Fred Otash - Fraud!

Open letter to Colleen Otsah

 

 

I am writing to you regarding your father. There is currently a Broadway play in production that intends to rely on information your father provided years ago. I was asked to review the script, which I have now done.

After careful consideration, I felt it was important to be transparent about my concerns. I have long questioned your father’s credibility. Despite repeated claims, no tapes or verifiable evidence were ever produced. Without tangible proof, corroboration, or a reliable chain of custody, I find it difficult to accept his accounts as factual.

My perspective is based on professional standards of investigation and evidence. Claims of this magnitude require substantiation, and in this case, that substantiation has never materialized. For that reason, I believe the information attributed to your father should be approached with significant caution.

I wanted to share my reasoning directly and respectfully, given the personal nature of this subject.

Claim:
Otash knew Monroe was murdered and had evidence implicating powerful individuals.

Why It’s Disputed:

·      Otash was not present at the scene.

·      Official investigations concluded probable suicide, which I disagree.

·      Later retellings rely heavily on hearsay.

Consensus:
Speculative and unsupported by evidence.

---

3. Surveillance of the Kennedys

Claim:
Otash wiretapped conversations involving John F. Kennedy and Robert F. Kennedy, often through Monroe.

Why I Dispute:

·      No recordings verified.

·      No corroboration from contemporaneous law enforcement or intelligence records.

·      Claims surfaced primarily years later, often second- or third-hand.

Consensus:
Unsubstantiated; viewed as embellishment.

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4. Routine Illegal Wiretapping for Clients

Claim:
Otash regularly conducted illegal wiretaps for studios, tabloids, and private clients.

Why I Dispute:

·      While Otash admitted to wiretapping in interviews, scope and targets vary wildly across accounts.

·      Some activities likely occurred, but extent is exaggerated.

Consensus:
Partially true but inflated over time.

---

5. Confessions Given Late in Life

Claim:
Otash “confessed” to knowledge of crimes shortly before his death.

Why I Dispute:

·      No sworn statements.

·      No recordings or signed affidavits.

·      Stories passed through intermediaries with conflicting motives.

Consensus:
Not legally or historically reliable.

---

Why I’m Skeptical

·      Otash had a documented pattern of self-aggrandizement.

·      He worked in an era with minimal oversight, enabling exaggeration.

·      Many claims emerged after key witnesses were deceased.

·      No claim has survived evidentiary scrutiny.

 

I intend to share my professional opinion publicly on this subject. Before doing so, I wanted to give you the opportunity to respond and to provide any evidence that may contradict my understanding.

 

If there is documentation, recordings, or other verifiable proof that supports your father’s claims—and demonstrates that my assessment is incorrect—I would welcome the opportunity to review it. Absent such evidence, my opinion remains based on the information currently available to me.

 

I believe it is only fair to extend this courtesy before I move forward.

 

 

Brenda Heist returned after eleven years.

It was a late February morning in 2002 when Brenda Heist dropped her children off at school, just like every other day.

A kiss, a tired smile, an unspoken promise: “See you later.”

But that later never came.

From that moment on, she was gone.

Vanished without a trace.

The car stayed parked, the house remained tidy, life itself seemed to freeze.

All of Pennsylvania wondered: kidnapping? murder? escape?

Her husband filed a missing person report, her children waited, searches went on for weeks. Then months. Then years.

In 2010, eight years later, she was declared legally dead.

A funeral without a body. A coffin filled with silence.

But Brenda was alive.

She just wasn’t the same anymore.

Eleven years later, in 2013, she walked into a police station in Key West, Florida.

Her face was hollow, her hair gray, her eyes the kind that had seen too much.

She said only:

“My name is Brenda Heist. I disappeared eleven years ago.”

The officers were speechless.

The woman before them was a ghost returned in flesh and blood.

Slowly, in a trembling voice, she told the truth.

That day in 2002, her life was collapsing — her marriage failing, money running out, fear consuming her.

She went to a park to breathe, to calm herself. There, she met three strangers — drifters, people who lived on nothing — and, in a sudden impulse, she followed them.

She never went home.

She never called anyone.

She vanished.

For eleven years she lived like a shadow, sleeping under bridges and in tents, surviving on scraps, drifting along the American coast.

No ID, no past, no name.

Only a body that refused to die and a mind that tried to forget.

“I was tired of being myself,” she would later say. “I just wanted to disappear.”

When she reappeared, her family didn’t know how to react.

Her husband, now remarried, kept his distance.

Her children, grown up without a mother, had no words.

How do you forgive an absence that long?

How do you talk to someone who chose not to be there?

Brenda tried to reconnect. She wrote letters, made phone calls, asked to meet.

But it was like knocking on a door that had been closed for too long.

The mother who had returned from nowhere was no longer a memory of love — she was a reopened wound.

Time had erased her from their lives, and now no one knew where she belonged.

Authorities hospitalized her.

Her body was frail from hunger, her hands rough with calluses, and her eyes empty from years spent walking in darkness.

They gave her food, a bed, medical care — but peace cannot be prescribed.

In the few interviews she gave, her words hovered between guilt and survival.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I just wanted to escape the pain.”

Brenda’s story sparked a fierce debate:

How much can the weight of daily life break a mind?

How far can desperation push a person?

And most of all — is it possible to return when everyone has already learned to live without you?

Today, it’s said she lives quietly in a small Florida community.

Far from the spotlight, without fanfare, perhaps with a dog and a small garden to tend.

She never got her family back, but she found a fragile balance — a silence that almost feels like peace.

Her story has no heroes, no moral lesson.

It’s simply the portrait of a woman who, one day, couldn’t go on — and somehow found the courage to come back anyway.

Because some escapes aren’t born from selfishness, but from despair.

And some returns don’t fix anything, but still mean everything.

Brenda Heist didn’t come back to be forgiven.

She came back to remind us that sometimes, those who run away are just trying to survive.

(Sources: Associated Press, CNN, Lancaster Online, 2013)

I have worked cases similar to this. In one instance, a mother suffered a severe mental breakdown and attempted to kidnap her twin daughters. My responsibility was to locate the children, which I ultimately did. Throughout the investigation, it was difficult not to feel compassion for the mother, as it was clear she was struggling with significant mental health issues.

I have also experienced this personally. I had a cousin who suffered a profound mental break. She would walk naked in the streets and, on one occasion, told her children that they were having their “last dinner,” comparing it to Jesus and the Last Supper. These are not the actions of someone thinking rationally or with intent to cause harm—they are the actions of someone who is profoundly unwell.

It is not our place to judge people in these circumstances. Only they truly know what is happening in their minds. Is it acceptable that families are harmed by these actions? Absolutely not. But mentally ill individuals often do not understand what they are doing at the time. In many cases, they are not capable of recognizing the consequences of their behavior.

Our country has both the resources and the responsibility to provide more comprehensive mental health care, particularly for those living on the streets. The vast majority of unhoused individuals are suffering from some form of mental illness or psychological break. Addressing this crisis with empathy, treatment, and proper support is not only humane—it is necessary.

Fraud epidemic: Costly scams soaring & targeting seniors warns FBI, Secret Service

There are no blue lights or yellow tape, yet there’s a crime being committed more and more across the country and right here in our community.

“The problem is almost epidemic proportions,” says Jeremy Baker, Assistant Special Agent in Charge for the Memphis Division of the FBI.

Baker told WREG, “I think there’s not a day that goes by that we don’t hear about some really, really terrible situation where a good person has been defrauded out of their hard earned money.”

Scams are skyrocketing and the WREG Investigators uncovered the numbers that prove it.

The FBI’s Internet Crime Complaint Center received more than 850,000 complaints in 2024 with losses of $16.6 billion, an increase of more than 30 percent from the previous year.

While fraudsters don’t discriminate and everyone is a potential victim, the group getting hit the hardest is elders.

In fact, of that $16.6 billion in losses, nearly $5 billion belonged to those 60 and older.

Agent Baker said, “We can all think of somebody we know and love that has been victimized by a scam. They’re getting better. They’re getting more believable. And unfortunately, they’re disproportionately affecting senior citizens.”

Some of the costliest crimes targeting older people include investment, tech support and romance scams.

Special Agent Morgan Morgan is with the Secret Service. They teamed up with the FBI to create a special task force in Memphis to crack down on fraud and scams.

He told WREG, “It can be a simple Facebook message that then turns into, a loss of your life savings.”

Morgan said it is possible to get money returned back to victims, but that’s rare and requires people to report the scam almost immediately.

“Three years ago, I think we were able to get roughly $6.5 million reverse back to, victims here in Memphis, which is which is a great success story,” Morgan explained.

Not only are cyber crimes dealing with fraud and scams underreported, but making matters worse is the fact that crooks are getting more creative and using AI to convince victims to hand over their hard-earned money.

Agent Baker says AI tools allow crooks to avoid typical scammer grammar like misspellings which are always a red flag of a scam. Plus, he told us deep fakes with video and audio are more believable and easier to fall for. 

Baker explained, “So instead of the email, just making it sound like a boss is telling an employee to wire money, now you can actually see somebody hear somebody, and it looks like their boss and people will wire the money.”

Both agencies sat down one on one with NewsChannel 3 to talk about a new campaign aimed at stopping the crimes before they can start. It’s called ‘Take a Beat‘.

Baker said, “The FBI is trying right now to tell people, to take a beat. Just think about what is happening…the criminals will always try to have a sense of urgency and make it sound like something terrible is going to happen if you don’t do what they’re asking you to do.”

Baker continued, “It just emphasizes, try to take a step back, take a minute to think about what is being asked. If it’s email, try to pick up the phone. Try to go talk to somebody in person…Think before you click and again, if it sounds too good to be true, it generally is.”

The agency is hoping those three simple words, take a beat, can save millions of dollars for thousands of would be victims.

WREG INVESTIGATORS

Report scams to FBI here

T-Mobile Las Cruces NM

 We began our internet and phone services with T-Mobile sometime in late September or Early October, and from the start the service has been unacceptable. Our internet repeatedly disconnected in the middle of movies and baseball games, and our television picture was blurry most of the time. Because of these ongoing issues, we contacted T-Mobile numerous times from the first day of service, both by phone and in person at the store.

We went to the White Sage locations, and due to the problems we were experiencing, we were given a “mobile bag” that included two T-Mobile glasses, a grill kit, and two SyncUp Trackers. I explicitly told the sales representative that we did not need the SyncUp Trackers because we already use Apple AirTags. He insisted that we take them, stating they were gifts and that we would only have to pay a little over $1 for service.

I find it deeply offensive that T-Mobile representatives appeared to believe they could take advantage of two senior citizens. I am a private investigator, have owned my company for over three decades, and I am well aware of unethical business practices. I would never treat my own clients the way we have been treated by T-Mobile. 

I attempted to return this equipment on October 30. Sales Representative ****559 took back other equipment but refused to accept the SyncUp Trackers, telling me instead to sell them or give them away. These devices have been sitting unused on my desk ever since. Additionally, I attempted to contact T-Mobile customer service by phone several times, only to be disconnected. I later discovered that T-Mobile charged me $78.27 for the two SyncUp Trackers. The two I attempted to give back.

I then went to the White Sage store (AGAIN) and spoke with a salesperson who told me I would have to pay a restocking fee and showed little interest in helping resolve the issue. When I attempted to speak with the Assistant Manager, Claudia Gonzalez, the same salesperson repeatedly interrupted me. Ms. Gonzalez did not intervene or ask him to allow her to handle the situation, forcing me to ask him to stop speaking so I could finish my explanation. This behavior would never be tolerated in my own business.

When I expressed dissatisfaction with the lack of resolution, Ms. Gonzalez told me that she would talk to another manager the next day or I could give the SyncUp Trackers away as “stocking stuffers,” while three other sales representatives laughed. I found this comment highly unprofessional, inappropriate, and dismissive. There was nothing humorous about the situation. She never called me back as promised,

If these SyncUp Trackers were truly provided “for free” as a goodwill gesture for poor service, then I should never have been charged for them. I have made two good-faith attempts to return these devices, and T-Mobile has refused to accept them.

In summary, T-Mobile’s service has been unreliable, and the customer service at Store 470G has been unprofessional and dishonest.

About Me - Brutal Awkening

I was born in California and spent thirty years working as a private investigator. I am also a CEO with expertise in security and executive protection, and I have long served as an advocate for victims. Ten years ago, I relocated to Las Cruces, New Mexico, where I have continued my investigative work alongside my writing.

I have provided security for high-profile figures such as Sharon and Kelly Osborne, Chaz Bono, Molly Ringwald, Queen Latifah, Randy Quaid, and Margaret Cho. 

I  have been involved in security and executive protection at prestigious events like the Golden Globes, the Academy Awards, and more. Additionally, I was a member of several organizations, including The Lambda Legal Defense and Education Fund, The National Center for LGBTQ Rights the California Association of Licensed Investigators, The Doris Tate Crime Bureau, Citizens Against Homicide, Peace Over Violence, The National Center for Victims of Crime, Project Sister, and The Doris Day Animal Foundation. 

People often ask whether being a private investigator is fun and glamorous. Fun? At times, absolutely. Glamorous? Not really—unless, of course, you are a Hollywood P.I.

As a child, I was relentlessly curious, always paying attention to things I probably should not have noticed at such a young age. I saw and overheard more than most children do. Playing spy was my favorite game, though I never imagined it would someday become my profession.

The news offers a filtered glimpse of the world’s darker side, but nothing compares to witnessing it firsthand. I have seen young boys using drugs and drinking alcohol before school. I have observed sexual acts carried out openly—by homeless individuals on the street and by cheating spouses in parked cars. I have stood in phone booths while intoxicated strangers relieved themselves nearby, unaware or unconcerned that I was there. Some cases—particularly those involving child abuse or deeply disturbing behavior—left me so shaken that I cried myself to sleep.

Even my vehicle has not been immune. During surveillance, people have spat on it, smeared mayonnaise across the windows, thrown objects, deflated my tires, and even attempted to steal it while I was inside. Once, two men leaned against my van and bragged about manipulating women with false declarations of love to get sex. Every instinct told me to confront them, but preserving my cover always came first.

These experiences have tested my faith and patience in ways I never anticipated. Many times, I have had to ask God for the strength not to take justice into my own hands. Through it all, I came to appreciate life’s simplest blessings: green grass, quiet streets, clean air, domestic animals, wildlife, and genuinely kind people.

Why stay in a profession that exposes you to so much darkness? Justice. I have the privilege of helping victims and survivors find answers, uncovering the truth, and holding dishonest people accountable. For those who feel lost or powerless, I can offer clarity, direction, and support.

Not every day is grim. Surveillance has also given me a front-row seat to the beauty of the world—crows demonstrating remarkable intelligence, squirrels darting with purpose, dogs and cats wandering freely, and breathtaking landscapes stretching across deserts, mountains, and coastlines. I was once even attacked by peacocks in Mendocino County, California—an occupational hazard I never anticipated.

Being a female private investigator comes with advantages. People rarely suspect me. Security guards open gates with a smile. Children and adults alike confide in me because I appear approachable, often dressed in Disney-themed clothing rather than something intimidating.

My work took on an unexpected level of public attention when Kirby Dick and Eddie Schmidt of Chain Camera hired me to investigate the Motion Picture Association of America’s rating system (MPAA). At first, I did not fully grasp the magnitude of what I was stepping into. The deeper I went, the more disturbed I became. The Classification and Rating Administration routinely rated extreme violence more favorably than something as innocent as two fully clothed women kissing.

As a lesbian, a mother, and a rape survivor, I found this deeply troubling. What message does that send to our children—that violence is more acceptable than love? The bias extended further, with gay and lesbian films consistently rated more harshly than their heterosexual counterparts. That injustice strengthened my resolve to expose the truth.

The experience forced me to reflect on the concept of “normal.” What defines a normal family? Some may not see my life with Cheryl and our family as fitting a traditional mold, yet we raised two remarkable children and now cherish our grandchildren. To me, family is defined by unconditional love, understanding, and showing up for one another. Embracing who I truly am allowed me to find the happiness I had long deserved—happiness grounded in love and sustained by faith.

As I continue my work—whether uncovering deception or helping someone heal from betrayal—I remain grateful. This career has shown me humanity at its worst, but it has also taught me to cherish everything I have. None of it would have been possible without Cheryl and God by my side.

I have been in a loving relationship for thirty-five years. Together, we are helping raise our grandson and granddaughter, a source of immense joy in my life. I recently self-published a children’s book, Oolygalees, co-authored with my granddaughter. I am currently completing my novel, Brutal Awakening, with two additional children’s books and my grandfather’s story, Kid from Hell’s Kitchen, planned next.

Brutal Awakening is both a personal reckoning and a broader examination of power, silence, and survival—offering readers an intimate, uncompromising perspective from someone who lived the reality behind the headlines.

My manuscript weaves together my personal history with the stories of my cases over the past thirty years. These include investigations involving domestic violence, child abuse, rape survivors, murder, terrorism, and kidnapping, as well as work within the entertainment industry. Notable cases and professional associations include Randy Quaid, Marilyn Monroe’s assistant Pat Newcomb, comic-book legend Stan Lee, producer David G. Riggs, the exposure of the MPAA through the documentary This Film Is Not Yet Rated, and my longtime friend Peter F. Paul.

Brutal Awkening is both a personal reckoning and a broader examination of power, silence, and survival—offering readers an intimate, uncompromising perspective from someone who lived the reality behind the headlines.

Why James Patterson Believes Marilyn Monroe Was Murdered

I’ve read about yet another book repeating the same claims about Marilyn Monroe, and I genuinely cannot understand why people continue to buy and read them. James Patterson has just published a new book asserting that Marilyn Monroe was murdered, but this is hardly new information. Many authors before him have made the same claim for decades. His book adds nothing original—it simply recycles theories that have already been published countless times. When are they going to stop?

James Edward McClure - The Monster Who Came Back Into My Life- excerpts from my book

It was Easter 1988, and my husband Russ was overseas. We had just moved into the brand-new officers' housing at Camp Pendleton, where the ocean greeted us each time we stepped into the room. Only a few months had passed when Russ deployed for six months. It was the first time I had ever lived alone.

Still, I loved where we lived. Our home sat at the end of a cul-de-sac with only six houses. Just outside our door was a small park where Kevin could play, though I rarely saw anyone else.

That Easter morning, Kevin and I were excitedly driving to the city park, where our family gathered each year to celebrate. The sun streamed into the car, casting everything in a golden glow, while the sky stretched endlessly blue above us.

We arrived at a small park—simple yet inviting—with a few scattered trees, picnic tables, and a modest playground buzzing with kids. My relatives had already claimed a table beneath a large oak tree.

As we parked, the cheerful sounds of laughter swirled around us, blending with the mouthwatering aroma of roasted chicken drifting through the air.

“It was a good idea for us to come today,” I said to Kevin, smiling as we walked toward the gathering.

I settled beside my mom, content to soak in the warmth of the moment—laughter, chatter, the sight of children running wild. Eventually, the food made its rounds, and to my surprise, I had an appetite. I ate heartily for the first time in what felt like ages. Afterward, my mom wandered off while I relaxed in the breeze, sharing stories and laughter with family, my eyes always drifting to Kevin as he played on the grass nearby.

Amidst the chaos of play, Kevin suddenly broke away from his cousins and began walking toward me. I smiled at him—until I noticed something behind him.

A figure in the distance.

At first, just a silhouette against the sun. But as he approached, the shape grew clearer: a man in Levi’s and a red short-sleeve shirt. My stomach clenched.

The way he carried himself—the broad shoulders, the confident stride—I knew it before I could stop myself from knowing.

No. Not here. Not today.

But as he stepped closer, the impossible became real.

Jim McClure.

My cousin. The man who had molested and raped me as a child—and not just me. He had violated others, leaving a trail of shattered lives. Now he stood before me as if no time had passed, as if nothing had happened.

“Hello,” he said casually, like we were old friends. Like he wasn’t a monster.

I froze.

Panic exploded inside me. Without a word, I grabbed Kevin and turned away. My vision blurred as sunlight pierced my tears. I walked fast, breathing hard, trying to escape the weight of memory that had crashed down on me.

Then, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I flinched, my whole body bracing.

Was it him?

I turned.

It was my mom.

“Why are you acting this way? You didn’t even say hello to Jim!” she remarked, confusion painting her face.

I was taken aback, my silence profound as I struggled to comprehend her words. 

“You should treat him better; he's a nice person who has paid for his mistakes. The years have changed him. He's truly sorry for what he did,” she continued, her voice dripping like a child.

Disgust surged within me, and I started walking away again. Mom hurried after me, her voice unwavering.

“Listen to me, Becky! We’ve talked since his release. He mentioned how you and he played together when you were young."

I stopped short, battling to find my voice as rage and humiliation closed in. My cheeks burned with shame. How could my own mother misunderstand everything so completely?

“I think it's sweet that you had a childhood crush on him. There's no need for guilt, honey.”

But my frustration finally erupted. 

BECKY

“I... NEVER... HAD... A... CRUSH... ON... HIM... MOM! THE... TRUTH... IS... JIM... MOLESTED... AND... RAPED... ME... THROUGHOUT... MY... CHILDHOOD... AND... I... AM... AFRAID... OF... HIM!”

Her reaction was startlingly dismissive.

“If that makes you feel better to say that,” she said flatly.

“When did he get out of prison? Where is he staying? I need to know where to avoid.”

“He’s staying with me. He has nowhere else to go.”

The weight of her words crashed over me like a wave of betrayal.

“Well then, I guess you’re the one I need to stay away from.”

“Becky, you’re being ridiculous. When are you going to grow up?”

I turned away from her, my heart heavy with sorrow and frustration. I grabbed Kevin’s hand, and we walked to the car, leaving my mother behind—both physically and, in many ways, emotionally.

As we drove off, I glanced in the rearview mirror. There she was, standing with Jim, talking to him like nothing had ever happened—as if he hadn’t shattered my childhood. Their casual proximity sent a chill through me. I turned my eyes back to the road, my grip tightening on the steering wheel.

When we got home, I took Kevin to the playground. He deserved normalcy—laughter, sunlight, a few moments of joy. I sat on one of the empty benches, my body still, but my mind spinning. The breeze moved softly through the trees, the swing chains creaked gently, and for a moment, it almost felt calm.

But inside, I was unraveling.

I began drinking heavily again. It was the only thing that dulled the pain, the betrayal, the shame that clung to me like a second skin. I felt completely alone. There was no one I could talk to. Russ was far away, and even if he’d been closer, it wouldn’t have mattered.

When I told him what Jim had done to me as a child, he got upset—not at Jim, but at me, as if I had done something wrong. Like I was the one who should have been ashamed.

Would you like to continue from here? We could explore what pulled me out of that dark place—or go deeper into the isolation and the resilience it took to survive it.

--To Be Continued!--