Tricolor Car Buyers Trusted TikTok Hero With Criminal Past (1)

In Francisco Aguirre’s telling, he thought it was odd that a friend described buying a car from Tricolor Holdings that came without a license plate.

The self-styled paralegal began digging. He discovered not only that the subprime auto lender had gone bankrupt and faced accusations of years-long fraud, but that its customers were largely undocumented immigrants—thousands of whom were shut out of the legal process and needed help.

Aguirre, 65, took to TikTok under the alias El Jefe Legal, Spanish for The Legal Boss. Filming himself in an empty Tricolor parking lot last fall, he said he could help defrauded customers reduce or eliminate their loans. If people needed relief, he said, he was the man to call.

The US bankruptcy court docket soon swelled with more than 40 motions filed by his team at Beyond Attorneys LLC, all resembling templates generated by artificial intelligence, seeking the suspension of loan payments, issuance of titles, and information on the debt collector.

“He told us that he was going to completely eliminate the debt,” said Aliandris Núñez, a Cuban now residing in Kentucky, who hired him in January. “Tricolor payments weren’t going down, and he said he was going to stop that.”

The selfless hero was, in reality, a thrice-convicted fraudster with a history of victimizing Spanish-speaking populations and even his own family in mortgage schemes. He’s filed for bankruptcy three times. He isn’t licensed as a lawyer or paraprofessional, and had faced legal actions from the Arizona State Bar for the unauthorized practice of law. Even before inserting himself into the Tricolor case, he’d been acting in “blatant disregard” of the terms of his probation, including bans on acting as a lawyer, and now he was soliciting clients on TikTok, his probation officer said in a report filed in March.

By the time a bankruptcy court ordered him to appear for an April hearing on potential sanctions for acting as a lawyer in the Tricolor case, he was a no-show. Arizona authorities had arrested him and sent him back to prison after a court found he’d violated his probation agreement.

But by then, Aguirre and his team lined up roughly $75,000 from Tricolor victims, not counting what he got from people who never had motions filed on their behalf, according to the Department of Justice’s bankruptcy monitor.

It’s not clear where most of the money went, though Aguirre’s restitution payments to some victims of his previous crimes temporarily increased just as he began taking payments from Tricolor victims.

“I feel let down and manipulated,” Núñez said. “How could you play with the feelings of the people who were dealing with Tricolor, preying on that situation, and continue to scam people?”

After Tricolor filed Chapter 7 bankruptcy last September in a spectacular public collapse, federal officials accused founder Daniel Chu of defrauding multiple banks and private credit providers. But the fallout also left about 70,000 borrowers navigating a complex bankruptcy case, many with their own claims that they, too, had been defrauded.

Tricolor borrowers said they feared fighting back because of their immigration status, limited English proficiency, and unfamiliarity with court proceedings. Some worried that showing up in court could get them deported under President Donald Trump’s immigration crackdown.

Aguirre exploited that fear.

Stuck with high-interest loans on overpriced vehicles that often barely ran, Tricolor borrowers were coached by Aguirre to stop paying on their loans and avoid engaging with court-approved collector Vervent. If customers had stopped making car payments on Aguirre’s advice, they would have risked losing their vehicles.

Despite insisting he wasn’t acting as a lawyer, the Mexican American solicited clients on social media, gave legal advice, and helped borrowers file court documents. He even offered installment plans on the $1,500 administrative fee he asked for up front, with payments made mostly through Zelle, which offers limited refund protection.

Even after collecting the administrative fee, Beyond Attorneys at times failed to pay the $199 filing fee per motion, resulting in the motions’ dismissal. Aguirre told his administrative assistant—who flew to Dallas multiple times to file the documents—that certain filings no longer required a fee, according to her April testimony.

Aguirre promised customers he would sue Tricolor, but he never did. Rather than protect customers from collection actions, some of his motions sought to enforce the automatic stay—which under the US bankruptcy code protects companies in bankruptcy from most creditor collection efforts and lawsuits.

He told the customers that when they paid their administrative fee, the Tricolor debt would be in “legal dispute,” the company couldn’t repossess their cars, and their credit wouldn’t be affected, text messages provided by clients show.

That wasn’t true.

US Bankruptcy Judge Michelle V. Larson—comparing Aguirre to characters in the TV series “Better Call Saul” and “Seinfeld"—found him in contempt Thursday. She concluded that he engaged in unauthorized practice of law and that he violated a bankruptcy rule requiring that documents presented to the court be legally warranted, factually supported, and not presented for any improper purpose.

“If there were ever a textbook written on the ins and outs of the unauthorized practice of law, the cover of that textbook could include a picture of Beyond Attorneys and its contents could simply be a chapter-by-chapter breakdown of the actions taken by Mr. Aguirre in this case,” Larson wrote in the opinion.

The court will schedule a hearing to address the amount and extent of sanctions, considering the fees and expenses incurred by the bankruptcy estate, consumer creditors, and Vervent as a result of Aguirre’s actions.

“On the surface, he protests to being a benign good Samaritan, offering a helping hand to those in need who are in the midst of a tenuous legal proceeding,” the judge wrote. “However, this self-generated perception is nothing more than a façade built on a foundation of empty promises, the business ethics of Saul Goodman, and an aversion to the truth akin to the likes of George Costanza.”

‘Fraud Continues’

Bloomberg Law reviewed criminal and bankruptcy court documents, transcripts, text messages, payment histories, and social media posts; attended hearings; and interviewed a dozen current and previous victims for this article.

The Arizona Department of Corrections declined a request to interview Aguirre in the Safford state prison, and he didn’t respond to a letter Bloomberg Law sent in May.

But in three interviews and a court appearance in February, before his arrest, Aguirre claimed he was targeted for helping customers.

He described himself and Beyond Attorneys as administrative coordinators who would help with translation, “document organizing,” and “filing logistics.” They would gather information from clients, including copies of contracts, and prepare the motions.

He expressed frustration that undocumented immigrants were left out of the recovery process, vehicles were repossessed by towing companies, no accounting was provided, and only Tricolor’s consumer creditors lacked legal representation in the bankruptcy proceedings.

“The fraud is, unfortunately, circular, and I want to emphasize that it continues,” Aguirre told Bloomberg Law in February. “The deception continues, the fraud continues, and this machine keeps victimizing all these Tricolor customers who are forced to make outrageous payments.”

He said he believed filing these motions would stop Tricolor and Vervent from collecting money.

“This is the only time I think that I wish I were an attorney so that I can stand in front of the judge,” he said.

When the judge and attorneys in the case questioned him at a February hearing in the US Bankruptcy Court for the Northern District of Texas over the potential unauthorized practice of law, Aguirre repeated the story about how he inserted himself into the Tricolor case. But when asked about his friend who bought the car without a license plate on it, he said he couldn’t recall the name.

The Legal Boss

Aguirre hit “record” at a coworking space to celebrate securing a 30-day pause on repossessions, calling it one of his “biggest wins” in the bankruptcy case.

“Another victory for El Jefe Legal,” he says in the TikTok video posted in February. “The only one who speaks on behalf of the Tricolor victims.”

But that wasn’t the whole story. In fact, Larson issued the order because of confusion fueled, in part, by Aguirre’s advice to clients to suspend their loan payments.

“I’m very concerned,” the judge said.

“I can’t ignore that folks were paying for what, subject to another hearing, seems to be legal advice that was provided by non-lawyers,” she added.

She recognized “communication issues,” which can be common in cases with a large number of consumer creditors. She said she didn’t think customers needed to be filing those motions.

“It’s unfortunate that Mr. Aguirre preyed on Tricolor customers who thought they were just trying to make their auto loan payments,” said Kevin Dinino, a Vervent spokesman. “In turn, this conduct impacted them significantly financially as well as created confusion when trying to understand what to do next.”

Anett Pikula, Aguirre’s ex-girlfriend, said she was with him until March and experienced events described in court papers, including his solicitations to Tricolor victims.

“Francisco swindled a lot of Tricolor people,” Pikula said. “He had a rule of securing 10 to 15 contracts a day, and he worked morning, afternoon, and night.”

Count of Monte Cristo

Aguirre was just two months off probation in 2012 after pleading guilty to selling unregistered securities in a mortgage scheme that allegedly defrauded his brother, among others, when he launched a new fraud.

Aguirre called his real estate businesses Montecristo Properties. The name, a former friend recalled in an interview, was inspired by “The Count of Monte Cristo,” a classic novel of betrayal, wrongful imprisonment, and revenge.

Through Montecristo, Aguirre falsely told Spanish-speaking victims from 2013 through 2015 that his company had acquired distressed residential properties in the Phoenix area free and clear, according to court documents filed by the state of Arizona. They could purchase the properties by making down payments and making mortgage payments to Montecristo.

But Montecristo didn’t own the properties free and clear. It was acquiring them through hard-money loans—short-term, asset-based borrowing often used by flippers—and using the victims’ money to make payments to those lenders. The victims received forged documents they couldn’t read because they were in English. Aguirre would offer to orally “translate” them.

When Montecristo began defaulting on its hard-money loans, the lenders began to foreclose. Montecristo continued to accept mortgage payments from victims and told them that foreclosure notices were meaningless “announcements.” But they were real. Families were kicked out of the properties, according to documents from the state. Many were left homeless.

The scheme involved more than 50 victims, according to court records. Aguirre was sentenced to 7.5 years in prison in a plea deal that required him to pay about $1.7 million in restitution, according to a 2021 order. He was released in 2023.

According to court records, he has paid victims only $8,534 as of May, despite being encouraged to pay 10 percent of his income. In October 2025 alone, he earned over $42,000 from clients, according to a report filed by his probation officer. He paid only $250 in restitution that month.

He had only begun increasing his payments this year, making three separate payments of $1,000.

Meanwhile, Aguirre purchased two new cars that came with $2,000 in monthly payments, traveled to Palm Springs, Calif. and Mexico without permission, and answered “no” to a question about history of financial offenses when he opened a nonprofit in March 2025, a probation report stated. He was also involved in real estate—despite the conditions of his probation—as well as services related to immigration, divorce and insurance disputes.

“This officer has concerns that he is continuing to create new victims in the community for his own financial gain,” the probation officer wrote.

Silvia Gallo, one of the victims of mortgage fraud, said she had been receiving about $18 a month, and in March, $136, toward total losses she estimates at $233,000.

She paid Aguirre in full for three homes and made a down payment on a fourth. She said she felt victimized twice because the financial institutions then demanded repayment from them.

“The emotional toll was well beyond the financial loss,” Gallo said. “Victims got sick and divorced.”

Aguirre presented himself as an exceptionally charming and personable character, she said. He hosted a broadcast show Entrepreneurs ‘N Fuego to tell stories of entrepreneurs. As recently as last July, he appeared on a Spanish-language news service as a legal analyst on immigration issues.

“He’s very intelligent. He knows how to use the law in his favor,” Gallo said. “He’s a con artist.”

‘Behavior That Is Not Good’

The Arizona State Bar received at least 22 “public records” about him as of April, according to an email from the organization. Eight were merged into two cease and desist orders.

The bar reached a consent agreement in December that required Aguirre to pledge not to practice law again and never use designations such as “law” or “lawyer” that could induce others to think he was authorized to practice. The deal came before the influx of filings in Tricolor’s docket.

He initially used DocuSign for client signatures until the bankruptcy court rejected them for lacking actual signatures. Because Aguirre had to report all out-of-state and international travel to his probation officer, he had an assistant scan, email, and file documents in Dallas. In the contracts clients signed, and even in email signatures, Beyond Attorneys stated, “Not a Law Firm.”

At a March hearing in the Superior Court of Arizona in Maricopa County, to consider whether to revoke his probation, Aguirre denied receiving money from people he found on social media. He said he earned less than $5 from TikTok’s Creator Program, which pays based on views. He said he didn’t know he had to report his social media accounts.

“El Jefe is nearly a public service announcement for folks who have been defrauded,” Aguirre said in the hearing. “My experience, having been on the other side, I’m just assisting those folks.”

He said he was remorseful for violating the terms of his probation. He also claimed to have retired and was living on Social Security and monthly payments from an inheritance.

“In fact, there are no new victims,” he said. “There are no victims.”

Probation officers have told Aguirre since 2023 that he couldn’t perform legal work, yet he had obtained limited power of attorney documents from clients authorizing him to prepare court motions for them, according to the probation officer report.

The probation officer required Aguirre to seek permission before engaging in business activity, to submit financial records, and to share financial information—none of which he was doing. He did it only after the probation department filed a petition to revoke his probation, according to the officer’s report.

His public defender told the court that Aguirre accepted responsibility for not seeking approval before pursuing business activities, but argued that he acted in good faith and caused no further harm to the community. He said Aguirre had resigned as statutory agent from the businesses, closed all bank accounts, shut down operations, and discontinued business phone numbers.

Aguirre terminated Beyond Attorneys in January, according to documents from the Arizona Corporation Commission. However, he had been using his phone number to ask people to contact him if they had been victims of fraud, the probation officer said in March.

Even using the name El Jefe Legal would suggest or make people believe he was associated with a law firm, said Superior Court Commissioner Joshua Boyle in a March hearing. He revoked his probation, saying Aguirre had engaged in restricted business activities and the money he was making wasn’t fully going to the victims but himself.

“I’m not saying you are not a good guy, but I think a lot of time people say to themselves, ‘I’m a good person,’ and they allow that to justify behavior that is not good,” the judge said. “They are so certain that they are good that they don’t see what they are actually doing that is harmful, and I think that could very well be the case here, Mr. Aguirre.”

‘Nobody Stops Him’

The US Trustee, the Department of Justice’s bankruptcy monitor, said in March court documents that it’s investigating Aguirre and Beyond Attorneys.

Pikula’s daughter sued him in March, along with his former romantic and business partner Kathleen Aguirre, his son, and an administrative assistant, after accusing him of insurance fraud.

His TikTok videos remain on the platform, though the account is now private and no longer posts new content. It also has a new username—Adam Friedland Halkias Mullen, which happens to be the names of the creators of a comedy podcast.

Shortly after being returned to prison, Aguirre received a disciplinary infraction for possession of a communication device.

Before his arrest, one victim whose motion was filed in bankruptcy said she got her money back after directly confronting Aguirre, but had to sign a non-disparagement agreement. Other victims are still waiting to get their money back.

Aguirre’s actions created an even deeper distrust within a vulnerable community already feeling victimized by Tricolor. For the company, it meant a potential loss of money that the estate needed to repay the financial institutions the company is accused of defrauding.

Aguirre is expected to be out of prison in 2028.

“This is a guy who continues to commit fraud, and nobody stops him,” Gallo said. “How is it possible that they gave him only two and a half years?”

Updates with opinion from bankruptcy judge in last four paragraphs of first section