I spent an entire afternoon watching what can only be described as a masterclass in patience — four and a half hours of a self-proclaimed “passive-income expert” trying to talk his way out of his own words, while Brandon Williams from Ponzi Patrol calmly dismantled every excuse with surgical precision.

**I’ve seen hundreds of scam promoters cornered by facts, but this one felt different. The entire thing was captured on video, under oath, with a court reporter tapping every syllable [Download Full Transcript]. You could almost hear the walls closing in around Scott Morris as the truth caught up to him in real time.**

“It’s all fun and games until the stenographer starts typing your downfall.”

Setting the Scene

This wasn’t a YouTube debate or a Telegram spat. It was a legal deposition — a sworn testimony — and Brandon was armed with receipts, screenshots, and time-stamped messages. No bluster, no opinion, no shouting. Just the evidence laid out, one quote at a time.

Morris came into the deposition the way most serial promoters do: overconfident, dismissive, and convinced that he could out-talk the truth. He’d built his online image selling so-called “safe crypto programs” like Crypto Program, AMS (Automated Money System), COTP, IPC, FastBNB, and the Stable Trading 1.0 and 2.0 schemes.

He’d been a familiar face in affiliate Telegram groups — promising “ad-spend profits,” “copy-trading miracles,” and “residuals that will change your life.” The problem was that every single one of those programs turned out to be a Ponzi. And instead of apologising, he doubled down, blaming critics like Brandon Williams for “causing people to lose money.”

Hour 1 – The “I Don’t Know” Strategy

Within the first fifteen minutes, the pattern was obvious.
Brandon would quote something Morris had written — word for word — and Morris would answer with, “I don’t know,” “I can’t remember,” or the classic “that’s out of context.”

It started small: questions about threatening posts, accusations of “psychotic behaviour,” and the infamous claim that the plaintiff had “blackmailed” someone. Brandon asked for evidence. None existed.

Morris: “I don’t have any proof; it’s just what I believed.”
Brandon: “So you made that statement publicly without evidence?”
Morris: “I can’t recall.”

That phrase — I can’t recall — would become his life raft for the rest of the day.

The “Hyperbole” Defence

About twenty minutes into Hour 1, Brandon rolled a clip where Morris threatened to “chop your head off and your nuts.” Under oath, Morris didn’t deny it. He simply shrugged and said it was “hyperbole.”

Then came another line: “Find him and make him pay.”
Morris insisted it was metaphorical, just “fighting back” against evil.

Brandon didn’t raise his voice; he simply read the next message aloud:
“He has a family too.”

The room went still. The meaning was obvious, and Morris’s smirk disappeared.
When asked why a man of faith would write something that could be read as a threat, he muttered, “I was angry.”

Watching it play out, you could see the moment his bluster cracked. Every time he tried to pivot into victim mode, Brandon would quietly bring him back to his own words.

The Deflection Dance

At about forty-five minutes in, Morris tried his next move: accuse the investigator of being the problem. He claimed the warnings about Ponzi schemes were “interference” and that Brandon’s blogs were “costing people money.”

Brandon simply asked, “Do you have proof that anyone lost money because of me?”

Morris: “People don’t like you. It’s like having a guy with a sign outside your store scaring customers away.”
Brandon: “So warning people about a scam is bad for business?”
Morris: “Exactly.”

That was one of those moments where you can actually see cognitive dissonance form in real time.
He couldn’t hear himself contradicting the entire premise of honest business.

I found myself laughing — not because it was funny, but because the absurdity was so complete. You don’t need a documentary voiceover when the subject says lines like that under oath.

Losing Control of the Narrative

By the end of the first hour, Morris’s temper was simmering.
He called questions “irrelevant,” muttered “this stupid case,” and even tried to lecture Brandon on how “reasonable people would laugh this out of court.”

That’s usually what scammers say right before the laughter stops.

Brandon stayed unflinching. Every time Morris slipped into sarcasm or personal insults, the next exhibit would appear — a screenshot, a Telegram chat, or one of his own videos. The facts had no emotion. They just existed.

Somewhere around the fifty-minute mark, Morris started to realize that everything he’d ever said online was now evidence. The Telegram messages, the affiliate dashboards, the video clips — all sitting in front of him.

I’ve seen that look before. It’s the moment the showman realises the spotlight isn’t his friend anymore.

Hour 1 Recap

Defamation: Morris admitted he had no proof behind several public accusations.
Threats: Confirmed violent language, dismissed as “hyperbole.”
Deflection: Tried to blame the whistle-blower for his own investor losses.
Tone: From confident to combative to visibly cornered.

And that was just the first sixty minutes.

The rest of the deposition would go much deeper — money, commissions, deleted evidence, and one shocking admission that left even the court reporter frozen for a moment.

“Make Him Pay” and the Collapse of Composure

By the second hour, Scott Morris had run out of “I don’t recalls.”
That’s when the anger set in. The first hour had been mostly deflection and performance — the kind of routine he’d perfected on YouTube and Telegram. But under oath, with Brandon Williams calmly dismantling his script, you could feel the tension building.

This was no longer about internet comments. This was about credibility — and Morris was losing it one contradiction at a time.

Hour 2 – When the Threats Hit the Transcript

Roughly an hour and fifteen minutes into the deposition, Brandon pulled up one of Morris’s messages to his followers:

“Find him and make him pay.”
“He has a family too.”

The court reporter read it out slowly. Every syllable landed like a stone.

Morris tried to explain it away: “That was about serving papers.”
Brandon leaned forward: “You didn’t have a lawsuit filed at that time, did you?”
Morris paused. “No.”

That’s the moment when even he realised the words didn’t match the reality.

He wasn’t talking about serving papers — he was talking about revenge.

He later added: “I believe in making people pay for their evil deeds.”
Brandon asked him point blank: “What evil deed are you referring to?”
Morris’s answer? “Reporting on me.”

That’s what it boils down to in every scam I’ve ever investigated — the moment a promoter mistakes journalism for evil.

The Family Comment

When Brandon asked why Morris mentioned his family, he tried to play dumb.
He said he didn’t mean it as a threat, just a “statement of fact.”

But you can’t unring that bell. Everyone in the room knew what it meant.

It’s the oldest intimidation tactic in the book: mention someone’s family, then act like it’s harmless.
And it never works in a legal setting.

Brandon didn’t bite. He didn’t need to. The record already spoke for itself.

Hour 2, Fifteen Minutes – The Blackmail Claim

Next came another lie, one that Morris had repeated online for months — that Brandon had “blackmailed” people.

Brandon asked a simple question: “Do you have evidence of blackmail?”
Morris said, “No, but that’s what you do for a living.”

He was cornered, and his only defence was projection.

When pressed again, he admitted there was no evidence.
None.

That’s defamation, right there, sealed in transcript form.

You could see the shift in the room. Brandon didn’t raise his voice, didn’t gloat. He just paused long enough for the silence to do the heavy lifting.

It’s what I call the “truth vacuum” — that awkward, echoing gap that forms when someone’s story collapses under its own weight.

The “Make Him Pay” Paradox

Halfway through Hour 2, Brandon asked:
“When you said he’ll pay a heavy price, what did you mean?”

Morris replied, “Spending money on lawyers. Standing before a jury.”

Except — and here’s the kicker — there wasn’t a lawsuit when he said it.

So either he was psychic, or he was bluffing.

Brandon pointed that out. Morris tried to change the subject, but the damage was done. Every explanation just dug the hole deeper.

Then he dropped the line that perfectly sums up this entire deposition:

“Any normal American male would do the same.”

That’s how scammers justify aggression. They make it sound like common sense.

Hour 2, Forty-Five Minutes – The Vulgar Dig

Then came the comment that made even the court reporter shift in her seat.

“He has a serious problem that will bring him to his knees… I suspect he likes being on his knees.”

When Brandon asked what he meant, Morris pretended not to know.
He said, “I don’t recall. Maybe it was about bringing you to justice.”

Right. Because that’s how everyone talks about justice.

The room went quiet again. You could almost hear the mechanical keyboard clicks from the court reporter trying not to laugh.

Brandon stayed stone-faced. No emotion, just the next question.

That’s what makes him such an effective investigator — he doesn’t feed the chaos, he lets it burn itself out.

Hour 3 – The Ponzi Paradox

A little over two hours in, Brandon changed gears. He shifted from the threats to the money.

That’s when things really started to unravel.

He brought up a message between Morris and his associate, Gary Wood, dated January 31, 2023:

“I still think it’s a Ponzi all run by Ed… but we should get two years out of it.”

This line will go down in scam-fighting history.

You can see the exact moment Morris realises he’s been caught — the half-second pause before he blurts out:
“It was just speculation… I was debating with a friend.”

Brandon didn’t buy it.
He pointed out that Morris had written “I still think” — not “I wonder if.”

That’s not speculation. That’s belief.

Morris tried to hide behind semantics, calling it “fast-paced Telegram shorthand.”

I actually laughed out loud watching that. Fast-paced shorthand doesn’t change the meaning of the word “believe.”

Then he snapped:

“In the future, I’ll be careful to use speculative language to protect myself from scumbags like you.”

That’s the kind of line you can’t script. It’s pure self-destruction.

He was blaming the investigator for not letting him word his frauds more carefully.

Believing in Ponzi Schemes — and Selling Them Anyway

Brandon asked: “Do you believe today that Crypto Program was a Ponzi scheme?”
Morris answered: “I don’t know. I think it was a trading PAM.”

A minute later, Brandon read another quote where Morris said, “I still think it’s a Ponzi all run by Ed.”

When asked what new information changed his mind, Morris said, “I don’t know.”

Brandon asked again, “What confirmation did you receive that proved it wasn’t a Ponzi scheme?”
Morris paused. “None.”

There it was — the heart of the entire case.

He admitted he had no confirmation that it was legitimate, yet he continued to promote it as “ultra safe” and “a real business.”

He literally said under oath:

“If I believe it’s a real business, that’s the message I’m going to convey to my customers until I have confirmed information otherwise.”

That’s not due diligence. That’s marketing fiction.

And it’s exactly how people lose their life savings.

The Debate That Wasn’t a Debate

Brandon pointed to the rest of that Telegram exchange with Gary Wood:

“I still think it’s a Ponzi all run by Ed.”
“But we should get two years out of it.”
Gary: “Probably. Two years and I’m playing full-time.”
Morris: “Me too. Hell, one year.”

Brandon asked: “Would you call that a debate?”
Morris replied, “Yes, we were tossing ideas around. He might’ve been skiing.”

That’s one of those excuses that belong in a museum.

It’s not a debate when both sides agree the thing’s a Ponzi but hope to ride it until the collapse. That’s Ponzi logic 101 — as long as you get yours before the music stops, you call it a “business.”

Hour 3, Forty Minutes – The “Utter [__]” Admission

Around the three-hour, forty-minute mark, Brandon produced another message.

“I’ve always thought the ‘can’t reveal the company’ line is utter [__]. I’ve always figured it was Ed.”

Brandon asked, “If you thought the founder was lying, why did you keep promoting it as a real business?”

Morris said, “That’s not a lie. Not revealing a trade secret isn’t lying.”

Brandon pointed out that he literally called it utter [__].
Morris shrugged. “It’s [__], but it’s not a lie.”

You can’t make this stuff up.

He admitted he thought the project was nonsense, said the owner was hiding the company, and still told the public it was “safe.”

That’s the mind of a promoter — logic evaporates the moment profit enters the room.

End of Hour 3 – The Meltdown

By the end of Hour 3, Morris was flustered, sarcastic, and visibly sweating.
He started snapping at questions, calling the deposition “a stupid case” and Brandon “a prick.”

He’d lost all composure.

That’s what happens when the showman runs out of script.

The facts were now overwhelming:

He admitted he made six figures from commissions.
He admitted he thought the program was a Ponzi.
He admitted he kept promoting it anyway.
And he admitted he deleted videos to avoid subpoenas.

The story was no longer his to control.

And Brandon Williams didn’t need to say a word. He’d already won by staying factual.

Commissions, Deletions, and the Suicide Admission

If the first three hours were a slow unravelling, the fourth hour was the collapse.
By this point, Scott Morris had tried every escape route — denial, humour, semantics, “hyperbole.” None of it worked. Brandon Williams from Ponzi Patrol kept bringing him back to one simple principle: What did you say, and what did you know when you said it?

You could almost feel the shift. The room had gone from tense to resigned. Even Morris’s objections started to sound tired.

Hour 4 – The Numbers Don’t Lie

About three hours in, the questioning turned to money — and that’s where the contradictions became impossible to dodge.

Brandon read directly from the transcript:

“You profited from referral commissions from some of these passive income schemes, correct?”
Morris: “Sometimes I have in the past.”

Then came the hammer:

“Was it about a hundred thousand dollars a month at one point?”
Morris: “At one point, yes.”

A hundred grand a month — all from referrals. Not from trading, not from products, not from “ad spend,” but from getting other people to buy in.

That’s the definition of a pyramid-style Ponzi promotion.

Brandon followed up: “How much did you personally invest?”
Morris snapped: “None of your business!”

Moments later, he admitted it was “around $3,000.”

That’s when the math became damning. He’d made roughly a hundred thousand a month while only risking three grand of his own money — and even that turned out to be misleading because he claimed to have “funded” accounts for his wife and niece.

Brandon wasn’t having it. “So you personally invested $3,000, but were earning $100,000 per month?”
Morris: “In affiliate fees, yes.”

Every scam investigator in the world could have stopped the tape right there. The scheme wasn’t “investment.” It was recruitment income dressed up as trading profit.

When Faith Meets Fiction

Around the 3-hour, 45-minute mark, Brandon asked why he never invested more himself.

“You didn’t invest more because you believed it was a Ponzi scheme, correct?”

Morris stumbled:

“Not true. I never knew it was a Ponzi scheme to this day.”

That’s a sentence you only hear from people who absolutely did know.

He then contradicted himself moments later, admitting:

“There was a point I suspected it could be.”

Brandon leaned in: “And at that time, you were still promoting it as a safe, real business?”
Morris: “I don’t know if it was at the same time.”

Classic dodge — trying to create a timeline buffer where ethics should be.

But the documents don’t lie. The messages from that exact week show him telling Gary Wood that it was “a Ponzi all run by Ed” while simultaneously emailing followers calling it “ultra safe.”

The juxtaposition is perfect — private truth versus public sales pitch.

Hour 4, Fifteen Minutes – “I Loved This Program”

Then Brandon brought up another message from January 31, 2023:

“I’ve got 512 total referrals and residual of around $23,000 a month. I [__] love this program. Been in two months, pulled in over 40K so far. This is almost as good as COTP.”

When asked if he thought COTP was a Ponzi, Morris hedged: “I don’t know.”

But the next message killed that defence:

“I still think it’s a Ponzi all run by Ed.”

Brandon asked: “So it’s fair to say that on January 31st you believed it was a Ponzi scheme?”
Morris: “I was speculating with a friend.”

That “friend,” of course, was Gary Wood — another promoter.

Brandon pressed again: “You weren’t asking questions; you were making a statement of belief.”
Morris snapped back: “In the future, I’ll be more careful to say ‘it’s possible’ — to protect myself from scumbags like you.”

That line will go down as one of the most self-defeating moments of any Ponzi deposition.
He literally said out loud that his future lies would just be phrased more carefully.

Hour 4, Forty Minutes – The Deletion Admission

As the fourth hour rolled on, Brandon introduced one of the more incriminating clips — a recording of Morris telling his audience:

“Myself and Jamzy have deleted all our videos because the feds can subpoena them from YouTube. Deleting them was the best course of action to protect the program.”

Brandon asked directly: “Why delete them if you had nothing to hide?”
Morris smirked: “It wasn’t to hide evidence.”

Brandon fired back: “Then why mention subpoenas?”
Morris: “Because that’s who you work for.”

That’s what happens when someone forgets they’re under oath — they start performing again, as if this were another livestream.

But this time, every sentence was being recorded by a court reporter, not a YouTube chat.

Deleting videos “because the feds can subpoena them” is as close as you get to an open confession of consciousness of guilt.

He’d just said the quiet part out loud.

Hour 4, Fifty-Five Minutes – The Suicide Admission

Then came the most haunting moment of the entire day.

Brandon played an audio clip of Morris speaking to his group:

“I just heard of another woman who committed suicide because she mortgaged her house and everything she had to buy into AMS. Now her legacy is gone and she has nothing to leave her children.”

When asked if that was him speaking, Morris admitted, “That’s me.”

Brandon followed up carefully: “And you made videos showing people how to take out loans and access credit to invest in these programs, correct?”
Morris: “Yes.”

He tried to claim there was “no connection between the two things,” but the damage was irreversible.

He knew that people were mortgaging homes to invest in these programs — and he kept pushing the narrative anyway.

I’ve seen plenty of scams implode, but hearing a man acknowledge that a woman took her own life after following his lead was gut-wrenching.

That’s the moment you stop laughing.

The deposition room went completely silent.

Hour 5 – Regulators Close In

When the fifth hour began, Brandon moved into the final phase — accountability.

He asked whether Morris remembered the June 2023 cease-and-desist order from the California Department of Financial Protection and Innovation (DFPI), which declared the Crypto Program was operating as a Ponzi.
Morris said, “I think so.”

Then Brandon reminded him that Ed Zimbardi, Chris Livingston, and Raymond Gimpil had all been sued for fraud the following month.

He asked: “Did you see that lawsuit?”
Morris: “I don’t think I looked at it.”

Brandon: “Are you concerned you might be added as a defendant?”
Morris: “No.”

That kind of arrogance always catches up.

Because moments later, he admitted he’d been subpoenaed by both the SEC and the CFTC.

Brandon: “There’s a mountain of evidence against you, isn’t there?”
Morris: “No.”
Brandon: “Didn’t you text Gary Wood that there’s a mountain of evidence that would work well in a civil action?”
Morris: “It doesn’t mean it’s true.”

And there it was again — the pattern. When it helps him, it’s the truth. When it hurts him, it’s “just speculation.”

Hour 5, Twenty Minutes – The “Mountain of Evidence” Message

Brandon read the full quote aloud from a May 1, 2024 message:

“Lawsuits coming involving you, me, SG, Jamzy. We may have done nothing wrong, but they’ll dig [__] up on me for sure. None of us are pure except maybe Jamzy. Hope your lawyers have advised you there may not be any criminal evidence to pin on you, but there’s a mountain of evidence that will work well in a civil action.”

Morris acknowledged it was his message.

Brandon: “What did you mean by ‘mountain of evidence’?”
Morris: “I don’t know. I was debating with business associates.”

That was his answer to everything — “debating.”

He debated threats, debated suicides, debated Ponzi admissions.

The man had apparently spent his entire career “debating” reality.

Hour 5, Forty Minutes – The Stable Trading Schemes

Next came the Stable Trading saga — his copy-trading “PAMM” projects.

Brandon asked: “Why would people invest in Stable Trading 1.0?”
Morris: “To make a profit.”

Simple enough. But then came the crucial question:
“What brokerage did they have to use?”
Morris: “The same one I was using.”

That was Mugan Markets, a brokerage already hit with warnings from the British Columbia Securities Commission.

When Brandon pointed that out, Morris sneered: “Canada doesn’t regulate us in the U.S.”

A perfect summary of how promoters think: if it’s not my regulator, it’s not real.

Then Brandon asked what happened to the money.

Morris: “It was lost by the trader, or it went away with Mugan Markets. I don’t know.”

He always “didn’t know.” Yet, somehow, he always collected commissions.

Brandon pointed out that he had warned the public about Mugan Markets before it collapsed.
Morris responded: “You’re always fussing around in my audience.”

Brandon: “If everyone had listened to my warning, they wouldn’t have lost money, correct?”
Morris hesitated. “Possibly.”

Then, unbelievably, he added:

“You cost people money by warning them.”

It’s the Ponzi promoter’s creed: if you expose the scam, you’re the problem.

Hour 5, Fifty Minutes – The Final Breakdown

As the deposition wound down, Morris began answering every question with sarcasm or contempt.

Brandon asked how many traders he’d recruited — he couldn’t remember.
Asked how many were profitable — he didn’t know.
Asked whether it was time to stop promoting failing programs — “No.”

That was the final word. No remorse, no reflection, no accountability.

Just “No.”

Then the court reporter said, “We are off the record.”

For a brief moment, everyone thought it was over. But the judge — referred to as “Judge Al” — rejoined a few minutes later to clarify the record and confirm the paperwork.

Even at the very end, Morris was arguing about logistics — claiming he didn’t need a court reporter for the next session, as if this were optional.

It was the perfect metaphor for the whole day:
A man so used to ignoring accountability that he thought he could skip the transcript.

End of Part 3 Summary

By the time the cameras stopped rolling, the record was devastating.
In his own words, Scott Morris had:

Admitted earning six figures a month in referral commissions while investing almost nothing himself.
Admitted privately believing Crypto Program was a Ponzi while publicly calling it “ultra safe.”
Admitted deleting evidence after acknowledging federal subpoenas.
Admitted to a woman’s suicide tied to one of the schemes he promoted.
Acknowledged being subpoenaed by both the SEC and the CFTC.
Blamed a journalist for “causing” people to lose money by warning them.

He was, in every possible sense, exposed.

And Brandon Williams didn’t need drama, insults, or clickbait.
He did it with patience, receipts, and facts.

That’s why this deposition matters — it’s a public record of how truth dismantles arrogance.

The Dirty-Tactics Playbook and Why Brandon Won Without Raising His Voice

When the court reporter packed up her machine and the camera light finally dimmed, I sat there thinking, I’ve seen this movie before.
The names change — the jargon, the Telegram handles, the “secret trading bots” — but the script is always the same.
And this deposition captured every scene in high definition.

The Promoter’s Playbook

If you’ve ever studied how Ponzi promoters operate, Scott Morris just performed the entire manual under oath:

Step 1 – Deny and Deflect.
Start every answer with “I don’t recall.”
Pretend ignorance is innocence.

Step 2 – Vilify the Messenger.
Call the investigator “evil,” “a scumbag,” or “a prick.”
Convince followers that exposure equals persecution.

Step 3 – Blur the Timeline.
When caught, say you “didn’t know at the time.”
If the evidence proves you did, claim it was “speculation.”

Step 4 – Cash First, Truth Later.
Admit to earning six-figure commissions while risking pocket change.
Call it “affiliate marketing,” not recruiting.

Step 5 – Delete the Evidence.
Pretend wiping YouTube videos is “best practice.”
Blame the Feds for your decision to hide receipts.

Step 6 – Play the Martyr.
When all else fails, cry censorship.
Accuse journalists of destroying livelihoods — never mind the investors who lost theirs.

Brandon Williams let each of those tactics expose itself.
He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t editorialise.
He simply documented the unraveling.

Why Brandon Won

Watching Brandon work reminded me why solid investigative questioning beats outrage every time.
He never needed to insult Morris — he just kept asking “What did you mean by that?” until the contradictions piled up.

While Morris fumed, Brandon sat with a small notepad and a quiet grin.
He knew he didn’t have to win the argument; he just had to let the record roll.
And that’s exactly what Ponzi Patrol does best — evidence over emotion.

You could see the professionalism in how he handled the suicide admission.
No theatrics, no grandstanding — just a pause, a lowered tone, and a simple, devastating question:
“Do you understand how serious that is?”
Morris mumbled something about having “no connection,” and the silence did the rest.

That’s investigative discipline.
That’s journalism.

The Bigger Picture

What this deposition really exposed wasn’t just one man’s misconduct; it was an entire culture.
The Crypto Program, AMS, COTP, IPC, Fast BNB, Stable Trading 1.0 and 2.0 — every single one of them followed the same pattern:

Promise effortless income.
Hide the real source of payouts.
Recruit relentlessly.
Collapse.
Blame the critics.

Morris happened to be the one sitting in the chair, but he represents a larger ecosystem of YouTube promoters, Telegram hustlers, and “financial freedom coaches” who have all convinced themselves that affiliate income equals expertise.

These schemes aren’t about investing; they’re about transferring belief for profit.
And when that belief runs out, they need a villain.
Brandon Williams became that villain — until the transcript flipped the script.

Hour 5 Aftermath – The Echo Chamber

In the days following the deposition, Morris’s followers doubled down online.
They called it a witch-hunt, a smear, a “setup by the haters.”
I’ve watched that cycle a hundred times: the cult of personality refuses to believe the facts even when they’re read aloud in court.

But here’s the beauty of sworn testimony: it doesn’t need believers.
It’s preserved forever.
Every “I don’t know,” every “hyperbole,” every “protect myself from scumbags like you” line is now part of the public record.
No spin can erase it.

Humour in the Madness

You have to keep a sense of humour when you wade through this stuff daily, otherwise the absurdity will crush you.
There were moments in this deposition where I genuinely laughed — like when Morris claimed he and his partner might have been “skiing” during their “Ponzi debate.”

Or when he said Canada’s regulator “doesn’t regulate us in the U.S.”
That’s the kind of logic that should come with a warning label: Do not attempt this argument in a courtroom.

But behind the laughter is frustration.
Because for every outburst and joke, there’s a real investor sitting at home staring at a zero balance.
Someone believed the “ultra-safe” sales pitch, clicked a referral link, and watched their savings vanish.
And that’s why humour has to coexist with outrage — it’s the only way to process the madness without losing your humanity.

Vindicating Ponzi Patrol

Let’s be clear: this deposition vindicates Brandon Williams and his channel Ponzi Patrol.
For months he was accused of harassment, stalking, even blackmail — none of which held water.
Under oath, Morris admitted he had no evidence for any of those claims.

What Brandon did have was proof — chat logs, voice notes, affiliate dashboards, income claims, deleted videos.
He showed what happens when you confront deception with data.
No shouting, no editing tricks, just pure accountability.

That’s the real service Ponzi Patrol provides.
Not entertainment — education.
Each video becomes a case study in how manipulation works and how truth dismantles it.

Lessons for the Public

If you’re reading this and wondering how to protect yourself, learn from this deposition:

If a program pays you for recruiting others, it’s not investing — it’s marketing a Ponzi.
If promoters earn more from referrals than from the product, run.
If someone deletes content after regulators start asking questions, take screenshots.
And if they attack the people warning you, that’s confirmation you’re being misled.

Brandon’s work, and by extension every whistle-blower’s, is about prevention.
We can’t save everyone’s money, but we can stop the next victim before they click “deposit.”

The Human Cost

We can’t ignore the woman Morris mentioned — the one who took her own life after mortgaging her home to join AMS.
Her story is why this matters.
Behind every “creative-financing” video and every “residual-income” claim, there’s someone desperate enough to believe it.
That’s the tragedy that fuels every investigation I do.

The deposition immortalised that reality in black-and-white: a promoter acknowledging a death tied to his promotion, yet still insisting it’s irrelevant.
If that doesn’t make you want to fight harder, nothing will.

Closing Reflections – The Tape Speaks for Itself

After four-and-a-half hours, Brandon didn’t need a victory speech.
The deposition itself was the verdict.

Morris’s own words revealed the truth:

He knew the risks.
He hid the warnings.
He profited anyway.
And when confronted, he blamed the messenger.

That’s not conjecture — that’s the record.

When you watch the footage, you don’t see a villain in handcuffs; you see a man trapped by his own sentences, trying to edit them in real time.
But transcripts have no backspace key.

I’ve always said sunlight is the best disinfectant.
What Brandon Williams and Ponzi Patrol did was open the blinds.
And once the light poured in, the shadows had nowhere left to hide.

Epilogue – The Names and the Schemes

For documentation, here’s a factual summary of the programs and individuals referenced during the deposition:

Crypto Program – Promoted by Scott Morris as an ad-spend investment; alleged Ponzi linked to Ed Zimbardi and Kit Naggel.
AMS (Automated Money System) – Connected to Zimbardi; victim suicide referenced by Morris.
COTP, IPC, Fast BNB – Earlier Ponzi programs he praised as “almost as good.”
Stable Trading 1.0 and 2.0 – Copy-trading PAMM setups using the Mugan Markets brokerage, later hit with Canadian regulatory warnings.
Individuals Mentioned: Ed Zimbardi, Gary Wood, Jay Offner, Chris Livingston, Raymond Gimpil, Sergio, Antonella, Jamzy (Jamsy), and SG – each referenced in connection with various schemes or private chats.

All information above is drawn directly from the public deposition transcript and associated regulatory filings.

Final Word

If you take one thing from this story, let it be this:
When the receipts are on record, the truth doesn’t need narration.

Brandon Williams of Ponzi Patrol proved that in four-and-a-half unforgettable hours.
He didn’t expose Scott Morris with insults or rumours — he let Scott Morris expose himself.

And that, my friends, is what real scam-fighting looks like.

Disclaimer: How This Investigation Was Conducted

This investigation relies entirely on OSINT — Open Source Intelligence — meaning every claim made here is based on publicly available records, archived web pages, corporate filings, domain data, social media activity, and open blockchain transactions. No private data, hacking, or unlawful access methods were used. OSINT is a powerful and ethical tool for exposing scams without violating privacy laws or overstepping legal boundaries.

About the Author

I’m DANNY DE HEK, a New Zealand–based YouTuber, investigative journalist, and OSINT researcher. I name and shame individuals promoting or marketing fraudulent schemes through my channel, DANNY DE HEK INVESTIGATIONS. Every video I produce exposes the people behind scams, Ponzi schemes, and MLM frauds — holding them accountable in public.

My PODCAST is an extension of that work. It’s distributed across 18 major platforms — including Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, YouTube, and iHeartRadio — so when scammers try to hide, my content follows them everywhere. If you prefer listening to my investigations instead of watching, you’ll find them on every major podcast service.

You can BOOK ME for private consultations or SPEAKING ENGAGEMENTS, where I share first-hand experience from years of exposing large-scale fraud and helping victims recover.

“Stop losing your future to financial parasites. Subscribe. Expose. Protect.”

My work exposing crypto fraud has been featured in:

Bloomberg Documentary (2025): A 20-minute exposé on Ponzi schemes and crypto card fraud
News.com.au (2025): Profiled as one of the leading scam-busters in Australasia
OpIndia (2025): Cited for uncovering Pakistani software houses linked to drug trafficking, visa scams, and global financial fraud
The Press / Stuff.co.nz (2023): Successfully defeated $3.85M gag lawsuit; court ruled it was a vexatious attempt to silence whistleblowing
The Guardian Australia (2023): National warning on crypto MLMs affecting Aussie families
ABC News Australia (2023): Investigation into Blockchain Global and its collapse
The New York Times (2022): A full two-page feature on dismantling HyperVerse and its global network
Radio New Zealand (2022): “The Kiwi YouTuber Taking Down Crypto Scammers From His Christchurch Home”
Otago Daily Times (2022): A profile on my investigative work and the impact of crypto fraud in New Zealand

The truth doesn’t fear lawyers — only fraudsters do.

Brandon Williams Exposes Scott Morris — Ponzi Patrol’s Four-Hour Deposition That Spoke for Itself