Here's to the Losers
The U.S. Attorney’s Office for the District of Nevada has confirmed a landmark conviction in a $24 million cryptocurrency Ponzi scheme that left over 400 investors devastated. Brent Kovar, owner of Profit Connect, was found guilty on 11 counts of wire fraud, 2 counts of mail fraud, and 2 counts of money laundering for orchestrating the scam between 2019 and 2021. Kovar misled investors by claiming his company used AI supercomputers to mine cryptocurrency and promised guaranteed annual returns of 15% to 30%. Instead, he funneled funds into Ponzi-style payouts, luxury gifts for employees, and a personal home. Sentencing is set for November 30, 2026, where he faces a statutory maximum of 280 years in prison. While the SEC froze assets in July 2021, including transfers to Kovar’s mother, Joy I. Kovar, recovery for victims remains uncertain and likely partial.
Behind the legal victory lies a quieter, more human tragedy. The names of the 400+ victims are absent from the press release and subsequent reports, their stories buried under docket numbers and evidence control. They are the real losers. Their loss is not just financial; it is deeply personal. The crime was an act of bad faith. Many entrusted life savings, retirement funds, or money meant for their children’s futures, lured by the promise of AI-driven crypto wealth during the height of the pandemic’s economic uncertainty.
The shame of being deceived often compounds the grief, silencing victims who fear public exposure or judgment. This is where art reflects reality. In 2021, as the Kovar case unfolded, I was in the midst of a personal reckoning. I had moved to Las Vegas intending to study the body language of this very type of con artist—their swagger, their magnanimity, their assurance—the performance criminal. It was ever the mass appeal of Las Vegas to rub shoulders with the rich and powerful. I wanted to idealize the heroic “winner” in art. But the more I looked, the more I realized I lacked the determination of a detective or the relentless curiosity of a journalist.
As it turned out, I felt no empathy for the predators. Instead, my gaze kept turning to their victims. The pandemic had stripped away all illusions. Masks, tedious expert opinion, lines of fearful people, empty plazas, families losing homes under threat, work-from-home (or not working), were the true face of 2021. There were no winners, anywhere. My paintings of the visible sufferers—the homeless, the displaced, the defeated—became symbolic stand-ins for the unknown victims, the disappeared. They are not depictions of individuals, but of a state: the quiet devastation of trust betrayed, the erosion of hope, the weight of being left behind in a world that rewards success and spotlight over empathy.
The Kovar verdict is a legal closure, but it is not justice for the victims. Restitution may come, but it will likely be a fraction of what was lost. Many will not come forth to claim it. The courtroom drama has ended, but the silence of those who can no longer afford to dream persists. My art seeks to give the nameless identity—not as statistics—but as human beings who fell through the cracks of a system that made them believe they could win, only to be left with nothing.
In the end, the arrow I aimed at the con artist missed its mark, striking the victim instead. And in that miss, I found my true subject: not the con artist, but the fool for an illusion.