XPost: soc.culture.african.american, alt.crime, alt.california   
   XPost: alt.politics.obama, sac.politics, misc.survivalism   
   From: leroysoetoro@usurper.org   
      
   (CNN) -- 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   
      
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