Victoria Byers did not drink alcohol. She did not abuse drugs. But when she was a teenager in foster care, several times a month, she would board a van at her group home and go to rehab.
Byers couldn't figure out why she had to take drug tests and sit in group therapy sessions on addiction at So Cal Health Services, a clinic tucked in an office park in Riverside, California.
"And I told them, you know, 'Why should I be here? I have no drug issue,' " said Byers, now a slow-to-smile 22-year-old.
The director of Byers' group home confirmed Byers was clean but said she sent all six girls under her care to the clinic because she didn't have enough staff to separate those with substance abuse problems.
The arrangement was strange. It was also a scam.
So Cal Health Services was ripping off taxpayers, part of a pattern of fraud by rehabilitation clinics that collect government funding to help the poor and addicted, a yearlong investigation by The Center for Investigative Reporting and CNN has found. The investigation, which included undercover surveillance and stakeouts, uncovered a rehab racket that continues to this day.
Thousands of pages of government records and dozens of interviews with counselors, patients and regulators reveal a widespread scheme to bilk the state's Medicaid system, the nation's largest. Witnesses to the fraud laid out its inner workings in minute detail, some speaking of it publicly for the first time.
In the underbelly of the Drug Medi-Cal program, clinics pad client rolls by diagnosing people like Byers with addictions they don't have. They round up mentally ill residents from board-and-care homes to sit in therapy sessions they can't follow. They lure patients in from the street by handing out cash, cigarettes and snacks. They have patients sign in for days they aren't there.
One Inglewood clinic fabricated notes and billed for "ghost clients" who never came in. They couldn't show up, a counselor discovered: Some were behind bars; one was dead.
Even caught red-handed, operators have polished techniques to ward off official scrutiny and keep the money flowing. One Los Angeles County clinic director lodged a complaint against a government auditor, and another called on a local lawmaker for help. In both cases, it worked.
The populous Los Angeles region is one of the nation's top hot spots for health care fraud, and former state officials agree it is also ground zero for the rehab racket.
Drug Medi-Cal paid out $94 million in the past two fiscal years to 56 clinics in Southern California that have shown signs of deception or questionable billing practices, representing half of all public funding to the program, CIR and CNN found. Over the past six years, more than half a billion dollars have poured into the program statewide.
Following a year of public records requests and questions from CIR and CNN, state regulators announced a crackdown in mid-July. The action came two and a half weeks after reporters submitted a final list of their findings.
The state Department of Health Care Services temporarily suspended 16 clinics suspected of flouting the law and pledged to tighten oversight and on Tuesday announced it had suspended 13 more. Officials would not identify the targeted clinics, saying the information would compromise the investigation.
But veteran operators have become adept at sidestepping trouble.
Among them was Tim Ejindu, who ran the clinic where Byers was sent.
Nearly one-third of the foster children who showed up at Ejindu's clinics in Riverside and Pomona had no drug or alcohol problem, estimated TaMara Shearer, a former addict who worked as a supervisor.
"Any loopholes, he knows how to find them. I've watched him do it," Shearer said. "He thinks Americans are dumb."
Under pressure to diagnose teenagers with fake addictions, counselors at the clinics reverted to racial stereotypes, according to Shearer. They labeled white teens as alcohol drinkers and black or Latino teens as marijuana smokers, she said.
Ejindu did not respond to an interview request or a letter outlining allegations against him. When contacted by reporters at his clinic, he declined to answer questions, closing the clinic door and refusing to reopen it.
Joy Jarfors, a manager with the state Department of Alcohol and Drug Programs until she retired in 2010, said "fraud and abuse (are) rampant" in the system.
"I'm not the employee anymore that has to look at this every day, but I'm a taxpayer that knows that this is going on," Jarfors said. "It angers me. And there's story after story after story about Medicaid dollars being cut from people who need the services."
The cost of failing to treat addicts is high. Drug overdose and excessive alcohol consumption are among the top causes of premature death in Los Angeles County, killing two people nearly every day. Statewide, the Legislative Analyst's Office has found taxpayers spend more than $1 billion a year on hospital stays related to substance abuse for those on Medi-Cal.
The rehab centers promise a chance to start over in their very names, which include phrases like "new hope," "new beginning," "renew" and "U-turn." But they don't always deliver.
Vredette Hawkins was one woman who could have used some help. The South Los Angeles mother of four smoked marijuana and was under scrutiny from child welfare officials, she said, after someone accused her of using methamphetamine.
She went to a nearby Drug Medi-Cal clinic a year ago to get counseling for depression. She encountered a chaotic free-for-all, a clinic filled with people who came only because they wanted money.
At Basen Inc., clients received $5 each time they showed up, she said. Hawkins said counselors often abandoned group therapy sessions after 15 minutes, leaving clients to chat about sexual exploits and getting high. Two former Basen employees also told CIR that the clinic paid clients, although one said that the practice stopped amid worries about getting caught.
A county investigation last year found "extremely serious violations," such as falsified paperwork, but couldn't substantiate allegations that Basen was paying clients.
"The only one that's basically benefiting from all this," Hawkins said, "is ... the person that's running the program."
Bassey Enun-Abara, the counseling center's executive director, said he does not pay clients and disputed Hawkins' description of the clinic. "I can't believe a client would tell you that," he said.
As director of the state Department of Health Care Services, Toby Douglas has primary responsibility for Medi-Cal, including the rehab system. Douglas, appointed by Gov. Jerry Brown in 2011, declined repeated interview requests.
Douglas' boss, Secretary Diana Dooley of California's Health and Human Services Agency, also declined interview requests. Approached by CNN in June outside a public meeting in Sacramento, Dooley headed for a restroom, which was locked.
She then said: "The state of California takes fraud very seriously, and there are many investigations that are underway. The allegations -- all allegations are given full and fair consideration."
Dooley added that her agency's fraud and investigation unit is "one of the best in the country." She ended the brief conversation with, "That's all I have to say."
Asked again whether Douglas would sit down for an interview, as she stepped into an elevator, Dooley put her hand over CNN's camera and called for security. Later, her spokesman offered a sit-down interview with Douglas if CNN discarded the footage of Dooley. CNN and CIR would not agree to that condition.
A month later, Douglas announced his crackdown.
The agency's chief deputy director, Karen Johnson, declined to discuss accusations about specific clinics and acknowledged that the state does not yet "know the expanse of the problem."
Addiction counselor Tamara Askew discovered something wrong soon after she started working at Pride Health Services in Inglewood, southwest of downtown L.A., in 2009.
Askew grabbed a stack of files and began contacting patients to introduce herself. That was harder than she had figured.