “most-Instagrammable” restaurant, Docks on the Harbor.

That day, the restaurant ran out of about half the items on the menu; there was no champagne or alcohol, and management refused to take walk-ins or let people sit at the bar. Hughes and her coworkers began speculating that the restaurant would close down.

“I just didn’t know how soon,” she said.

The next morning, Hughes awoke to a flurry of texts from her coworkers’ group chat. “I heard that Docks is closed down permanently,” someone said. “Is that true?”

That morning, a Baltimore City Circuit Court lawsuit alleges, the restaurant owner, Gregory Pranzo, had emptied the eatery between 1 a.m. and 7 a.m., stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars worth in furniture, appliances, signage and decor, and skipping out on millions in unpaid rent to Baltimore-based developer David Cordish’s Cordish Cos.

This wouldn’t be the first time Pranzo, a 38-year old serial restaurateur, was accused of leaving town without paying his bills, The Baltimore Sun found.

Pranzo’s restaurants routinely launch to great fanfare. However, many soon begin to run out of money, accrue health code violations, and ultimately shutter unexpectedly, regularly leaving bills and staff unpaid, records show. Several of his restaurants had so many health code issues that their city or county agencies shut them down.

Pranzo did not respond to multiple phone calls or emails to him, his existing business entities or his immediate family members in New York, one of his residences. His lawyer said the “ownership group” lamented the closure of Docks on the Harbor, but insisted that earlier restaurant closures, health code violations and the lawsuits he faced in other states were unrelated. The lawyer did not respond to questions on anything other than Docks on the Harbor and did not clarify who else is in the ownership group. Pranzo alone is named in the lawsuit.

To report this story, The Sun reviewed lawsuits filed against Pranzo in four states — and accompanying court documents, exhibits, and security camera stills — along with state business records and complaints, and available county and city health department records. The Sun also interviewed former employees and legal representatives for some of his business associates.

The Sun found Pranzo launched multiple restaurants — some with near-identical names and concepts — across six states and then abruptly closed them, leaving unpaid bills, staff, business partners or landlords behind.

Pranzo owes $3.3 million in judgments to former vendors and business partners in two states, in addition to the Cordish lawsuit, court records show. In at least three cases, he never acknowledged or responded to lawsuits against him, and he has not paid some years-old judgments.

‘Begins to sound like fraud’

He has not responded to the Cordish lawsuit, filed Jan. 6, despite a writ of summons, served Jan. 22 on a woman who identified herself as Pranzo’s mother, requiring a response within 60 days. Cordish declined to comment. In absence of his response, Cordish’s lawyers filed a motion for summary judgment on April 11; they requested a ruling on the judgment as unopposed April 29.

In ignoring judgments against him, Pranzo is exploiting the court system, said University of Baltimore law professor Gregory Dolin. Those he has failed to pay may never see financial relief, even if awarded judgments, Dolin said.

“If … he’s taken out these loans without ever intending to repay them, if he’s buying supplies without ever intending to pay for them, if he’s employing people without ever intending to pay for their labor — that begins to sound like fraud,” Dolin said. “Criminal sanctions could be the ultimate stick.”

A lawyer for Pranzo, Atlanta-based Shadi Jaraysi, said the Docks ownership group was “deeply saddened” by the closure of Baltimore’s Docks on the Harbor. Jaraysi called it unavoidable and declined to answer questions about any previous liens, lawsuits or restaurant closures.

“Despite months of effort and substantial investment by the ownership group, declining sales and rising operating costs made it impossible to continue,” Jaraysi wrote in an email to The Sun. “We had worked diligently to meet all obligations in a timely manner. Any suggestion to the contrary is false and misrepresents the facts.

“As we move forward, we hope that the focus will remain on the positive memories created at the restaurant and not on unfounded claims that tarnish the hard work and dedication of so many.”

A bankruptcy filing and a comeback

There is little public record of Pranzo’s business dealings before November 2013, when he declared bankruptcy in the Eastern District of New York. He owed between 50 and 99 consumer creditors but had less than $50,000 to his name, he told a judge.

Under “personal property” he listed a restaurant: Middle Country Beer Garden. He told the court all physical assets had been stolen from the premises and listed the restaurant’s value as $0.00. He was unemployed and relying on family to pay his bills, he said.

By 2016, however, Pranzo had bounced back. News clips catalogue his restaurants’ openings and closings. That year, he announced the opening of a Wahlburgers in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. A year later, he announced another Wahlburgers in Nashville, Tennessee. And in 2018, he promised North Carolina a Wahlburgers in Charlotte, signing a lease for the space.

The Wahlburgers Pranzo told media would open in Nashville and Charlotte never did, but he did launch a Raleigh Wahlburgers in May 2018 — the same year that a 13-month-old venture he opened with celebrity chef Guy Fieri in The Villages, a retirement community near Orlando, Florida, shut down. Fieri did not respond to a request for comment.

In 2018, Pranzo also announced the opening of three bagel shops outside Atlanta, Georgia; a Cali-Mex taco joint in Orlando, Florida, with celebrity partners Mario Lopez and *NSYNC’s Chris Kirkpatrick; as well as an ”Asian-themed” Myrtle Beach eatery. None of these businesses remains open today.

Neither Lopez nor Kirkpatrick responded to The Sun’s request for comment.

“Running a restaurant is generally extremely difficult,” University of Baltimore’s Dolin said. “The mere fact that somebody tries and fails and tries and fails in and of itself may not necessarily show much.

“But, usually, you do things in good faith,” he continued. ‘You’re not going to hide [from the people you owe].”

Despite widespread belief that the majority of independent restaurants fail in their first year of business, a joint study by a U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics economist and a statistician out of UC Berkeley survey published in 2014 indicated just 17% fail within that time frame.

Operating without hot water

Katy Anders began working as a bartender at the Raleigh Wahlburgers in summer 2018. Her fiance and now-husband, Luke Anders, got a job as a line cook. She said the money was good at first, but by winter, kitchen staff’s paychecks routinely bounced. And, she said, there was no heat or hot water.

In November 2018, officials investigated the restaurant after receiving a complaint saying the eatery had operated without hot water for three months — the second time in four months someone had complained about the Wahlburgers’ lack of hot water, Wake County Health Department records reviewed by The Sun show.

The department ordered the restaurant to fix its hot water immediately or close until it had done so, and, said Wake County Environmental Health Program Manager Ashley Whittington, the restaurant chose to close.

Anders and her coworkers believed the shutdown was temporary. But days before Christmas, they learned they had lost their jobs when they found a sheriff’s eviction notice posted on the door.

Donnie Wahlberg, a co-owner of Wahlburgers, told reporters the company would cover employee pay owed by the restaurant. Yet, Anders told The Sun that never happened.

Neither Donnie Wahlberg nor Wahlburgers’ corporate office responded to requests for comment.

Meanwhile, Pranzo’s original Myrtle Beach Wahlburgers franchise was also in financial turmoil. Employee paychecks bounced and, unable to pay vendors, the restaurant began purchasing supplies at grocery stores, according to news accounts. In January 2019, a month after Pranzo’s Raleigh Wahlburgers franchise shut down, the Wahlburgers corporate office tentatively agreed to buy Pranzo’s failing Myrtle Beach location.

Pranzo went on to launch Doc’s Baja Surf Shack in New Haven, Connecticut, during the early days of the coronavirus pandemic; it closed in or around March 2021, a vendor lawsuit indicated. In November 2022, he signed an agreement with Cordish to open Docks on the Harbor in Baltimore.

The Cordish Cos. lease says that Pranzo would pattern Docks on the Harbor after “first-class restaurant” Doc’s Baja Surf Shack.

‘Rats running through the dining room’

It launched in June 2023. Designed to be Instagrammed, the Pratt Street location boasted velvet banquettes; chandeliers floated above the space while neon signage and floral garlands bedecked the walls.

By year two, though, the restaurant had begun racking up health code violations and running out of supplies, former staff and nearby restaurant workers recalled.

Staff at nearby restaurants said Docks staff were routinely sent over to borrow ice, alcohol, cocktail garnishes, utensils and change for patrons.

“It’s supposed to be once in a while,” Phillips Seafood host Mark Navarro said of the borrowing. “But Docks was here every day.”

At Hard Rock Cafe, Docks employees showed up daily asking for bins of ice because, server Dante Bunch said, Docks had mold in the ice maker.

Baltimore City Health Department inspection records reviewed by The Sun also noted “high severity,” recurring rodent and pest control issues. Inspectors repeatedly found rodent droppings and clouds of gnats in food storage areas, and unsealed cracks and holes where bugs and rodents found their way in.

One complaint to the city said a customer saw “rats running through the dining room.”

The inspector also noted food held at unsafe temperatures, turned-off leaky pipes and faucets, and a resulting lack of water, preventing staff from washing their hands.

The six-page report from an August 2024 inspection found 31 health code violations. The restaurant was ordered to close until it had corrected all violations; two days later, it had satisfied most of the city’s requirements and reopened.

But by the end of the year, Docks on the Harbor had closed for good.

A new venture

In the months leading up to the closure, workers saw hints of trouble. Weekly paychecks bounced; managers repaid workers in cash. At one point, cooks and food runners who worked back of house went on strike until they were paid, Hughes, the hostess, said.

Customer reviews online complained about service and food quality. Other customers took a more official route. The Sun reviewed complaints several diners lodged with the Maryland Attorney General’s Office, requesting a refund on their meals.

Hughes, now a student at Community College of Baltimore County, recalled that after the closure, she and her colleagues worried they wouldn’t be paid. Finally, one assistant manager called them in, she said. Hughes and others — cooks, food runners and servers — went to the closed restaurant, stood at the back door and signed their names in exchange for cash from an envelope, she said. The Sun could not reach the assistant manager.

Pranzo, social media posts indicated, had moved on to a new restaurant venture: Docks Off 5th in New York City.

Affable and charismatic

When one business went south, records show Pranzo usually had another iron in the fire.

The Sun found 18 businesses registered under Pranzo’s name or that Pranzo was affiliated with in five states: Connecticut, Florida, Maryland, North Carolina and Tennessee. While he was involved with businesses in other states as well, the records were not readily available.

The businesses’ timelines overlapped; he frequently opened one LLC while he was already operating another.

Pranzo, who is from New York state, came across to those who met him as affable and charismatic, deeply knowledgeable about the restaurant business and plugged in to celebrities and industry movers and shakers, said longtime Atlanta attorney Jim Johnston Jr., who represented two clients in suits against Pranzo.

“My clients fell victim to his untruths,” said Johnston, who represented Finer Food Services, owner of subsidiaries such as Everything Bagel, Sweet & Sour, You Taco To Me and Pranzarellis in its suit against Pranzo. He also represented investor Mountain Express Oil Co. in a second case against Pranzo.

In a case filed in Georgia’s Cobb County Superior Court in October 2019, Finer Food Services accused Pranzo of reneging on a settlement agreement in which the restaurateur agreed to repay a more than $2 million debt in $1,000 weekly installments.

The agreement, signed by Pranzo, says he admits “that he withdrew this sum over time from [Finer Food Services] and/or the [Finer Food Services subsidiaries] without the knowledge and/or consent of … majority member and manager, Barry Bierenbaum.”

The court ordered Pranzo to pay Johnston’s clients more than $3 million in 2019 and 2020. However, Johnston said he has been unable to enforce the judgments.

“He’s a very good salesman,” Johnston said. “I have absolutely no expectation that my clients will ever see a nickel.”

Spamming fax machines

In Connecticut, Pranzo closed down Doc’s Baja Surf Shack, leaving behind at least one unpaid bill for roughly $34,000 to restaurant food vendor Sysco Connecticut LLC.

Sysco Connecticut sued Pranzo in Nassau County Supreme Court for the cost of its unpaid bill, records show. Pranzo never responded to the suit, and a default judgment was entered against him by the county clerk for more than $44,000, according to the court. The judgment remains unpaid, according to records.

Attorney Warren Gottleib, who filed the case on behalf of Sysco Connecticut, declined to comment on the case. The business declined to comment, citing ongoing litigation.

Pranzo also stands accused of more than nonpayment of bills. One suit filed against Pranzo and Wahlburgers alleges he violated the federal Telephone Consumer Protection Act, a federal law that bans businesses from using phones or fax machines for unsolicited advertisements.

In a March 2019 lawsuit filed in U.S. District Court in Orlando, Florida, Pranzo was accused of spamming fax machines, sending more than 125,000 unsolicited faxes to advertise the opening of an Atlanta Wahlburgers.

Robert Kahn, a Georgia attorney who received a fax, filed a class action against Pranzo and Wahlburgers. The case is ongoing.

Potential criminal prosecution

Pranzo may also owe hundreds of thousands in tax liens. In the months before he shut down Docks on the Harbor and left town, Maryland filed a state tax lien against Docks. A Circuit Court judge ordered payment of $226,250. It is not clear if Pranzo paid it; that is not public record, according to Maryland state law.

Neither Pranzo nor his lawyer responded to questions from The Sun asking if he had paid or intended to pay said lien.

The University of Baltimore’s Dolin, who teaches contracts, noted that Pranzo’s failure to pay his bills or judgments against him should ultimately make it harder for him to secure loans from financial institutions or even individuals.

“You can just Google him,” Dolin said. “You don’t even need to pull anything from his credit report.

“But if I was going to lend somebody millions of dollars, I would want to have some collateral, and I would want to have done some rudimentary investigation, including pulling up his credit report.”

While Dolin said it’s not illegal to fail to pay a judgment, ultimately, these failures, taken together, he believes, could lead to a compelling fraud case against Pranzo and possible jail time, should a state’s or federal attorney take an interest in the restaurateur’s business practices.

“Now, of course, that will not necessarily make anybody whole either,” said Dolin, adding that sending Pranzo to prison wouldn’t necessarily make those who lost money to him feel better. “But sometimes, as part of the criminal prosecution, there may be an order of restitution.”

“Plundering” Cordish’s building

In the days following the Baltimore Docks’ closure, word spread among staff that the owners had moved out overnight.

Caught on camera in the early hours of Dec. 9, Cordish’s lawsuit alleges, Pranzo was recorded making off with the following: two refrigerators, a prep table, two stoves, flower garlands, signage, tables and chairs and more.

According to the lease Pranzo signed, a copy of which The Sun reviewed, all this belonged to Cordish.

Cordish’s legal team provided the court with time-stamped stills of the security camera recording. They appear to show Pranzo and Docks’ director of operations, Carey Martin, emptying the restaurant into the back of two Penske trucks between 1 and 7 a.m.

Martin could not be reached for comment.

Pranzo also skipped out on a lease valued at about $3.2 million through 2032, a court document filed by Cordish’s legal team alleges. Past-due charges between October and early December totaled more than $130,000 for rent and trash, water/sewer and HVAC service, per an account statement.

Cordish is suing Pranzo for a total of $8.1 million, including $4.8 million in damages, citing more than a million in unpaid back rent, the missing fixtures and furniture, and a lease that allows Cordish to charge interest on unpaid rent.

Cordish’s lawsuit against Pranzo argues that he emptied out the restaurant with the “intent to defraud.

“Pranzo’s bad intent is readily evidenced by the midnight timing,” the suit reads. “Why hide under the cover of night, unless he was following the playbook of Bob Irsay stealing the Colts in a Mayflower truck?”

The lawsuit also claims Pranzo planned his midnight escape at least a week in advance, alerting Cordish’s Power Plant director of facilities, Sal DiGiorgio.

During a conversation the week of Dec. 2,  Pranzo said he planned to close Docks in Baltimore, take the furniture and fixtures and open a business in the Beale Street district of Memphis, Tennessee, an affidavit signed by DiGiorgio shows.

“I advised him not to do so,” DiGiorgio said. However, the next week, Pranzo did just that, the suit says.

The morning after Pranzo emptied out the Pratt Street space, Docks on the Harbor’s Instagram featured a different Docks: Docks Off 5th, in New York City. Its website lists a second location in Memphis.

The site calls Docks “the most Instagrammable restaurant in New York City.”

Have a news tip? Contact Kate Cimini, an investigative editor at The Baltimore Sun, at (443) 842-2621 or kcimini@baltsun.com or Lorraine Mirabella at lmirabella@baltsun.com, (410) 332-6672 and @lmirabella on X.

Chief of Police Robert McCullough earned $285,900 in gross pay last calendar year, within a couple of hundred dollars of his annual salary, according to payroll data obtained through a public information request. Behind him were a lieutenant and captain within the police department. Overall, the county paid over $680 million to 9,129 employees, up 7% over 2023.

McCullough was nominated for the position in April 2023 by then-County Executive Johnny Olszewski Jr. He was sworn in shortly after, becoming the county’s first Black police chief.

McCullough, a 37-year veteran, rejoined the department following his retirement in 2021 as a colonel and operations bureau chief. Upon selecting him, Olszewski hailed McCullough as an experienced, homegrown leader.

County Executive Kathy Klausmeier, who was appointed by the County Council in January to serve the final two years of Olszewski’s term after he became a U.S. congressman, emailed a statement through her office that praised McCullough as a barrier breaker and looked forward to supporting him “for years to come.” Klausmeier is not expected to seek election next year, as the council asked all applicants for the open position to commit not to run.

Baltimore County government employee pay: Search 2024 compensation data

McCullough’s gross pay ranks him as the second-highest-paid police leader among the Baltimore area’s six jurisdictions, behind Baltimore City Police Commissioner Richard Worley. Worley made $320,393 in gross pay during the fiscal year that ended in June 2024, which is the most recent data available from the city. The Baltimore City and Baltimore County departments, respectively, have the area’s largest and second-largest budgets.

Despite having the city’s highest salary, Worley was outearned by a police sergeant and paramedic whose pay were boosted by overtime and other sources.

After McCullough, Lt. David J. Sweren and Capt. Eliot M. Latchaw, rounding out Baltimore County’s 10 highest-paid employees were five other police supervisors, County Attorney James R. Benjamin and County Administrative Officer D’andrea L. Walker. All received more than $250,000 in gross pay.

Six of the police employees in the top 10 were placed there by earnings beyond their salary. Sweren’s additional earnings included more than $5,600 in overtime and Lt. Jeffrey S. Peach’s included over $39,000 in overtime. Latchaw, Maj. Jan Brown and Lt. Mark F. Horvath each received retirement payouts, a police spokesperson said.

One of the 25 largest police agencies in the country, the county police department has combined earnings that eclipse $240 million, followed by the county fire department, whose employees earned more than $114 million. Together, the two public safety agencies account for more than half of Baltimore County’s payroll.

The $8.1 million that police spent on overtime was the most of any department, representing 3.4% of all police pay, compared with 2.7% in 2023. The Department of Corrections paid the next most, at $5.6 million, or 4.9% of its payroll, which was the highest share of any department. A police department spokesperson said overtime is regularly offered to make sure that every shift is adequately staffed.

Shortly before McCullough became police chief two years ago, the department had 212 vacancies in General Fund sworn positions, according to a budget analysis by the county auditor, and McCullough said that filling them would be an early priority.

Currently, 223 sworn positions are vacant, according to the police department. While vacancies in sworn positions have increased, the number of positions available has as well. For the fiscal year that starts July 1, the department anticipates having 1,960 General Fund sworn positions, 17 more than it did at the start of calendar year 2023.

Before McCullough took office, the department’s employment sector analyzed the recruitment process and developed a new community-centered model, according to the department. The model includes hiring additional background investigators, expanding academy classes and increasing advertisements to match the need for filling vacancies. The department said that applications were trending up compared with last year over the first two months of the year.

Amid a challenging fiscal climate, Baltimore County employees could see a salary increase during fiscal year 2026, according to a $4.6 billion budget proposal outlined by Klausmeier this month. Within it, a 3% midyear cost-of-living adjustment would be given to police and fire personnel, compared with a 2% midyear cost-of-living increase for other county employees.

This article has been updated to clarify the timing of a count of police department positions.

Have a news tip? Contact Shaela Foster at sfoster@baltsun.com.

Justin Rieger tried a variety of cryptocurrencies throughout 2023, but emptied most of the wallets The Sun found into bitcoin and ethereum wallets by 2024. During that time, investors he had promised to make rich began to suspect that the Carroll County school coach and Christian youth group volunteer was running a massive and illegal investment scheme.

The Sun also found three different bank accounts Rieger directed investors to deposit money into.

One cryptocurrency wallet The Sun found retained nearly $24,000 in cash. At least one of the wallets linked to Rieger was associated with a phishing scam, and his cryptocurrency footprint could be linked to two more scams involving digital currencies, according to a cryptocurrency analyst who reviewed Rieger’s trail at The Sun’s request.

Investors The Sun spoke with accused Rieger of running a widespread “Ponzi scheme,” in which he paid “returns” to early investors using funds from new investors, generating little — if any — actual income. The Sun’s investigation has thus far uncovered investors in six states who say they were defrauded.

Investors from Maryland, West Virginia, Ohio and Pennsylvania provided bank, Venmo, PayPal and cryptocurrency transactions to The Sun for review and verification of their investments with Rieger. Together, they accounted for at least $400,000 invested with him; some began investing with him when he was just 18. They say other investors account for millions more invested with Rieger.

The Sun reviewed financial records, contracts, emails and text messages to independently verify investors’ involvement with Rieger.

While some did get back the money they put in, far more lost all or the vast majority of the funds they gave Rieger. They fear it may be gone forever.

The Carroll County Sheriff’s Office confirmed Feb. 11 that Rieger is the focus of a financial fraud investigation as well as a child sex abuse investigation. However, none of the abuse took place in the school system, Carroll County Sheriff’s Office Major David Stem said.

The sex abuse investigation will close due to Rieger’s death. The financial fraud investigation is ongoing and detectives are still gathering evidence, Stem said. He asked anyone who believed themselves defrauded by Rieger to contact Det. Sean O’Meara at the Carroll County Sheriff’s Office.

Investors The Sun spoke with said the loss of their funds was devastating. In some cases, it was the only money they had saved.

“I put off things I could have done with that money,” said Mike Arbogast, a West Virginia-based small business owner who invested with Rieger. “Instead, I was trying to do something smart for our future.

“Now, I think about all the opportunity that I’ve lost,” he said. “The years I spent scrimping and saving and being frugal. It’s just gone.”

‘Where is the rest of it?’

The $23,000 The Sun found sitting in one of Rieger’s wallets is “a drop in the bucket,” Arbogast said. “Where’s the rest of it?”

Arbogast and his wife come from working-class families, he said. “We don’t have generational wealth or money coming out of our ears.”

Arbogast invested roughly $110,000 with Rieger, starting with a $50,000 investment in April 2023, according to documentation he provided for review. Arbogast had never invested with day traders before, and said he believed Rieger was trading on the stock market on his behalf — but he knew that a friend had seen big returns, and he hoped he would, too.

“I’d never written a check that big before,” Arbogast said.

Two days later, Rieger posted on Facebook about his brand-new truck — one with custom work done at a local car dealer known for selling custom cars and trucks, Krietz Auto.

Arbogast said he worried that he had just been taken for a ride — but his fears were quelled when two weeks later, Rieger texted Arbogast, saying he’d “just passed $1,000 in profit.” Arbogast provided screenshots and a screen recording of texts between the two for review.

“Definitely a slower start than I wanted,” Rieger prefaced the text with.

Two weeks later, Rieger texted Arbogast again.

“Wanted to update you that your balance is $54,210.12.”

“Thanks for the update, Justin!” Arbogast texted back. “Sounds like you’re making some good progress.”

Four weeks later, Rieger texted Arbogast again.

“Hey Mike!” He wrote. “Just crossed the $60,000 mark today!”

Rieger routinely pressured Arbogast to invest more and more with him, text messages between the two show. Every few weeks, Rieger would text Arbogast, asking him to set up monthly investments through Venmo.

“With every update he gave, he was like … ‘this would be a really great time if you’ve got more money to dump in.’”

Arbogast tried sending Rieger a few thousand dollars through Venmo, but ultimately, decided against doing that regularly, texts show. Instead, Arbogast gave him another large chunk of money in the fall of 2023 — $40,000, per his bank statements.

Arbogast never tried to withdraw the money he invested with Rieger, impressed, he said, by the high returns Rieger promised: 20% in a month, an astonishingly high percentage by any standard.

Noted Ponzi scheme mastermind Bernie Madoff guaranteed investors returns on the S&P 500 of 10-20% a year, with an average return of 16.3%, Madoff told The Wall Street Journal in 1992.

In contrast, the average return investors can expect to see on blue-chip stocks is between 7% and 10%.

When Arbogast heard Rieger had died by suicide, he said his first thought was how terrible this was, what a tragedy.

But soon, he realized he didn’t know how to access his money. Arbogast called Interactive Brokerage, the firm he believed Rieger was investing through, only to learn that Rieger was not a broker with them, and did not have an account under his name or Arbogast’s name.

Interactive Brokers declined to comment on the record in response to The Sun asking if Rieger was or had been associated with their brokerage, and if so, how his investors could recover their funds.

Arbogast doesn’t know where the $110,000 he invested with Rieger is, he said, and he doesn’t know if, or how, he’ll get it back.

Arbogast joined a private Facebook group created by and for people who had invested with Rieger and were looking for their money. He says 33 people are members of the group, and many say they invested more than $100,000 with Rieger.

Joanna Floros, who also invested $25,000 with Rieger, according to receipts she provided to The Sun, had one question.

“Is the money frozen?” she asked, wondering if it could be used to make some investors whole again.

Expert: Rieger’s transactions rife with ‘hallmarks of crypto scams’

Investors who sent money to Rieger’s multiple cryptocurrency wallets provided a look into some of Rieger’s online trading activities, in multiple cryptocurrencies including ethereum and bitcoin. While some wallets logged transactions in U.S. dollars, others logged them in different currencies or blocks, making it impossible to say how much Rieger kept in these wallets at any given time.

The Sun found that at least one wallet Rieger directed investors to transfer money to had logged one trade as early as 2009, though it began seeing more frequent and higher-amount trades in 2016.

It is unclear if Rieger or an adult opened the wallet on his behalf, as he would have been 7 years old at the time of its creation, yet it is evident he was using it regularly by 2021.

Rieger’s wallets were mostly dormant after receiving deposits, and largely emptied out. His bitcoin wallet The Sun found with more than $23,815.09 was still trading in small amounts as recently as Feb. 17, likely an “autotrade” Rieger set up before his death.

The Sun provided Rieger’s wallet and account numbers to France-based cryptocurrency analyst and digital currency expert Courage Kimber for analysis.

Kimber, a former management consultant, federal contractor and project manager for Fortune 500 companies, is a Web3 consultant, a decentralized version of the internet, and regularly privately consults as a cryptocurrency analyst and global strategist.

After reviewing the account numbers of crypto wallets sent to her, Kimber told The Sun one of the transactions undertaken on cryptocurrency blockchain Polygon is clearly associated with a phishing scam and two others may also be suspect.

Kimber analyzed records collected by reporters at the request of The Sun and linked to investor transactions with Rieger without knowing to whom the wallets belonged.

Kimber said that when other cryptocurrency users interacted with the suspicious string of transactions, “their wallets were drained.” It is unclear if those users were Rieger’s local investors or other, unknown online traders.

“The Polygon transaction … was associated with a phishing scam. It appears to be linked to an untrustworthy project token,” Kimber said.

“There was a scam going around with the airdropping of NFTs and once users interacted with it their wallets were drained,” she said. “There was also a popular scam with USDC-NFT Voucher scam, where users would receive a NFT voucher and be directed to a website to claim the NFT voucher and it would request private key details to gain access to the user’s wallet. The other scam was the fake USDC swap.”

Smart contracts are digital contracts that work automatically once the terms of the contract are met, while fake tokens trick users into handing over their financial details so scammers can empty their digital wallets.

The wallets she reviewed also engaged in trading activity that appeared to swap U.S. stable coins for assets with no value, Kimber found.

Cryptocurrency investment schemes rife with abuse

Experts said that for regular investors, much of the cryptocurrency world can be confusing or opaque, making it ripe for scams and abuse.

“This really goes back to the combination of the hype and confusion around cryptocurrency as a whole,” said Mason Wilder, research director of the Association of Certified Fraud Examiners.

While it is widely known that people have gotten rich from trading in cryptocurrency, most don’t understand the market and assume it is too difficult for them to learn about, Wilder added. That, combined with the stereotype that young people have figured out how to profit off this market, he said, can be a deadly combination.

“With the lack of regulation in crypto and digital asset space it opens the door for these kinds of scams,” he said.

Rieger’s investment scheme had a lot of hallmarks similar to a classic Ponzi scheme, Wilder said: It spread through word of mouth or preexisting relationships; Rieger told investors they had large, fast returns on income; he pressured them to invest more with him or keep him connected to other investors; and there was a lack of transparency around how he selected, managed or traded investments

These signs, as well as complicated investments can send up red flags for a savvy investor, Wilder said.

“A lot of times the industry or field the investments are centered around are complicated fields or investment strategies because people tend to ask fewer questions when it’s something they just assume goes over their head,” he said. “Cryptocurrency is good for that. Fraudsters love complicated context.”

“Most broker-dealers and investment advisors [will] qualify their investors by asking some information about annual income or minimum amount held in savings. It didn’t seem like there was any qualification of investors; he’d just take anybody’s money,” Wilder said.

He pointed out that Reiger’s contracts were suspicious, as well, written up as they were as simple Microsoft Word documents.

“The fact that he didn’t seem to have any certification or licensing is concerning, too.”

Kate Cimini is the investigative editor with The Baltimore Sun. Contact her at 443-842-2621 or kcimini@baltsun.com.

Justin Rieger, 22, has been accused by investors across at least six states of defrauding them. The Carroll County Sheriff’s Office confirmed this week that Rieger is the focus of a financial fraud investigation as well as a child sex abuse investigation.

The sex abuse investigation will close due to Rieger’s death. However, the financial fraud investigation remains open.

“We have received information that leads us to believe that Mr. Rieger may have been involved in some sort of fraud involving personal finances,” said Carroll County Sheriff’s Office Major David Stem in an email. “We are continuing to investigate this to determine if any crimes have been committed, if Mr. Rieger was involved in an investment scheme, and if so, to what extent.”

Rieger invested money on other peoples’ behalf in at least six states, The Sun confirmed Wednesday. He also worked as a substitute teacher with Carroll County Public Schools, as well as a volunteer leader with Christian organization Young Life. He was placed on leave from both following an accusation levied against him in early January.

It is not clear what the allegation against him was.

However, some who invested with Rieger told The Sun he ran “a Ponzi scheme,” defrauding them and many others.

Five people interviewed by The Sun invested at least $300,000 with Rieger; they believe many others invested even more. While some did get back the money they put in, far more lost the vast majority of the money they gave Rieger. They fear it may be gone forever.

The Sun reviewed contracts, deposits and withdrawals, emails and text messages between them and Rieger in order to verify their investments.

Several who invested with Rieger said they specifically invested with him in cryptocurrency.

One investor, Joana Floros, provided the identifying numbers of cryptocurrency wallets she transferred her money into, which The Sun was able to use to review Rieger’s activity on the crypto registry Blockchain.

Investors who sent money to Rieger’s multiple crypto wallets provided a look into some of Rieger’s online trading activities, in multiple cryptocurrencies including ethereum and bitcoin.

The Sun examined six cryptocurrency transactions between investors and Rieger to specify blockchain and wallet destinations, but can only trace the contents of two of those wallets, which contained ethereum and bitcoin. The Sun found that Rieger had a cryptocurrency account open since 2009, though he began trading more frequently and in higher amounts in 2016.

The Sun found he had emptied a crypto wallet as recently as November 2024. One trade was made in a bitcoin wallet on Feb. 12, more than a week after his death. It may have been an automated transaction.

Some currencies Rieger told investors he was trading in, but which could not be verified Thursday, include polkadot, solana, questcoin, zombie and other alternative currencies that rapidly gained and lost value.

Such currencies are sometimes popular with day traders looking to earn money on sharp swings in value but are largely worth far less than an American penny.

“We are feverishly working to find accounts, where money may be stored, credit cards and things like that,” said Stem. “We’re still sorting through tons of financial avenues and records and uncovering things as we go along.”

Stem urged people who believed themselves to have been defrauded by Rieger to provide officers with documents, receipts or information on cryptocurrency wallets they sent money to.

“Don’t be embarrassed to come forward,” Stem said. “We want to give you the information to recover any monies you may have lost.”

It is unclear if Rieger was the sole person with access to the password to the cryptocurrency accounts The Sun examined. Without an account password, there is no way to access such accounts again.

The Carroll County Sheriff’s Office plans to continue the financial fraud investigation in the hopes of flushing out more potential victims and possibly even “making them whole again.”

Rieger’s wife, Anne Rieger, née Saunders, had publicly posted in support of her husband in the weeks before his death. In the posts, she shamed the community she said abandoned him.

“I long for the day when we can both freely speak up about what has happened,” she wrote. “No weapon formed against us shall prosper.”

Anne Rieger did not respond to questions about allegations of financial fraud carried out by Rieger sent this week.

Attorney Nicholas R. McDaniels emailed The Sun on her behalf.

“Anne remains devastated by the recent and unexpected death of her husband, and we are respectfully requesting that she be afforded privacy,” McDaniels wrote. “At this time, however, Anne is actively working with the authorities to make sense of this tragedy and, as such, we are unable to offer any further comment.”

Got a tip? Contact investigative editor Kate Cimini at 443-842-2621 or kcimini@baltsun.com.

Justin Rieger promised them a sure thing, they said: huge returns on investments, a way to make their dreams come true.

He promised them retirement income, college tuition, car payments or money to help others, they said.

But for many who spoke with The Baltimore Sun, the money they gave him disappeared. A retired medical researcher with chronic leukocytic leukemia, a single mom struggling to cover her bills, a Carroll County teacher — all watched as their investments slipped through their fingers.

They fear they will never see their funds returned, or any promised gains.

The Taneytown police identified Rieger, 22, as the person who died by apparent suicide in a park last week. The Christian leader who volunteered with youth, coach and substitute teacher in Carroll County Public Schools had posted in his final weeks on Facebook about a mysterious “allegation” against him.

After the outpouring of grief, after the dust settled, the rumors began flying.

Someone heard Rieger gambled their savings away. Another, that he used the hundreds of thousands they gave him to fund a lavish lifestyle, citing recent trips to Disney he posted about and courtside seats at a Lakers game.

The Sun verified his attendance at the Lakers game via game footage. The Sun has not been able to independently verify claims of Rieger gambling.

Law enforcement has neither denied nor confirmed these allegations. The Carroll County Sheriff’s Office did confirm it is investigating Rieger for allegations of sex abuse and financial fraud — and that he apparently killed himself while the investigation was ongoing.

“We have received information that leads us to believe that Mr. Rieger may have been involved in some sort of fraud involving personal finances,” said Carroll County Sheriff’s Office Major David Stem in an email. “We are continuing to investigate this to determine if any crimes have been committed, if Mr. Rieger was involved in an investment scheme, and if so, to what extent.”

“In Maryland, the age of consent is 16, unless the person who committed the offense was in a position of authority over the victim,” Stem said. He confirmed that the abuse Rieger stands accused of committing did not take place within the Carroll County Public Schools. With Rieger dead, however, the investigation will soon close.

According to Stem, the financial fraud investigation will continue in the hopes of flushing out more potential victims and possibly even “making them whole again.”

This is currently a local investigation, Stem said, though the Carroll County Sheriff’s Office is open to working with other local, state and federal law enforcement agencies as needed.

The Sun spoke with investors from Maryland, West Virginia, Ohio and Pennsylvania, who alleged that Rieger was running a widespread Ponzi scheme that ran the length and breadth of the East Coast. One investor’s parents, who live in North Carolina, also invested with Rieger, she said. Collectively, they gave Rieger more than $300,000 — and they fear other investors gave him much, much more.

The Sun reviewed financial records, contracts, emails and text messages to independently verify investors’ involvement with Rieger.

An apparent suicide, a story

The story began to unfurl publicly last week, after Taneytown Police announced Rieger had died as the result of a gunshot. Hikers discovered the body in a public park; a gun was found nearby.

His death came as a shock to many. Rieger had been employed by the Carroll County Public School system, at the same school he graduated from four years earlier: Francis Scott Key High School, and volunteered as a leader at the Carroll County chapter of the Christian organization Young Life, spreading the word of Jesus to teens.

But weeks earlier, in mid-January, Rieger had posted on Facebook, saying that “an allegation” had been brought against him. He wrote that he’d been asked to step back from Young Life, as well as placed on administrative leave by Carroll County Public Schools.

Carroll County schools put Rieger on leave on Jan. 9 after the sheriff’s office notified them of the investigation, district public information officer Carey Gaddis said.

Carroll County Young Life told The Baltimore Sun in an email last week: “Young Life responded to allegations first reported to us in January 2025 by referring the matter to the police and suspending the volunteer pending the outcome of the police investigation. Young Life is focused on caring for those impacted by this tragedy, and out of respect for their privacy will not have further comment.”

Beyond its initial statement, Young Life has refused to answer questions from The Sun via email or phone.

A Baltimore Sun reporter went to the chapter’s base of operations, a small house on Ridge Road in Westminster. Although a car was parked outside and the reporter was viewed through the Ring camera affixed to the front, no one answered the door.

Carroll County Young Life has only one employee on its payroll, Matt Michael; the website lists him as an area director.

The Baltimore Sun also called and emailed Young Life’s national headquarters in Colorado on Wednesday. The organization did not respond by publication.

Rieger’s wife, Anne Rieger, nee Saunders, had publicly posted in support of her husband in the weeks before his death. In the posts, she shamed the community she said abandoned him.

“I long for the day when we can both freely speak up about what has happened,” she wrote. “No weapon formed against us shall prosper.”

Anne Rieger did not respond to questions about allegations of financial fraud carried out by Rieger.

Attorney Nicholas R. McDaniels emailed The Sun on her behalf.

“Anne remains devastated by the recent and unexpected death of her husband, and we are respectfully requesting that she be afforded privacy,” McDaniels wrote. “At this time, however, Anne is actively working with the authorities to make sense of this tragedy and, as such, we are unable to offer any further comment.”

Patient Zero

In 2020, Elizabeth, a local teacher, said she began investing with Rieger.

The Baltimore Sun agreed to identify Elizabeth only by her middle name, as many in her circle have received death threats for speaking out against Rieger.

A single mother and a teacher in Carroll County, Elizabeth said that year, she was struggling to make ends meet. So when Rieger rolled up to the school in a brand-new, expensive Jeep, she said she asked him how he could afford that.

She said he laughed when she asked if his parents bought it for him.

“I’m a day trader,” she remembers him saying, and she asked him what that meant. His answer wowed her.

Soon, she had sold a piece of property she got in her divorce and invested $15,000 with Rieger. She said she believes she was his first investor — Patient Zero, as it were. The Sun reviewed copies of deposits and withdrawals between Rieger and Elizabeth.

The returns she saw at first were huge, she said.

“Within a month, he told me I had $22,000,” Elizabeth said. “I couldn’t believe it. I don’t make $7,000 in two months.”

And when she needed to withdraw a couple thousand at a time, she said, Rieger gave it to her within 24 hours. It seemed like a miracle.

So she began investing more, she said.

Elizabeth also told all her friends and family about her investments with Rieger, she said. She wanted to help them succeed like she was. While some of them were skeptical of the high returns Rieger boasted, the fact that he routinely honored her withdrawals changed some minds, she said. Soon, two dozen of her friends and family members had invested with Rieger.

But as the years wore on, her relationship with Rieger soured. Emails reviewed by The Sun show that several investors threatened to report Rieger to the Federal Trade Commission, Maryland Attorney General’s Office and the Internet Crime Complaint Center in fall 2024.

A Ponzi scheme?

“It was a Ponzi scheme,” said Nikos Phelps, one of Rieger’s investors. He said he gave tens of thousands to the 22-year-old to invest in cryptocurrency and other commodities. “The biggest losers are the people that really took a major financial risk in doing this, $3,000 or $5,000.”

Phelps, who initially heard about Rieger’s investment business from Elizabeth, said Rieger came highly recommended. He watched as people close to him got back huge returns on their investments, he said, and soon, he began wondering: “Why am I missing out?”

Phelps invested tens of thousands of dollars with Rieger. He convinced others in his life — his mother and his ex-wife among them — to invest with Rieger, too. In total, he said, they invested over a quarter of a million dollars.

“He was a good kid,” Phelps said. Rieger seemed knowledgeable, Phelps said, like he understood the forces and algorithms behind cryptocurrency training and like he “took the emotion out of it.”

Phelps said he was under the impression at the time that cryptocurrency was unregulated enough that traders didn’t need to be licensed — which, he later learned, was not necessarily accurate.

Although cryptocurrency is considered “the wild west” and some areas are still being fleshed out, any brokerage business, broker or investment advisor that does business in the state of Maryland must register with the Division of Securities, which is under the state Attorney General.

Broker-dealers, also known as brokerage firms, must be certified by FINRA, a national self-regulatory agency for broker-dealers that is required by federal law to supervise member firms, in order to trade on the market professionally. A college degree is not required.

Anyone trading in the state of Maryland must sit for both FINRA’s and the state’s exam, pass a background check and pay a fee.

No one The Sun spoke with knew if Rieger was licensed as a broker, day trader, investment advisor, or another type of agent. But those who traded with Rieger said his sunny personality, earnestness and kind demeanor overrode any concerns they had about a potential lack of license or any regulatory oversight.

If someone is found to be trading without a license in the state of Maryland, they could face sanctions under the state’s Securities Act, up to and including criminal charges. There are also provisions for harmed investors to sue the perpetrator privately.

Victims can file complaints through the Attorney General Securities Division.

“One of the things Justin told me was he was doing this to allow people an opportunity to generate wealth who wouldn’t normally have that,” Phelps said. “These people had the chance at a home and a dream of something extra. They were relying on it for a car payment or a kid’s college education.”

The Baltimore Sun independently verified Phelps’ investments with Rieger, reviewing emails, contracts, text messages, and more between Phelps and Rieger.

The contract, similar to several other copies of contracts The Sun reviewed between investors and Rieger, is written in what appears to be a standard text app such as Word. It has no investment time limits, no minimum investment, no declarations, and no recourse if things go wrong.

It simply says the signee will give money to Rieger to invest. In return, one contract provided said Rieger is owed 1% of financial gains. Other contracts set the amount owed Rieger at 2%, or 4%, depending on the amount being withdrawn.

Not everyone signed a contract with Rieger. Some trusted him with their money without signing a thing.

Phelps’ mother, Joanna Floros, who invested $26,000 with Rieger, was surprised when asked what her contract looked like.

“I never saw one,” Floros said. She laughed, rueful. “Sometimes you’re dumb.”

Sometimes, she said, you trust the wrong person.

Floros invested in well-known cryptocurrency BitCoin with Rieger, as well as riskier cryptocurrencies Solana and PolkaDot, according to CoinBase receipts she provided to The Sun.

Phelps, Floros, and other investors provided copies of their investment updates to The Sun for review. They were simple text emails ostensibly crafted and signed by Rieger. There was no crypto wallet login to view investments and their interest, no screenshots, no proof of anything — just sunny emails or text messages that assured investors they had seen huge gains that week or month.

While that set off alarm bells for some, one woman who invested with Rieger over several years said she never had any trouble withdrawing money when she asked for it — it was part of what convinced her to trust him with more and more funds, she said.

Ignored withdrawal requests, missing funds

The problems seemed to begin in late summer or early fall of 2024, when some investors asked to withdraw some of their funds, Elizabeth, Phelps and Floros among them.

Floros, who has chronic leukocytic leukemia, said she began to run into difficulties with Rieger in July 2024, when she asked him to deposit $2,000 of her earnings a month in her Santander bank account. She and her husband are retired, she said, and she wanted the additional income.

Rieger ignored her messages asking for withdrawals, she said. But, she added, after that, the increases Rieger reported she had earned her were suddenly much smaller.

By the fall, her son got involved, calling, texting and emailing Rieger on her behalf. The stress isn’t good for her as she’s going through chemotherapy and immunotherapy — any additional stress on her body can make her health much, much worse right now, Floros said.

So, Floros said, she maintained a positive outlook and patient tone in an attempt to keep herself from too much worry. But worry she did, she said. At quiet moments, it would sneak up on her, keeping her awake at night.

“It’s stress I didn’t really need,” Floros said. “I tried to stay as calm as I could, but everything is in the back of your mind. He would string me along for a while, then disappear.”

Phelps contacted Young Life’s Carroll County chapter on his, his ex-wife’s, and his mother’s behalf, he said, but to no avail. Young Life national did not respond to phone calls or emails from The Sun requesting comment.

Emails provided by investors show that several investors threatened to report Rieger to the FTC, Attorney General’s Office and IC3 in fall 2024.

In November, Floros had had enough. She emailed Rieger and told him to deposit $25,000 in her bank account, and he had until January to send her the rest of what Rieger had assured her her initial investment had grown to — $90,046.30, according to copies of emails between the two that The Sun reviewed.

“All funds have been initiated on withdrawal,” Rieger wrote in an email dated Nov. 7. “I will have funds on 11/14.

“I’ll send you confirmation on 11/14 I initiated to wire,” he wrote.

But nothing ever came through, Floros said.

It was around this time, too, that Elizabeth said she began noticing Rieger took longer and longer to respond to her withdrawal requests, constantly sending text messages apologizing for the delays. It made her nervous. She said she set up a meeting with Rieger for November, where he blamed Nikos and others for the delay of payments to Elizabeth. She said he told her “some complaints” against him had “slowed down” payments.

Rieger told Elizabeth he “no longer invested in cryptocurrencies because it’s not regulated,” she said. “He only does traditional stock options.”

She requested he pay out her full account, she said.

But, she said, he did not.

Elizabeth said she told friends she wanted to go over to his home and knock on the door, but was worried about his response.

“He had all the control,” she said. “He had all my money. I was afraid to confront him because he could just say ‘Oh, the market took a turn and you have $2 left in your account.’”

Both Elizabeth and Floros continued to reach out to Rieger to request their funds be paid out.

The morning of Feb. 4, Floros said, she wrote his wife and mother an email, telling them he needed to return her money.

That morning, though, Rieger’s body was found in a Taneytown park.

Guilt, fear, shame

It is uncertain if those who invested with Rieger will ever get their money back.

“For lack of a better word, it sucks,” Phelps said. “A lot of people I’m close to and have a lot of love for are victims in this. I’m doing this because a lot of people are scared and embarrassed and hurt by this. It’s the main reason I’m being as vocal as I can be.

“I know it’s not my fault, but you look at it and you’re like, I got these people involved,” Phelps said. “My mom tried to come at it from a place of kindness. I look back and I wonder if I could have done things differently to resolve it. It’s my responsibility to keep fighting for these people who have not been made whole.”

Elizabeth, Phelps and Floros are not alone.

At least one private Facebook group was made in the last few days, urging “victims” of Rieger’s to come forward, after several people began posting about their lost funds.

“He took a check from my elderly father and did not return his text or phone call until I went to his mother’s house and talked to her about it,” said one Carroll County resident.

“I know so many people who have invested thousands,” wrote another. “Hundreds of thousands are gone. I don’t think suing will do anything.”

Editor’s note: This story has been updated to clarify who contacted Young Life to ask for help getting money back from Rieger.

Brennan Stewart contributed to this article. Got a tip? Contact investigative editor Kate Cimini at (443) 842-2621 or kcimini@baltsun.com.

“It’s crazy that it happened here because usually it never happens on this street,” Hamm said. “The only thing I heard was someone screaming and the car taking off.”

Police allege that when the group of people reached the 3600 block of Beech Avenue at the scene around 11:37 a.m. they had already stolen a vehicle, before assaulting two people and fleeing. They then went on to two other locations where they either assaulted or attempted to assault someone, according to a police news release.

The incident is just one example of a violent carjacking in a city that sees dozens of them, police say.

In April, Baltimore prosecutors accused 20 underage people of nearly 53 incidents of armed carjackings and robberies throughout the city in October and November 2023.

On Friday, new data obtained by The Baltimore Sun via a public records request showed that as of Sept. 4, juvenile armed carjackings have already surpassed the previous two years in number of instances. Unarmed carjackings, however, have decreased.

As of Sept. 4, there were 24 armed carjackings and four unarmed carjackings, according to data provided by the Baltimore Police Department. Comparatively, there were only 21 of these armed carjackings and 12 unarmed carjackings for the entirety of 2023.

University of Baltimore Criminal Justice Professor Jeffrey Ian Ross said people are more compliant when a firearm is in front of them, and people might be at the point where unarmed carjackers will not scare them as easily as before.

“I think people are more exhausted with the carjacking, and thus, if someone wants your car and they aren’t going to present a weapon, they are going to say, ‘Screw it’ [and drive off],” Ross said. “Maybe citizens are tired of being victimized.”

Similarly, some residents in the Wyman Park neighborhood in North Baltimore said they hope people are not normalizing such crimes. John Gilvar, a resident of the neighborhood, said people are not at ease with this “random” incident.

“I don’t think anyone in our neighborhood thinks that this is just Baltimore,” Gilvar said. “Sometimes I feel like kids don’t get the attention, love and support that they need, and they get in trouble.”

The Sun reported in April that Baltimore State’s Attorney Ivan Bates has said he will make it a priority to hold parents criminally and financially accountable in cases where they know of their child’s crimes.

At that same news conference, Bates said he wanted the state to revise its catch-and-release policy, under which juveniles are released to their parents after an arrest.

During 2023, 16 juveniles were held while five were released to their parent or guardian for allegedly being involved in an armed carjacking. An additional nine were held, while two were released to their parent or guardian, and one was released without charges for unarmed carjacking, according to the data provided by BPD.

All of them were under the age of 18. A spokesperson for the BPD did not respond to a request for comment Friday.

This year, 20 juveniles were held while six were released to their parent or guardian for armed carjackings. There were two juveniles who were detained and released for allegedly being involved in unarmed carjackings, according to the data provided by BPD, the same number of under-18 children questioned as the prior year.

Bates asked Gov. Wes Moore to revise the catch-and-release policy so it requires the Department of Juvenile Services to speak to parents of the detained juveniles and analyze what can be done to prevent more delinquency.

For Cole Unger, a resident in the Wyman Park neighborhood, measures like the one Bates suggests involving catch-and-release still avoid the central question of how younger people are getting involved in criminal activity like carjacking in the first place — and how it affects the victims of such crimes before and after such trauma.

“It’s very upsetting for the people affected,” Unger told The Sun. “It’s difficult when the people who are doing it seem to be doing it for no reason.

“There’s generally a lack of consideration for anyone they are doing that to, which is unfortunate.”

Correction: A previous version of this article incorrectly characterized Bates’ statements on the catch-and-release policy. The Sun regrets the error.

Have a news tip? Contact Riley Gutiérrez McDermid at rmcdermid@baltsun.com, 443-571-6987 or @rileymcd.

The 1301 Cheverly Road property, which had served as a Baptist church and as a preschool in the past, has sat vacant for more than two years.

Now, the county expects to tear down the property and spend an additional $7.5 million to rehabilitate a downtown Towson office building it bought for $5.8 million last year from a Pennsylvania broker. Two members of the Baltimore County Council accused County Executive Johnny Olszewski Jr.’s administration of keeping them in the dark, despite the council discussing the purchase at two meetings and unanimously approving it in May 2023.

The six-story building in downtown Towson appears to be one of the county’s most expensive recent acquisitions for its size, according to purchasing records. Demand for office space has also plummeted during the coronavirus pandemic, saddling the county with an expensive building it likely won’t be able to sell or lease anytime soon.

At the same time, Baltimore County anticipates a budget shortfall, calling into question why it is planning to spend up to $15 million on two buildings, according to David Williams, the president of the Taxpayers Protection Alliance, a fiscal watchdog group.

“The [downtown Towson building] acquisition wasn’t in the capital budget, but completed as a year-end expenditure,” Council Chair Izzy Patoka said in an interview with The Baltimore Sun last week. “It adds a shroud of mystery. It seems odd to me we didn’t know we had a need for a new building.”

In his budget message in May, Patoka, a Pikesville Democrat, criticized the administration for its secrecy surrounding the sale of 305 Washington Ave. in Towson, complaining that the county had kept the council on a “need-to-know” basis.

The council discussed the building sale at its April 25, 2023, meeting. Two county officials told them the property was move-in ready and agencies could relocate there by the end of summer 2023, citing a need to immediately house new staff hired during the pandemic. 

County property management chief Debra Shindle said the building would provide much-needed meeting and office space for agencies including Recreation and Parks, the Office of Law, police department, Department of Corrections, Office of Homeland Security and Emergency Management, and the Department of Economic and Workforce Development. She said the building was move-in ready and that renovation costs would be “minimal due to the excellent condition of the property,” according to fiscal notes and video of the meeting. 

Former County Administrative Officer Stacy Rodgers, who retired in April, said the county would terminate the sale if it found any structural issues or costly maintenance during a 60-day feasibility study in response to a question from Republican Councilman Wade Kach about whether the county would assess the building’s condition before closing on the deal. 

“If there were things that we found that were problematic, that could incur huge expenses,” Rodgers told Kach. “Then no, we would not go forward with the completion of the sale.”

Despite the hefty price tag for its size compared with other recent county building purchases, the council unanimously voted to approve the sale a week later, on May 1, 2023. Then-Council Chair Julian Jones, a Woodstock Democrat, thanked Rodgers and Shindle after the vote for answering the council’s questions and following up with supporting documents to address their concerns.

The county did a full building and site inspection and completed the sale last October, according to county spokesperson Erica Palmisano.

Councilman Mike Ertel, a Towson Democrat, said in an interview Wednesday that the escalating renovation costs alarmed him.

“We didn’t just buy a $5.8 million building. We bought a $13 million building,” he said. “It’s one thing to level with us, but we weren’t given full information. It’s disappointing in the sense that ultimately we’re supposed to be a check and balance but also a partner [with the administration]. But if we’re given half information, or information left out, it doesn’t feel like the way we should be operating.”

In an email, Recreation and Parks spokesperson Gregory Wallace said the department decided to move to 305 Washington Ave. after it was “found to be the most suitable and most efficient use of taxpayer funds,” and that top agency leaders had since relocated to that building, with more to follow as “work is completed.”

Williams said the building sale was questionable considering the plummeting demand for office space since the pandemic. He also questioned whether the county had done its “due diligence” in proceeding with the sale despite the swelling repair costs.

“Someone along the way didn’t tell the truth or they didn’t do their job,” he said. “The bigger question is, do they understand the market? It’s a government contract. Why not look at all options available, and go with the most competitive bid?”

Olszewski said the county was still finalizing the total cost of repairs and defended the purchase.

“Baltimore County has been transparent with council members throughout this process and continues to communicate with all stakeholders as plans develop,” he said in a statement.

According to a capital improvement plan, Baltimore County intended to spend $3 million in fiscal years 2022 and 2023 on moving Recreation and Parks to the Cheverly Road location. The council approved the county’s purchase of the property for $2 million in November 2021, according to meeting minutes and state property records. The county bought it on Jan. 5, 2022, with assistance from Program Open Space, a Maryland Department of Natural Resources fund that helps local jurisdictions acquire and maintain green space. 

Patoka, who became council chair last January, said he did not recall voting to approve the Cheverly Road sale until a Sun reporter contacted him last week. 

“We [the council] are going to need clarity on it. It’s puzzling to me why we’ve invested so much in this property,” he said.

In a June 28, 2024, letter to the Department of Natural Resources, Patrick McDougall, the Program Open Space county coordinator, signaled a change of plan and said Baltimore County anticipated developing a park at the Cheverly Road location, “with an assumption that the large site structure will be razed,” referring to the 21,000-square-foot building there.

Patoka, who is eyeing a run for Olszewski’s job in 2026, said he expects the council to reexamine the county’s real estate acquisitions. 

“We’ve got to get tighter on our capital program,” he said. “Why spend this much? These are all questions we’ve been asking.”