Greedy Scammer Stole Millions From Medicare During Pandemic

Corey Alston, a 47-year-old from Fort Lauderdale, stood in a courtroom this week and admitted to a crime that cuts to the heart of America’s healthcare system. He pleaded guilty to orchestrating a scheme that siphoned over $8.4 million from Medicare, exploiting the chaos of the COVID-19 pandemic to line his own pockets. Alongside his accomplice, Latresia Wilson, Alston illegally purchased Medicare beneficiary identification numbers and used them to bill for unrequested COVID-19 test kits, raking in $2.3 million personally while leaving taxpayers to foot the bill. This isn’t just a story of one man’s greed; it’s a glaring symptom of a system under siege.

The audacity of Alston’s actions stings because Medicare isn’t some faceless bureaucracy; it’s a lifeline for millions of Americans, especially the elderly and vulnerable. When fraudsters like him exploit it, they don’t just steal money, they erode trust in a program that’s already stretched thin. The Justice Department’s announcement this week laid bare the scale of the deception: over seven months, Alston and his crew submitted claims that Medicare paid out $2.6 million for, all for tests beneficiaries neither wanted nor needed. It’s a gut punch to anyone who believes healthcare should heal, not harm.

This case demands our attention not because it’s unique, but because it’s all too common. Fraud has become a parasite on Medicare, draining billions annually and threatening the care real people depend on. Alston’s guilty plea is a victory for accountability, but it’s also a call to action. We can’t keep letting profiteers bleed our public programs dry while the rest of us scramble to pick up the pieces.

Let’s talk numbers, because they tell a story words alone can’t capture. In Fiscal Year 2024, the government clawed back $1.7 billion through False Claims Act settlements tied to healthcare fraud, a staggering figure that only scratches the surface. Estimates peg improper payments across Medicare and Medicaid at $134 billion in 2023, a chunk of which flows straight into the hands of scammers. Alston’s $8.4 million haul is a drop in that bucket, but it’s a drop that ripples. Every dollar stolen is a dollar not spent on a senior’s medication, a child’s therapy, or a family’s peace of mind.

The COVID-19 pandemic opened a floodgate for this kind of abuse. When free test kit distribution ended in May 2023, fraudsters pounced, sending unsolicited kits to beneficiaries and billing Medicare $94 a pop. In Oklahoma, reports documented over 276 unrequested kits, costing taxpayers more than $18,000 in mere months. Alston’s scheme fits this pattern perfectly, exploiting a public health crisis for private gain. Meanwhile, honest providers and patients are left navigating a system strained by these losses, facing higher costs and fewer resources.

Some might argue this is just the cost of a big program, that fraud is inevitable when you’re insuring millions. That excuse doesn’t hold water. The Health Care Fraud Strike Force Program, launched in 2007, proves we can fight back. By 2024, it had charged over 193 defendants in cases involving $2.75 billion in false claims, seizing millions in assets from crooks like Alston. This isn’t an unsolvable problem; it’s a battle we’re winning, step by step, when we prioritize it. The real question is why we’re still tolerating a system that lets these schemes flourish in the first place.

History backs this up. Decades ago, the Columbia/HCA scandal saw $1.7 billion in settlements over fraudulent billing, a wake-up call that should’ve fortified Medicare against predators. Yet here we are, watching Alston and Wilson pull the same tricks with new tools. The Medicare Access and CHIP Reauthorization Act of 2015 tried to plug one hole by criminalizing the sale of beneficiary IDs, but the black market still thrives. A South Florida man recently netted $310,000 selling 2.6 million numbers, proof the law alone isn’t enough without relentless enforcement.

What’s at stake isn’t just money; it’s lives. Fraud jacks up out-of-pocket costs for beneficiaries and slashes funding for legitimate care. When a California doctor billed $230 million for fake COVID-19 services under an uninsured program, it wasn’t an abstract loss; it was real people denied real help. Alston’s millions could’ve funded countless doctor visits or hospital beds. Instead, they bought him a windfall while the rest of us paid the price.

Alston and Wilson now face up to five years in prison, a sentence that feels both satisfying and insufficient. Federal sentencing guidelines for healthcare fraud average around 30 months, often reduced for cooperation, as 53.2% of offenders saw in 2022. Alston’s July 9 sentencing will test whether the courts see his $2.3 million take as a grave enough betrayal to max out that penalty. Wilson’s May 15 date looms too, a reminder that accountability is coming, however slowly. But jail time won’t undo the damage; it’s a bandage on a wound that needs surgery.

The Justice Department’s Fraud Section deserves credit here. Their National Rapid Response Strike Force, alongside the FBI and HHS-OIG, tracked Alston’s scheme with precision, building a case that forced his confession. Since 2007, this program has charged over 5,800 defendants linked to $30 billion in fraudulent billings, a track record that shames anyone who says fraud can’t be stopped. Yet for every win, new scams emerge, exploiting telemedicine, addiction treatment, even opioid rackets. It’s a hydra we’re slashing at, not slaying.

Opponents might claim harsh penalties deter honest providers, that cracking down risks chilling innovation or care. That’s a flimsy dodge. The data shows offenders like Alston, typically U.S. citizens with clean records, aren’t accidental rule-breakers; they’re calculated thieves. The Strike Force’s success in Miami and Detroit, nailing $1.1 billion in telemedicine scams, proves targeted enforcement works without hobbling legitimate doctors. The only ones deterred are the ones who belong behind bars.

Corey Alston’s guilty plea isn’t the end of this story; it’s a flare lighting up a bigger fight. Medicare fraud isn’t a victimless crime or a bureaucratic hiccup; it’s an assault on a system millions rely on, one we’ve built to reflect our values of care and fairness. Every fraudulent claim chips away at that foundation, and every dollar recovered is a step toward reclaiming it. The $2.6 million Medicare paid out to Alston’s lies is gone, but the lesson isn’t: we can’t afford to look away.

This is about more than punishment; it’s about prevention. Strengthening Medicare means funding the Strike Force, tightening data security, and holding scammers accountable before they cash out. It means recognizing that healthcare isn’t a free-for-all; it’s a public trust. Alston’s greed exposed the cracks, but it’s on us to seal them, not with half-measures, but with the fierce resolve to protect what’s ours.