Last winter, Melissa saw a notification on her daughter Elizabeth’s email account: a $50 payment from Starfish Recovery. When asked about her involvement with Starfish, Elizabeth divulged that Frank Bellanger — owner and CEO of the Richmond recovery housing company — had been paying her for “content.”

At the time, Elizabeth was in and out of active addiction. Melissa already knew her daughter had been selling nude photos and videos to support her drug use — a survival strategy not uncommon among women struggling with addiction. But learning that a recovery house operator was the buyer left her feeling disgusted.

“I was just really pissed off,” Melissa told me. “I was thinking about everything, and I’m like, I need to let this man’s wife know what he’s doing.” So she picked up the phone and called Stephanie Bellanger — Frank’s wife and Starfish Recovery’s chief wellness officer.

According to Melissa, after she explained why she was calling, “(Stephanie) tried to, like, hem and haw and then she hung up on me.”

Minutes later, Frank called in an attempt to smooth things over.

“(He told me) he’d given (Elizabeth) money on a few occasions just to help her out, that she had tried to send him content but he blocked her,” Melissa recalled. “And I said, ‘Why would you give money to an addict?’ Then he threatened me with his lawyer. That’s how that conversation went. And I said, ‘Bring it. I don’t care. I’m telling the truth.’”

Frank tried calling a couple more times after that, Melissa said, but she didn’t answer.

When I first spoke to Melissa last year, I had no way to verify her story. So I shelved it — alongside many other accounts that haven’t yet met the standard for publication.

But several months later, I spoke with Elizabeth directly. She had recently gotten clean and decided to share her experience. 

(Melissa and Elizabeth gave me permission to publish their full names. But due to the sensitivity of the material — and because Elizabeth has not yet had time to build long-term recovery — I’ve chosen to use their first names only.)

Elizabeth first met Frank in 2019 when she was a resident at The McShin Foundation — a recovery organization where he worked. Frank was still in his first year of recovery at the time, and Elizabeth remembered him as relatable and easy to talk to. “He had some really messed up stories, like (about) a woman dying and just some crazy stuff,” she said. “And he was just so kind. He was the best. I really liked him.”

Years later, during a relapse, Elizabeth began advertising sex content on Facebook to fund her addiction. “(Frank) immediately responded, and he helped me out,” she said. “I say ‘helped,’ but it wasn’t help when you’re in active addiction.”

Elizabeth provided screenshots of their Facebook Messenger conversations from February 2024.

Later that year, Frank took the stage to deliver a message of hope at the annual summit of the National Alliance for Recovery Residences (NARR) — the organization that sets ethical standards for recovery house operators.

“(Frank) was spending a good amount of money on me,” Elizabeth said. Looking back, she described it as “disgusting.”

“I feel bad about everything that I’ve done,” she added, “but to know that somebody that is supposed to be uplifting addicts and knows I was in active addiction and supporting that habit, especially with his stories (about addiction) and how horrible they were. He literally knew he was supporting my drug habit.”

Melissa added:

I feel these recovery houses are a place for predators to go. And they know that there’s a lot of people that are messed up in their head that they can manipulate. … I’m so sick of the perverts and freaks that are out there and getting away. It just seems like they get away with it all the time.

The year before Melissa’s phone calls with Frank and Stephanie, I published a three-part subseries about exploitative practices at Starfish Recovery & Wellness, with much of it focused on Frank’s volatile and alleged predatory behavior toward residents. 

The third and final installment highlighted accounts from former female residents who say Frank shamed and berated them, policed their bodies, entered a romantic relationship with a court-ordered resident, and sexually harassed another — all while his wife allegedly protected him.

The Bellangers never publicly responded to the reporting. Instead, they flooded social media with success stories and dramatically increased their 5-star Google reviews — many of them incentivized with gift cards, and some written by participants who later told me their real experiences didn’t match the praise. 

But last month, Stephanie was compelled to publicly address the reporting for the first time.

After she criticized the state’s recent defunding of VARR on X (formerly Twitter), a commenter replied that her statement was “a bold move” — pointing to this series’ reporting on her husband’s conduct. 

Stephanie responded: 

I have dedicated my life to helping people with substance use disorder and stand by my company, my husband and the hundreds of people we’ve helped heal.

The commenter then posted a link to a video of one of Frank’s outbursts and wrote: “You nor anyone else is beyond accountability. Your husband should NEVER speak to vulnerable participants like this.”

Stephanie replied:

According to former Starfish residents, their families, community members and years of records, Stephanie’s statement contradicts what many say is a consistent pattern:

When confronted with harmful or questionable behavior — inside or outside of Starfish — the Bellangers have repeatedly responded with some combination of denial, deflection, retaliation and legal threats.

This update brings together stories like Melissa’s that illustrate this ongoing pattern.

***

In October 2021, a member of Richmond’s recovery community vented in a Facebook group about how a woman she was mentoring had been treated at Starfish.

Stephanie quickly chimed in, according to a Starfish management chat.

The original post couldn’t be located, but the Starfish chat indicated the comment thread shifted to allegations about Frank’s sexual behavior and a discussion about how recovery house residents are often silenced through intimidation tactics.

The woman who authored the original post provided screenshots of her private messages with Stephanie, which she initiated after seeing a comment Stephanie left on the thread.

When the woman wrote, “Everyone knew who I was talking about,” she told me she was referring to Ava — the pseudonym for a former Starfish resident introduced earlier in this series, whom Frank allegedly pursued romantically while she was living at Starfish under a court order.

Former residents say Stephanie aggressively targeted anyone who spoke about that relationship — even though, allegedly, she later admitted to Starfish’s then-program director that she knew about her husband’s “inappropriate” relationship with Ava.

“(Frank) called and threatened me a couple of times over that situation,” the woman who made the Facebook post told me. To the best of her recollection, his threats were related to legal action.

“I know that there’s some shady stuff that goes on (in other recovery homes),” she said, “but those two right there, they’re slimy. Dangerous.”

***

On a clear night last August, Sophie Verdereau pulled into the parking lot of her home at Red Oak Apartments in Richmond’s Ginter Park neighborhood. “I’ve been clean 21 years,” she told me the next day. “But I live in the hood because I got a lot of bills.”

As she parked, Verdereau noticed a man with a familiar face standing beside her car. She watched as he handed a wad of bills to a woman who lived in a nearby unit. Suspecting the man — later identified as Frank Bellanger — was married, Verdereau began filming.

The first video briefly shows Frank looking toward the camera, holding what appeared to be a glass bottle with clear liquid. He raised his arm to cover his face and walked back to the woman, who was holding a handful of cash. The video showed Frank standing so close to the woman that his stomach was nearly touching her chest.

Shortly afterward, Verdereau said Frank confronted her and “went completely off.” When he walked away, she began filming again — this time, she was on the offensive. 

“How do I know you?” she demanded. 

“You know me from the rooms,” Frank responded, meaning through recovery meetings. 

In the next video, Frank took a photo of Verdereau’s license plate and said he planned to press charges.

“You can press charges, because we know what you’re doing out here,” she replied. “We don’t need these type of problems.”

(Verdereau said the area had seen a recent uptick in male visitors, which she and her neighbors knew was linked to prostitution.)

“What type of problems?” Frank asked. “Why are you following me?” 

“I live here, sweetheart,” Verdereau replied. “Why don’t you just do this? (Say) ‘I’m being a ass to my wife. I apologize. And I’ma leave, will you delete that?’ How about you say that right now?” 

As Frank got in his car, his face was visibly red and perspiring. He gave Verdereau the middle finger as he drove off.

The video clips were soon posted on social media and circulated within Richmond’s recovery community. According to a source familiar with the Bellangers’ explanation, it was identical to the one Frank gave Elizabeth’s mother: He was “helping” this woman.

Why it matters

The Bellangers run a recovery enterprise that serves hundreds of people at one of the most precarious points in their lives — often early in sobriety, without stable housing, and under legal pressure. Exempt from landlord and tenant laws, certified recovery house operators wield significant power over their residents.

As questionable encounters with Frank pile up — even outside of Starfish — they lend greater credibility to Starfish residents who previously reported sexual misconduct and harassment by Frank.

These accounts, together with the Bellangers’ emerging pattern of control and intimidation, raise ongoing concerns about whether Starfish is a safe or ethical environment for recovery.

On a cloudy day in May 2023, David (a pseudonym) and Laura say they saw Frank stepping out of a hotel room at the Extended Stay America on Paragon Place. 

David emailed me that evening, and I spoke with him and Laura two days later.

At the time, David was a court-ordered Starfish resident, temporarily staying at the hotel while recovering from multiple gallbladder surgeries. He said he had a doctor’s note and had discussed the arrangement with his house manager, but he doubted Frank had paid any attention to his post-op plans.

Laura, a former Starfish resident and David’s partner, was staying there with him. 

They had just returned to the hotel with breakfast when they saw Frank walking out of a first-floor room. “So I pull right up on him,” David said. “I’m like, ‘Yo, Frank, what are you doing?’” Laura, still in her car with the windows down, witnessed the exchange.

“He looked like I caught him in the cookie jar,” David said. Frank, appearing nauseated, wrapped his hands around his face and “started rambling.” First, he claimed he was delivering gift cards to IOP participants living at the hotel. When David pressed him, Frank got his “car salesman bullshit going.” 

“‘Did you know that IOP has a $500 payout’ or something ‘for hot plates delivered to participants who live in hotels?’” David recalled Frank saying. “It makes no fucking sense,” he told me. He couldn’t fathom why the owner and CEO of Starfish would personally deliver IOP rewards to hotel guests who weren’t even in Starfish. 

At the time, several Henrico County hotels were known to house people struggling with addiction, with their stays paid for by crisis agencies that billed Medicaid for so-called clinical services, such as IOP — a practice notorious for abuse. 

According to Michael Feinmel, Henrico’s deputy county manager for public safety, the Extended Stay on Paragon Place was one of the hotspots. In 2023 — the same year David and Laura ran into Frank — there were 481 police and EMS calls between the two adjacent Extended Stay buildings. Many of those calls stemmed from crisis agency placements, Feinmel said, “which is nothing but elaborate Medicaid fraud.” 

Whether Frank was at the hotel delivering IOP payouts or for a more questionable reason, his reported presence around vulnerable people in that setting invites serious questions. 

Ironically, in a September 2024 email to Henrico County supervisors — criticizing local efforts to increase oversight of recovery residences — Frank revealed his awareness of the predatory practices happening in extended-stay hotels.

“There are Fortune 500 companies run by venture capitalists who are genuinely preying on people with this disease,” he wrote. “They are warehousing people in long term stay hotels right here in Henrico, providing them with cash which they in turn use on drugs so they can qualify them for clinical ‘services’.”

When I reached out to David and Laura last August for permission to publish their accounts — which they initially shared off the record — Laura immediately referenced the same story she’d told me more than a year earlier. “I found out that the IOP in hotels thing is real,” she said, “but there’s still no reason for (Frank) to have been there ‘giving them hot plates’ (when) they weren’t in Starfish.”

The day after the hotel encounter, Frank sent a letter to the Henrico Commonwealth’s Attorney’s Office explaining why he discharged David from Starfish. 

His version of events painted a different picture.

“Yesterday afternoon, in the course of running various errands, I observed (David) and another former resident coming out of the parking lot of the Extended Stay America,” he wrote. “I signaled to (David) and his companion to pull over. …”

(After reading Frank’s account, I went to the Extended Stay on Paragon Place myself to see whether his version of events was plausible. The hotel sits on a quiet loop off Glenside Drive — a stretch you’d have little reason to take unless you were specifically headed to one of the few buildings tucked back there. For Frank to have spotted someone pulling out of the hotel lot, made a signal, and been close enough for that signal to be seen would require a remarkably coincidental encounter — much less so if they had simply crossed paths while both visiting the hotel.)

“He’s such a fucking liar,” Laura said when I shared Frank’s account with her last week. She maintained her story more than two years later: She and David caught Frank at the hotel — not the other way around.

Before I spoke with David and Laura, another Starfish resident — during an unrelated conversation — told me what she’d heard about Frank’s hotel visit. It was consistent with the story David and Laura told me. “Two or three days ago, Frank comes out of this Extended Stay,” the resident said, “and he’s telling (people), ‘Oh, I’m here because I’m dropping off a food card for IOP’…”

Frank’s letter to the Commonwealth’s Attorney’s Office went on to state that David admitted to staying in the hotel overnight — after misleading his house manager regarding his whereabouts — and that he admitted he had relapsed.

Nearly a year passed between when I got permission to publish Laura’s and David’s accounts and when I reviewed David’s court file, including Frank’s letter. By then, I was unable to reach David to ask about the letter, which is why I’ve used a pseudonym for him here.

When I spoke to Laura again, she confirmed that David had relapsed after his surgery because of severe post-operative pain. She said David told Frank about the relapse, believing it was in his best interest to come clean. It was his only slip in more than four months at Starfish, and it was rare for residents to be evicted over a first relapse.

I’ve also found numerous cases — in residents’ statements and Starfish management chats — of participants who admitted to relapsing, often under aggravating circumstances, yet were allowed to stay.

Among them, residents who:

• Brought drugs into the house
• Came to Starfish under the influence and continued using 
• Tampered with a drug test
• Relapsed while staying out all night without permission 
• Were visibly intoxicated at the house or Starfish events 
• Relapsed repeatedly within weeks
• Denied relapsing until a drug test proved otherwise

In one instance, it appears the Bellangers withheld a negative report from a resident’s pretrial officer as “a favor.” (This resident was bonded out and mandated to Starfish.)

In another instance, according to text messages I reviewed, a house leader stayed in the home and kept her position after admitting she’d shared a resident’s prescription narcotic with another resident.

But in David’s case, Frank acted swiftly: immediate discharge followed by a strongly worded letter that resulted in a capias just days later. From Laura’s perspective, the reason was obvious: They caught Frank at the hotel, and he needed to get ahead of it.

Another Starfish management chat suggests this wasn’t the only time Frank’s reporting on a resident was motivated by protecting his image.

“Starfish was such a nightmare,” Laura said, reflecting on her time there in 2022 and 2023. The Bellangers “are the most backhanded, sneaky people, which is so scary because they’re supposed to be our support system and safe place.”

When I first asked for permission to publish Laura’s account last August, she hesitated for the same reason many others request anonymity — and the same reason some disclosures remain off the record all together. “I am wary of Frank,” she said. “My mom has actually told me to just leave it alone because he always threatens to sue everyone … but I think it’s only right (to speak up). I wish I had been warned.”

***

Frank “catches parents when they’re very vulnerable,” said “Cindy,” the mother of a former Starfish resident. She asked to remain anonymous to protect her daughter’s privacy.

A few years ago, Cindy was desperate to get help for her daughter Erin (a pseudonym), who was in the throes of her addiction. When she got in touch with Frank, she felt relieved.

Cindy recalled Frank telling her an inspirational story about how he overcame his own addiction and single-handedly built Starfish “in the face of opposition” — all so he could help those who were still suffering. He thanked Cindy for trusting him with her daughter.

When Erin first moved into Starfish housing — and for a little while after — Frank was “an angel,” Cindy told me. But it wasn’t long before “a different side came out.”

Erin had a history of trauma, and Frank’s behavior soon began to trigger old wounds.

Here’s what Erin told me:

(Frank) would yell at all of us girls, like, he would just stand there and just yell. And I don’t remember what he would say, but I know it was not nice. I called my mom multiple times because of panic attacks that Frank sent me into. … 

My dad yelled a lot (when I was) a child, and Frank probably yelled worse than my fucking dad most of the time. … 

One night I was actually trying to leave even though I was on probation. At that point in time, I would rather leave and have a warrant out for me than stay at Starfish. So that’s where my head was at the time. I’d rather be on the street not knowing what to do than stay there with Frank treating us like shit.

When Erin first told her mom about Frank’s yelling, Cindy tried talking to him directly. She read several days’ worth of text messages to me over the phone between herself and Frank, which started with her expressing concern that his yelling was triggering Erin’s PTSD. 

In a bizarre reply, Frank said that a staff member had “handled” Erin and that he told her he “just wanted her to be safe and keep recovering.” 

He acknowledged Erin’s past trauma but quickly cast doubt on her account, claiming she breaks rules and then deflects her behavior onto others to justify it. “It’s a form of manipulation that we as addicts are masterful at,” he wrote. “I promise you we treat her like our own.” 

Cindy was familiar with the manipulation tactics often associated with addictive behaviors. But not long after Frank accused Erin of deflecting her behavior onto him, Cindy witnessed his aggression firsthand when Erin recorded him screaming in the women’s house one night. Though she couldn’t locate the recording, Cindy remembered it vividly.

“He did not hold back,” she said. “It was scary.”

Before I talked to Erin or Cindy, one of Erin’s housemates told me about that same night:

(Erin) has a recording of one of the nights (Frank) came and screamed at (residents) in our rooms. … He was screaming at (them) in the top hallway by our bedroom. And then I think that Frank stormed over that night because (Ava’s) actual father of her child was trying to come see her and we all thought it was because he was jealous. He literally showed up, like, enraged and lost his mind and (Erin) recorded it. (Then he) yelled at (Erin). … She said that she has trauma with men and he triggers that because he screams and gets irate, like, in your face.

When Erin became more vocal in her distress at Starfish, Frank kicked her out. He told Cindy he’d found another recovery house that would take her, and she had to leave by that afternoon.

“(Erin) is no longer willing to focus on herself and her recovery,” he claimed, adding, “I have to protect the house and the industry.”

Shortly before Erin’s discharge, Frank persuaded Cindy to pay an additional $1,500 for breathwork and “story work” sessions with partner providers. Erin had barely started those sessions, but after her discharge, Frank claimed she was no longer eligible to continue, and the $1,500 was non-refundable.

When Cindy pressed him to justify that decision and asked him twice for a copy of the financial agreement he claimed she had signed, Frank responded: “If you continue to harass me, I’ll press charges.” 

***

Since I published the Starfish subseries in 2023, residents have told me Frank makes himself more scarce and typically doesn’t visit the women’s homes alone. 

One former resident told me she never had any issues with the Bellangers. “We would see them, like, once a month at the all-house meeting,” she said. “They were always really kind to me.” 

Although I’ve continued to receive periodic reports of Frank lashing out at individuals privately, no one has reported a new incident of him berating residents in a group setting.

But according to numerous former residents, such as Erin, who lived at Starfish between 2020 and mid-2023 — including some who reached out after I published Frank’s recorded outburst — that episode was one of many in a years-long pattern of verbal abuse and intimidation. 

The first time Frank came in and screamed at us and his vein was poking out of his neck, and he turned three shades of red, I was like, “OK, this is going to be interesting.” … I got numb to him screaming and yelling at me all the time.

— Mary Seifert, former resident, house leader and program director, 2021 — 2022

My first day (at Starfish) there was an all house meeting. (Frank) stood at the front cursing at us, which I guess he thought was motivational. I was visibly shaken because of being new, thinking “what have I gotten myself into?” He noticed me looking uncomfortable and called me out in front of everyone…on my first day. He would come to our weekly house meetings with his expletive filled rants while his young son was in the next room. I went from being afraid to looking at him like he was crazy and continued to get called out. …

— former female resident (via email), 2022 — 2023

A couple of girls I know, (Frank) was terrible to them. Like, he was bad, he tore them up. He called people all types of shit, like junkies and shit. …

I had to get the fuck out of there because I knew that wasn’t how people were supposed to be treated. … I had been to a whole lot of different recovery houses, and none of them touched that one.

— former female resident, 2021 

Frank called a meeting with all the women’s houses and basically screamed and yelled and berated me in front of them (on) my first or second day there. So I’m in tears, I’m thinking, like, ‘Oh my god, what have I gotten myself stuck in for six months?’ Like, it was terrifying. It was horrible.

— Laura, former resident, 2022 — 2023 

Frank is literally the only (recovery house operator) that will scream and yell constantly at you, 24/7 up in your face. … I never encountered anything like it in my life.

— former female resident, 2022

“Context matters” — that was the last thing Stephanie wrote on X in response to the commenter who posted the Aug. 2022 recording of her husband’s outburst. 

In September 2022, the former resident who recorded that outburst overdosed and died ten days after she was kicked out of Starfish. 

“I knew eventually that was going to happen,” said former resident Valerie. “Because you have fragile people in a really vulnerable state and you have a destructive monster screaming and cussing and kicking you out. Of course, eventually someone’s going to overdose. It’s going to happen. And I’m just so sorry that it did.”

“At some points, I almost believed that there was a genuine, caring heart underneath all that, that really was trying to do some good,” she added. “I don’t think that anymore.”

To the many who say they endured Frank’s treatment on a regular basis, Stephanie’s position was clear — support Frank, always.

“She was like the happy, pretty face of the company,” Erin said. “She would come in after (one of Frank’s screaming episodes) and kind of do damage control and be like, ‘Yeah, he gets like that, sorry.’ She just kind of covered (for him).”

“Stephanie’s whole role is like, empowerment, ‘empower the women,'” said another female resident, “but it seems like such a juxtaposition that, like, that’s her husband and she doesn’t stand up to him at all.”

Records also show that Stephanie has been more than just a bystander to her husband’s behavior. She and Frank have worked together to control the Starfish narrative and silence residents who might challenge their image.

Starfish Recovery’s culture of control

According to numerous sources and over a year’s worth of internal messages provided by a former employee, Frank and Stephanie have used a variety of tactics to control whom staff and residents communicate with and what they say about Starfish.

As previously reported, staff and house leaders have been required to sign a non-disclosure agreement (NDA) that prohibits them from ever disclosing to anyone:

• Details of their communication with Frank or Stephanie 
• Records of communication with individuals affiliated with Starfish
• The existence of the NDA itself

Since I first reported on the NDA in 2023, I’ve found records showing that residents have also been monitored and penalized for what they’ve said outside of Starfish.

In September 2022 — just weeks after a former resident recorded one of Frank’s screaming episodes — a resident we’ll call Ben shared his frustrations about Starfish leadership at a 12-step meeting. 

This type of mutual aid group is generally understood as a safe, confidential space for people in recovery to share openly. But another Starfish resident, who was being considered for a leadership role, reported Ben’s comments to staff.

Less than half an hour later, the former program director texted Frank and Stephanie, relaying that Ben told his house leader he was “going to end up drinking and killing himself.” Stephanie responded that Ben needed to be written up — for talking about Starfish at the meeting.

In a group chat, Stephanie searched for a Starfish policy to justify disciplinary action. She first cited rules on “disruptive behavior” and then pointed to a house rule stating, “If a resident has a concern or complaint, it is to be given to your Recovery & Wellness Leader first.” 

Finally, she landed on the “confidentiality agreement.”

As previously reported, Starfish residents have also been barred from making contact with anyone who’s been discharged from the program — regardless of the reason for their dismissal. In practice, this policy has prevented residents from reaching out to individuals who left on bad terms with the Bellangers.

A clear example was the sudden and total ban on communication with Mary Seifert — a former resident, house leader and then program director at Starfish. 

For nearly a year and a half, Seifert’s life revolved around the organization. But after she and her then-fiancé reportedly confronted Frank over inappropriate behavior and sexual harassment, the Bellangers cut her off from everyone at Starfish.

“Effective immediately Mary Seifert is no longer affiliated in any way shape or form with Starfish Recovery & Wellness,” Stephanie wrote in a message to staff and house leaders on the day Seifert was removed. “She is not considered alumni. She is not to be contacted by any current resident or leadership. This message is not to be screen shotted and shared with anyone including Mary or (her fiancé). Please let everyone know they may not communicate with her and if they do, they are subject to discharge.” 

Shortly after that, a then-house leader sent Seifert a private message:

That fear was warranted, as Starfish subjected residents to random phone searches at any time.

Residents’ phones were also sometimes confiscated as punishment.

In some cases, the Bellangers’ control extended to residents’ outside relationships. They were at times banned from visiting or communicating with friends or family members for a wide range of discretionary reasons, such as if the Bellangers decided the relationship was “toxic.” I found one instance where Stephanie barred a resident from speaking with her own mother.

Another parent told me Frank persuaded her to block contact with her daughter — after Frank’s account of an incident conflicted with her daughter’s version. The mother asked me not to publish the details of that incident to protect her daughter’s privacy, but she provided a text message to corroborate the communication block:

“I remember (my daughter’s) panic and anxiety,” the mother told me. But at the time, she thought she was doing the right thing by following Frank’s direction.

Laura, who’s been clean for multiple years now, said people are finally starting to believe what she tells them about Frank and Starfish. “But it was really hard back then when nobody gave a shit,” she said. “He, like, turned everyone’s families against them. My parents believed everything Frank said. They believed nothing I said.”

Residents who might speak up inside the organization can also be penalized for “negativity.”

According to a Starfish policy, a “negative attitude” is considered disruptive behavior that warrants immediate eviction:

“‘Spreading negativity’ — That’s what they use when they want to get rid of somebody that’s talking too much,” said Brian Kelly, recounting his experience at Starfish and Journey House. 

In late 2024, a former resident we’ll call Olivia came to Starfish from an out-of-town treatment facility. After a few weeks in the program, Olivia began voicing concerns about Frank’s handling of drug use in the house, misleading advertising and selective treatment of residents. 

One morning at Olivia’s request, an employee agreed to help her explore alternative programs. But later that day, the employee’s tone “completely changed.”

According to Olivia, the employee told her, “We’re ready to get this going,” and a driver showed up to transport her to another program — one that staff had selected for her without her consent.

When she asked for more time to consider her options, staff told her she had to leave immediately — without explanation.

As Olivia waited for a family member to pick her up, an employee approached her. “This is why you shouldn’t spread negativity,” she recalled the employee telling her. “I was like, ‘I don’t feel like I’ve done that. I’ve just been calling out things that are wrong.’ And she’s like, ‘Well you get what you put into the program.’” 

People who’ve lived at Starfish throughout its five-year history have consistently echoed the same sentiment as Valerie: “You can’t tell (the Bellangers) they’re wrong. … Somebody would say or do something they didn’t like, and it was over for them.”

In a December Facebook post that was visible to dozens, if not hundreds, of former Starfish residents on Frank’s friends list, he posted the following:

VARR documents cycle of retaliation and legal threats

Within months of opening its doors, Starfish was already in hot water with its credentialing organization — the Virginia Association of Recovery Residences (VARR). After VARR received “an unusual number of complaints,” the Standards and Ethics Committee recommended additional oversight for Starfish, according to Nov. 2020 board meeting minutes.

The complaints came from clients and professional organizations including an addiction medicine facility and a state probation office, according to an email then-VARR President David Rook sent to the Virginia Department of Behavioral Health and Developmental Services (DBHDS).

While VARR was in the process of addressing those complaints, Frank relinquished his VARR membership and submitted a complaint against VARR to DBHDS.

His initial complaint cited conflicts of interest within VARR leadership — an irrefutable reality at the time, but unrelated to the issues taking place at Starfish. 

In a follow-up email, Frank alleged possible racial discrimination. “To my knowledge, we are the only interracial operators VARR certified or was seeking to certify,” he wrote, “and it may be that our status as an interracial couple, or my wife’s race/gender were a factor in our treatment.”

At the Nov. 2020 VARR board meeting, then-Executive Director Anthony Grimes told board members that Frank “went on social media threatening legal action against VARR.”

John Shinholser, then-president of The McShin Foundation, said Frank had also threatened to sue him and McShin employees. He said Frank “blew up and verbally assaulted McShin staff members and no one had any idea why.” 

Shinholser also shared a report he received from a parent:

(The VARR board meeting minutes and series of related emails between Frank, DBHDS and VARR officials are available here.)

Frank’s stance on VARR changed after VARR awarded Starfish $63,000 in staffing expansion funds, along with an exclusive share of program funding beginning mid-2021.

In a 2022 interview with the Richmond Times-Dispatch, he praised VARR leadership for responsible financial management and for “providing a high-quality standard for our residents and clients …”

Meanwhile, issues at Starfish persisted — including the coerced treatment, verbal aggression, and allegations of sexual misconduct documented earlier in this series. Yet in January 2023 — roughly two months after Seifert and her then-fiancé (both ex-Starfish employees) reported Frank’s alleged sexual misconduct to VARR — Stephanie was appointed to the VARR board.

She resigned a little more than a year later, and a new conflict soon erupted, followed by a familiar pattern.

According to documents obtained through a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request to DBHDS:

• Aug. 9 — Nov. 13, 2024: VARR discovered inconsistencies in Starfish’s reported bed capacity, conducted an investigation, and notified the Bellangers that the VARR board would review the information for potential standards violations.
• Nov. 20, 2024: VARR notified the Bellangers that the board found Starfish in violation of standards related to transparency and truthful advertising (specific details not disclosed).
• Nov. 22, 2024: The Bellangers’ attorney sent VARR a cease-and-desist letter (outcome unknown).

Tensions escalated in early 2025. 

On Jan. 24, at the Virginia General Assembly building, Frank allegedly confronted VARR President Sarah Scarbrough in a hostile fashion — standing just inches from her face.

According to a Jan. 27 VARR letter to Starfish, multiple witnesses observed the incident — one of them was Stephanie, who helped remove her husband from Scarbrough’s immediate vicinity.

The letter cited other instances involving Frank and noted “particular concern” about his prior interactions with female residents, which had previously triggered a corrective action plan from VARR.

The following day, according to a timeline VARR provided to DBHDS:

Stephanie’s email — which I reviewed but chose not to publish — focused intensely on Scarbrough. It was written under the pretense of advocating for all recovery house operators in light of VARR leadership failures. Stephanie didn’t mention Starfish’s conflicts with VARR or the letter VARR sent the day before regarding Frank’s ongoing behavior.

On Feb. 4, VARR notified the Bellangers that the board found Starfish in violation of VARR standards and ethics, based on the Jan. 24 incident involving Frank and Scarbrough. The letter required a corrective action plan to: 

1. Ensure Frank would have no contact with Starfish residents in day-to-day operations, and 
2. Outline how he would “take accountability for and improve his repetitive behavior.”

“If no Corrective Action Plan is received,” the notice stated, “the VARR Board of Directors will convene to discuss next steps which may result in a suspension of accreditation status.”

Three days later, according to VARR’s timeline, Stephanie submitted a discrimination complaint to VARR, copying Starfish’s attorney.

On the Feb. 14 deadline, the Bellangers did not submit the required corrective action plan and instead stated Frank would “attend seminars and engage in training to increase awareness of communication styles and learn alternate methods of communicating to deliver messages more effectively.”

As of March 6 — the last date included in the timeline — VARR had not yet enforced the corrective action plan.

To date, it remains unclear whether any accountability measures have taken effect or if the legal threats worked in the Bellangers’ favor.

(All related documents obtained from DBHDS are available here.)

Starfish & StarCity: The Bellangers’ growing recovery empire

Despite years of troubling reports, the Bellangers’ recovery enterprise continues to expand.

In 2023, they partnered with then-VARR Vice-Chairman Jimmy Christmas to launch a state-licensed IOP under the name StarCity Behavioral Health. Since then, the venture has added a potentially more lucrative partial hospitalization program (PHP) and a clinically managed low-intensity residential treatment facility. 

Mirroring the business model of many Richmond-area operators, the Bellangers now funnel Starfish residents into these affiliated outpatient programs — generating Medicaid revenue through a closed-loop system that raises legal and ethical questions. They’ve branded this set up a “Recovery Oriented System of Care,” but it represents a larger trend of treatment models that stifles patient choice and often puts profits over patient care.

(I’ll be reporting further on this new iteration of the sober-home-to-outpatient model in a future installment.)

For the last several months, the Bellangers have been promoting a new venture: Recovery City.

As Richmond recovery housing companies, such as Starfish, balloon their portfolios with affiliated outpatient programs, the unlicensed housing component can be easily used as leverage to exploit residents for their insurance benefits. 

Without government oversight or legal housing protections, many residents remain vulnerable to retaliation should they speak out or question authority.

But last year, Henrico County — the state’s mecca for recovery housing — became the first in the state to take public aim at the industry’s lack of regulation.

In a September presentation, Feinmel outlined human rights concerns stemming from self-oversight — from unjust evictions and lack of resident choice to operators pursuing sexual relationships with residents. Without naming operators, the presentation echoed many of the issues reported by Starfish residents.

The Board of Supervisors unanimously backed efforts to increase accountability — support that ultimately led to the creation of a General Assembly-mandated workgroup sponsored by state Sen. Schuyler VanValkenburg, D-Henrico. The group will deliver recommendations by Nov. 1 on how to improve transparency, resident rights and regulatory safeguards for Virginia’s sober homes.

As the workgroup continues to meet and develop recommendations in the coming months, members of the public have an opportunity to weigh in. 

You can provide public comments in person at any upcoming meeting or submit comments by email with the bill number (SB838) to workgroups@dbhds.virginia.gov. It might also be helpful to list the specific workgroup objectives your comments relate to. 

>Click here for a dropdown list of those objectives.

“Such work group shall develop credentialing guidelines to be implemented by the Department, including 

(a) a uniform set of certification criteria for all recovery residences; 

(b) protocols for the Department to define qualifications for indigent bed fees and payment and reimbursement to recovery residences for indigent bed fees; 

(c) protocols to ensure resident and patient choice in receiving treatment and that the recovery residence operator, the house manager, or anyone in leadership with the recovery residence is not determining the treatment received; 

(d) training and standards that recovery residence operators and house managers shall meet before becoming a certified recovery residence operator or a certified recovery house manager, including a verified period of participation in recovery; 

(e) a Residents’ Bill of Rights, including a mandatory compliance requirement with such Residents’ Bill of Rights by certified recovery residence operators and certified recovery house managers; 

(f) protocols for termination of residency; 

(g) uniform data collection for recovery residences with a transparent data platform; 

(h) establishment of a hotline for complaints involving or against recovery residences to facilitate investigations; 

(i) a process for investigation of complaints involving or against recovery residences to be conducted by the Department or the Department in coordination with the locality where the recovery residence is located and not the credentialing entity; 

(j) protocols for sanctions on recovery residences, including decertification when appropriate; 

(k) methods for localities to conduct fire, building, safety, and health inspections of recovery residences; and 

(l) other issues related to recovery residences and their operators as the work group shall deem appropriate.”

While the push for more oversight has drawn broad political and community support, it has also sparked strong opposition from some recovery house operators.

Weeks after the Henrico presentation, Frank emailed county supervisors to condemn the proposed actions as discriminatory. 

“I am appalled by the recent presentation regarding recovery residences, the comments made by the Board, and the plans to propose legislation that violate the rights of the recovery community,” he wrote. “This is an attack on both civil liberties and on the free market, disguised as ‘oversight’. This is discrimination against a Federally protected class – those diagnosed with Substance Use Disorder, which is recognized under the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). This entire effort is rooted in stigma. It’s wrong and it’s gone too far.”

In May 2023, after I made multiple attempts to reach Frank and Stephanie for comment on the first Starfish article, I received identical emails from each of them. Both stated that my continued contact constituted harassment and that the reporting was endangering their family’s safety by “inciting vigilantism and violence.” 

They asked that I cease all contact and stated they would “seek all available legal remedies” if I continued.

I have not heard from either of them since. As always, if they choose to respond to this story, I will promptly add their comments and publish a notification of the update.

To share your experience with Starfish or another Virginia recovery home, please reach out to me here.

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More on Frank Bellanger and Starfish Recovery & Wellness:

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