Speaker: She built an empire producing true crime shows about

fraud, murder, and deception.

Then she ended up on FBI's most wanted list, accused of stealing

more than thirty million dollars.

Welcome to Nothing Felt Wrong, where we share stories about scams, deception,

and manipulation, and how ordinary people get pulled into situations that feel

believable until suddenly they don't.

I'm Anne Genduso, and if you're fascinated by deception and human

behavior, take a seat next to me here at The Side Eye Society.

Today's story is about Mary Carole McDonnell, a television executive who

produced some of the best-known true crime series, including Corrupt Crimes,

Deep Undercover, and one of my personal favorites to binge, Murderous Affairs.

As CEO of Bellum Entertainment, McDonnell created a catalog of 30

shows with over 2,000 episodes.

And from all accounts, it appeared that this was a story of a wealthy heiress

who found a way to break out from her family's legacy to make her own mark in

Hollywood, until she became a fugitive.

So how does a successful true crime executive end up becoming the kind

of person true crime shows are about?

Let's find out.

In 2016, Mary Carole McDonnell appeared to have it all.

Her production company, Bellum Entertainment, was producing dozens

of popular shows with thousands of episodes, and they were syndicated

on major networks and aired on streaming services like Netflix.

She had found a profitable niche in the true crime market, and fans

couldn't get enough of her shows, like It Takes a Killer, I Married

a Murderer, and Bizarre Murders.

The shows featured expert commentators like former FBI agents and

retired law enforcement officers to paint a vivid picture of each

crime, and the formula worked.

In fact, fans were so insatiable that McDonnell could barely keep

up with the demand for new episodes

Under her leadership, production schedules tightened, crew members worked

long hours to produce more shows, and a new office opened outside of Bellum's

headquarters in Burbank, California.

And as any fiscally-minded CEO would, she did it all on an extremely

lean budget, which was bound to boost profits and please investors.

McDonnell kept her full-time staff size small, relying primarily on

freelancers and contractors to produce a steady slate of shows in a quick

churn, almost factory-like setting.

But extreme budgeting didn't extend to McDonnell's personal life.

She appeared to enjoy the fine luxuries and perks that came with success.

Each morning, she drove her Porsche through Burbank's media district to

the Bellum Entertainment office on West Alameda Ave, pulling into her

specially reserved CEO parking spot.

Colleagues say she religiously had her makeup done by the glam team

at the office, which is typically only for a studio's on-air talent

and not everyday employees.

For lunch, insiders say McDonnell often ate at Morton's Steakhouse, which was a

fine dining favorite for TV execs given its proximity to NBC and Warner Brothers.

And at the end of the workday, McDonnell could return to her $3.5 million

estate in the affluent La Cañada area just north of downtown Los Angeles.

For her after-hours leisure activities, McDonnell kept a 39-foot

boat docked in Newport Beach.

It was an opulent lifestyle for sure.

But there was another part of her story that made her accomplishments

seem even more impressive.

She wasn't just a successful television executive.

According to McDonnell, she was an heiress worth millions of dollars.

She said she was part of the McDonnell family dynasty, heir to the fortune

of McDonnell Douglas Corporation.

That was a major aerospace manufacturer and defense contractor

that merged with Boeing in 1997.

Ted Eccles, a fellow television producer and production company owner, told Rolling

Stone that McDonnell didn't hesitate to tell others about her family background.

When she offered to buy his production company, Eccles questioned how she'd

finance the venture, and according to him, McDonnell told him, quote,

"Well, my last name is McDonnell, and there's an enormous trust fund that

I am the beneficiary of in St. Louis, where my family's from, and I have lots

of financial resources." End quote.

But despite her reported heritage, McDonnell didn't rely

on familial wealth or connections to pave her way professionally.

It seemed she'd built her successful career by herself the hard-earned way.

Mary McDonnell achieved her executive status in the television industry

after starting at the very bottom.

Over decades, she worked her way up from secretary to CEO, branching out to

create her own company in the mid-2000s while still serving as VP of programming

at broadcasting company Raycom Media.

And in 2015, she stopped working for others to grow her production

and distribution company, Bellum Entertainment, full-time.

She was at the pinnacle of self-made success.

At least that's what everyone thought

So when payroll was late one day in 2017, Bellum employee Jeff Nimoy didn't

immediately assume something was wrong.

After all, the company was thriving, and he knew McDonnell was an aviation

heiress, so the payroll error must have just been a simple mistake.

Then it happened again.

Still, the Los Angeles showrunner figured things would work out

and paychecks would resume.

Nimoy believed he'd spend a 20-year career at Bellum.

As he told NBC News, quote, "There's no way this thing is going down. They've

got too much capital." End quote.

But soon he would find out how wrong he was.

After the first cracks appeared at Bellum Entertainment, payroll

problems quickly became commonplace.

Checks were often late, and when paychecks were issued, they weren't able

to be cashed, at least not immediately.

Sometimes the checks would bounce altogether, and people wanted to know what

was happening, So the company explained.

In June 2017, Bellum allegedly told staff that the company fell victim to

significant bank fraud, which was messing up payroll, and they were working with

their bank to resolve the problem.

A letter provided to CBS Los Angeles assured employees that Bellum was doing

well, and the funds would be distributed during a specific week in July, and

it thanked people for their patience.

But by the time that week rolled around, the money wasn't there,

and the company moved the deadline.

Still, it seemed reasonable that the problem would get sorted out and

eventually paychecks would be issued.

Because when the larger story makes sense, it's easy to find explanations

for anything out of the ordinary.

A missed paycheck wasn't evidence that Bellum was collapsing.

It was a banking problem, a temporary mistake, something

that surely would be fixed.

And as they say in the business, the show must go on.

Bellum's former supervising producer, Lee Frank, told CBS Los Angeles that

he was still hiring people even though his own paycheck wasn't processed.

He claimed he was owed close to $20,000 in pay that never materialized.

Then his new employees weren't paid either.

And beyond Bellum's full-time employees, vendors and contractors

started asking for their missing money.

Catering staff weren't reimbursed for purchasing food on set, actors weren't

paid for their time, and even former FBI agents and cops who appeared as

on-air experts were owed back pay.

In July 2017, Bellum employees enjoyed a week-long hiatus, which

was previously planned in celebration of the Independence Day holiday.

But when it was time to return, employees received an email saying the

break would be extended another week, and that further instructions would

follow about picking up paychecks.

Then the brand new New Orleans office shuttered mere weeks after it opened.

And when Mary Carole's own family members who worked for Bellum weren't paid,

including her nephew, Peter McDonnell, who had been the company's vice president

for 10 years, that's when everyone knew something was very, very wrong.

For the people who worked for Bellum, this wasn't just a

company having financial problems.

This was their monthly rent or mortgage checks, their groceries,

their kids' school supplies.

This was money they'd already earned from work already produced, and in some

cases, this was money already spent.

But for many, that money never made it to their bank accounts, so

they adapted as best they could.

some made light of the situation, recalling that payday meant an

impromptu race against their colleagues.

They learned just because they received a paycheck didn't mean they'd been paid.

Brian Testa, a producer and director for Bellum Entertainment, told NBC News,

quote, " There would be a mad dash out the door to get them to the banks before the

banks would close so you could cash them, because they would move money around.

I had a lot of bounced checks," end quote.

Andrew Nock, showrunner of Season 2 of Corrupt Crimes, recalled his

own experience to Business Insider.

Quote, "There was a woman at the bank who would start laughing, 'Oh no,

not more of these again,'" end quote.

Between bank runs, the unpaid workers turned to each other for solace.

Some employees formed a private Facebook group where they could share

their financial losses, commiserate with other victims, and find others

who were facing the same problem.

The Bellum class of 2017 group served as a psychological lifeline in a way.

Employees who might have thought they were facing payment problems

alone were able to realize that they weren't the only ones suffering, and

they didn't have to do it in silence.

In the community, they swapped notes to find out what was really happening.

Producer Korin Beckham started a poll to find out how much people

were owed, and at the time of her interview with CBS Los Angeles in

2017, the total was over $350,000.

All the while, Bellum was still promising everyone payment, but now

it would come on Monday, and then it was Tuesday, and then it was Saturday.

After all those empty promises, workers decided it was time to take their fight

to the next level, so they brought their case to the local government.

Roughly 50 employees filed unpaid wage claims to the California

Labor Commissioner's Office.

Other employees filed their own civil lawsuits in an

attempt to recoup unpaid wages.

And then there was Aaron Cadieux.

The former contractor decided filing a claim wasn't enough.

Aaron Cadieux wanted the money Bellum owed him, which was $2,000 from his work on an

episode of Mysteries of the Unexplained, but he also wanted something else.

He wanted Mary Carole McDonnell held accountable, and perhaps he wanted

her to get a taste of the fear and frustration that unpaid staff felt.

So he struck back at McDonnell where it would hurt her most, her reputation.

Cadieux bought the domain name, maryCaroleMcDonnell.com.

Then he crafted a website draft filled with grievances about McDonnell,

sharing what she did to her workers.

And to really make his point, the site's defining feature was a large

picture of her head on a pig's body.

Cadieux's plan was quite simple.

He told McDonnell to pay him what he was owed by 5:00 PM or Friday, or he would

push the site live, and the threat worked.

He told news outlets that the day of the deadline, he was wired the

money by 4:55 PM just in time.

But Cadieux wasn't satisfied.

He decided to push the site live anyway, standing in solidarity with so many other

employees and vendors who remained unpaid.

He told News Nation, quote, "It was just the principle of the thing," end quote.

And even though the site was short-lived, the damage remained.

But despite the hit to her personal reputation, disgruntled workers were

becoming the least of Mary Carole McDonnell's problems because by

then, other people were starting to ask questions about Bellum's money.

The walls started closing in fast for both Bellum Entertainment and its CEO.

While staff were starting to notice missing paychecks, a wave of civil

lawsuits and government investigations caused more pressing issues for McDonnell.

In May 2017, Pacific Business Capital Corporation filed a lawsuit against

McDonnell for failing to repay a two point seven five million dollar loan.

They had issued her that loan back in twenty fifteen to fund Bellum

and her other companies, but she had simply not paid them back.

Then, in July, facing mounting debt, McDonnell sought another loan to keep

her business afloat, and this should have been the break her business

needed, but it would ultimately help unravel everything she'd built.

In September 2017, there was more bad news.

Los Angeles Superior Court Judge Frederick Schaller confirmed a $3.2

million arbitration award against Mary Carole McDonnell, turning a private

dispute into an official court judgment.

The suit was brought by Robert Christopher Chatham, an entertainment attorney who

had at one time represented McDonnell.

Over the years, he'd invested millions of dollars into her business and

provided personal loans as well, but she hadn't paid him back either.

And in the same month, the California Labor Commissioner's Office

launched a massive investigation surrounding the unpaid wages claims.

It seemed like Bellum, the production company once deemed too

big to fail, was a failed empire, and it officially shut down.

But that was just the beginning of McDonnell's troubles.

So Bellum was in major debt and couldn't repay its loans or pay its employees.

The business failed, but that just happens sometimes, right?

But this was far more than just the collapse of a poorly managed business.

This was the result of fraud amounting to more than thirty million dollars.

And the story only gets wilder from here.

To understand what was happening inside Bellum, you have to understand

how the company had been financed.

Because while Bellum looked successful from the outside, behind the scenes, its

finances told a very different story.

Like many organizations, the enterprise was financed by

private investors and bank loans.

But unlike most companies, Bellum had been built on a fraudulent foundation,

one that depended heavily on the story Mary Carole McDonnell told about herself,

because she wasn't who she said she was.

Remember that McDonnell aviation fortune?

That enormous family trust?

The money that supposedly made Bellum too big to fail?

According to federal prosecutors, it didn't exist.

McDonnell's model to fund Bellum was simple.

She started by getting investors to back her shows with the promise of big

returns, repayments, and extra perks.

Perks like a lucrative tax benefits program, according to the

suit filed by her old attorney, Robert Christopher Chatham.

It's alleged that once she got the loan, she'd use the funds to line her own

pockets by commingling assets with Bellum, and then she'd make payments on other

loans she'd secured to fund the business.

Remember those makeup sessions on the company's dime?

Eventually, she defaulted on those loans.

So in other words, it's alleged that Mary Carole McDonnell misused

company funds and ran a Ponzi scheme of sorts to float her company.

But how did she get the backing in the first place?

Well, it turns out that McDonnell wasn't as self-made as it seemed.

Remember, Mary Carole McDonnell told anyone who'd listen that

she was an heiress to the McDonnell aircraft family fortune.

So she had leaned on that family name to secure her loans.

It's alleged that for years McDonnell told private investors and financial

institutions that she had a substantial family trust worth $80 million.

And typically, a trust like that could be used as collateral to ensure repayment.

But there was just one problem.

According to federal prosecutors, that fortune didn't exist.

So let's look at what happened with Banc of California, which is what led

to the federal criminal indictment.

When Mary Carole McDonnell requested a loan from the bank, she was recommended

by her lawyer and current Banc of California customer, Barry Rothman.

Court records allege that Rothman introduced McDonnell to the bank's vice

president of relationship management, looking for a multi-million dollar loan.

Both Rothman and McDonnell claimed that McDonnell was heir to the

large fortune, but her trust assets were temporarily frozen.

And while she couldn't access it quite yet, it could prove she'd

make good on her loan payments.

After all, the trust was worth far more than the $14.7 million she was requesting.

Still, some bank employees had reservations about giving the loan.

Court documents say that bank investigators found her credit score

was five hundred forty-five, and a poor credit history is typically

considered problematic for loan requests.

Plus, there was talk that she wasn't paying her workers.

But McDonnell and Rothman reassured the bank that the loan would be secure.

The bank alleges that McDonnell supplied them with a account

statement showing that she was the beneficiary of a family trust account

at Northern Trust Securities Inc.

With a balance of more than twenty-eight million.

It wasn't the full eighty million, but it could work to secure the loan.

And after McDonnell reportedly came into the Bank of California's office

to hand out homemade pies to the company's staff for all their hard

work helping with the loan, it did.

Shortly after the loan went through, Mary Carole McDonnell

withdrew all the funds, immediately raising red flags for the bank.

According to Jamie Rice, a former Banc of California VP turned true

crime podcaster, McDonnell missed her very first loan payment.

Then she stopped answering their calls.

So Bank of California investigated further, and what they found shocked

everyone because they quickly discovered that none of it was real.

The aviation family connection was fabricated.

The trust didn't exist.

The notarized documents were forged, and even the homemade

pies she charmed bank employees with were reportedly store-bought.

And this was far from the first time McDonnell had used the family

trust ruse to score some cash.

It was just the latest in a reportedly long line of fraudulent schemes

spanning personal acquaintances, family members, and major financial

institutions over the years.

Rolling Stone reported that McDonnell even scammed her own sons, Sean and Mackenzie,

when she allegedly forged their signatures for a two point five million dollar

quick payday loan in twenty seventeen, which of course she then defaulted on.

So the Banc of California got the federal government involved to fight back.

On December 12th, 2018, McDonnell's house of cards officially came crashing down.

This time, it wasn't just a slew of civil lawsuits or employees coming after her.

Now, it was a federal criminal indictment.

That day, McDonnell was charged with bank fraud and aggravated identity

theft, and a federal arrest warrant was issued in the United States

District Court, Central District of California, Santa Ana, California.

In it, McDonnell is alleged to have knowingly defrauded Banc of

California, among other institutions.

It seemed like finally justice was in sight for all the

individuals and corporations who were victimized by Bellum's CEO.

But there was just one problem: Mary Carole McDonnell was gone.

Despite the indictment, it appeared that McDonnell had already fled the

country, and she was out of reach.

For seven years after she fled, it seems little headway was made in the

attempt to apprehend the fake heiress.

And in today's internet-obsessed world, she has a surprisingly small digital

footprint, but I suppose that's common for criminals who don't wanna be found.

The financial lawsuits and judgments have continued to rack up in the US

while McDonnell has been on the run, and she hasn't paid a dime for any of them.

But the hunt for her never stopped.

So in December of 2025, the FBI exerted even more pressure.

They bestowed a distinction that most of us would rather not have.

They added Mary Carole McDonnell to the FBI's Most Wanted list.

According to the FBI bulletin, McDonnell, who is now 74, is believed to be in Dubai.

But if you thought that Mary Carole McDonnell retired quietly into the

night, leaving all her lies and schemes behind her when she fled, think again.

She appears to have been up to her old tricks while hiding out in Dubai, and her

destination was likely a strategic choice.

The FBI can't swoop in to arrest her there without cooperation

from the UAE authorities.

In a 2026 Business Insider article, reporter Jason Guerrasio recounts a

story from an entrepreneur in Dubai who says she befriended Mary Carole McDonnell

there in 2019, and it sounds like McDonnell kept the exact same playbook

that had worked so well for years before.

The entrepreneur said that McDonnell introduced herself as an heiress,

and they became fast friends while enjoying a luxurious lifestyle, and

eventually, she pitched an investment opportunity to develop three new shows

for seven point five million dollars.

Ultimately, the entrepreneur declined, and the relationship

soured in 2022 when McDonnell tried to get more money from her.

But who knows if another unwitting victim may have accepted since?

Mary Carole McDonnell knew exactly what it took to create a compelling, believable

story, whether it was for one of her hit shows or for the intricate personal

narrative she used to finance them.

And she wrote her own manipulation playbook along the way.

She created an elaborate false identity that would deem respect, authority,

status, all while stealing credibility from the McDonnell Aviation family name.

She was a master at status signaling with her Porsche, yacht, and pearls,

and she used specific details like an eighty million dollar trust fund based

on a kernel of truth to make it seem believable, like having the McDonnell

last name and she had ties to St. Louis.

The strongest deceptions weren't completely fabricated.

They were built around things that were true.

And for a long time, it's worked.

In fact, she's still at large to the day of this recording.

But Mary Carole may have forgotten one important aspect about the type of people

involved in creating true crime shows.

People like Tim Clemente, a retired FBI counterterrorism agent who

is one of Velum's crime experts appearing on many episodes.

Or Joe Pistone, the retired FBI agent who went undercover for the mob using the

name Donnie Brasco, and later produced and hosted Deep Undercover with Velum.

They have a fierce sense of justice, and they make their mission to seek

it, no matter how long it takes.

All right, side-eyers.

Thank you so much for watching and joining me today, and I hope

you enjoyed this wild episode.

If you did, please do me a favor and like and subscribe.

Or if you're listening on a podcast app, please leave a rating and review.

That way, you'll never miss a thing, and you'll help more side-eyers find

the show so they can start spotting deceptive tactics before it's too late.

Let's leave you with this week's side-eye question.

What part of Mary Carole McDonnell's story seemed the most believable to you?

What would have made you buy into one of her investment schemes?

Drop your response in the comments because I really wanna know what part of

her story resonated with you the most.

And bonus question, do you think Mary Carole McDonnell will be

captured and brought to justice soon?

Or will she be able to keep up her con while on the run?

Let me know what you think.

I'll leave you today with this reminder.

Successful con artists make their stories just believable enough so

you can rationalize any red flags.

So look out for inconsistencies and listen to your intuition

when something feels off.

I'll be back again next week, and until then, keep your side eye sharp

because nothing felt wrong until it did.

If you have any information that could help lead to the whereabouts

of Mary Carole McDonnell, please contact your local FBI office or the

nearest American embassy or consulate.

You can find all resources for this story in the show notes.