Louis A. Bevilacqua, who postures as a seasoned securities attorney and financier, is in truth the mastermind and enabler of one of the most audacious financial schemes ever inflicted on small investors. As a 10% owner of 1847 Partners — the external management firm that plundered 1847 Holdings, its offshoot Polished.com, and their subsidiaries — Bevilacqua operated with both hands dirty: one drafting legal shields, the other orchestrating the siphoning of shareholder capital into private coffers.

As the largest shareholder of 1847 Holdings, I witnessed this deception firsthand. I confronted CEO Ellery Roberts after investing significant capital in one of their private raises. He assured me the company could now “build on cash” and no longer needed outside funding. Within days, they launched another raise — and repeated this cycle again and again. These entities weren’t built to grow companies; they were engineered to funnel fresh cash to insiders while tossing scraps to public investors. In fact, 1847 Holdings quietly settled serious allegations from a former subsidiary owner who accused them of acting as an “alter ego” — using investor funds for personal indulgences rather than business operations.

The fraud followed a chillingly simple pattern:

1847 Holdings concocted financial reports and press releases designed to project strength while masking insolvency.

They raised money through private placements, then declared dividends shortly after — not to pay off early backers, but to create the illusion that shareholders would always receive dividends and that the company was stable and healthy. This is a textbook Ponzi marketing tactic, manufacturing confidence to attract new victims.

 Boilerplate disclaimers about “material weaknesses” and “poor controls” served not as warnings, but as camouflage for what was, in effect, corporate theft. These so-called weaknesses existed by design, allowing Bevilacqua and Roberts to fabricate financials — primarily inflated top-line revenue figures — which they used to justify performance-based bonuses and manipulate share price ahead of capital raises.

Between 1847 Holdings and Polished.com, these insiders raised over $700 million. Investors believed they were funding growth — they were unknowingly fueling a sophisticated cash extraction machine.

And nearly every company Louis Bevilacqua touches follows the same grim pattern:

An initial hype-driven public debut… a sharp decline… fake acquisition announcements… convertible debt issued to predatory lenders… and finally, a slow collapse while insiders quietly cash out. It’s as though when a company wants to weaponize the public markets to defraud, someone says, “Hey, I got a guy.” That guy is Bevilacqua — the fixer, the architect, the enabler.

Ask yourself:

How does a collection of longstanding, profitable businesses suddenly implode after being acquired — despite hundreds of millions in funding?

Because they weren’t mismanaged. They were systematically looted. Money intended for growth vanished through insider dealings and financial shell games.

When I demanded a forensic audit, Louis Bevilacqua surfaced — not as outside counsel, but as a conflicted participant desperate to suppress the truth. On September 14, 2023, his law partner Joseph D. Wilson sent me a letter threatening criminal prosecution. The trigger? A recorded call between myself and CEO Ellery Roberts, in which Roberts made materially false statements about the company’s intentions regarding a planned reverse stock split — a major corporate event that would carry deleterious consequences for myself and other shareholders.

Roberts’ misrepresentations were not accidental or speculative — they were deliberate. He acted with scienter, knowingly providing false assurances in an attempt to prevent shareholder pushback and conceal the company’s true trajectory. The statements were made with intent to defraud, and the recording captured that intent in his own words.

Rather than address why their CEO had blatantly lied, Bevilacqua’s firm attempted to criminalize the exposure of that lie. Wilson’s letter warned:

“You have been reported to California legal authorities for having recorded the call without Mr. Roberts’ consent. It is a violation of Section 632 of the California Penal Code… A person who violates Section 632 can be subject to a fine, jail time of up to a year, or both.”

Then he escalated further:

“Your recording of the call may also be a violation of the federal Electronic Communications Privacy Act of 1986… as may be your intentional disclosure or use of the recording’s contents.”

Let’s be clear: this was not a good-faith legal objection. This was witness intimidation. The recording in question didn’t capture private banter — it captured a CEO engaging in material misrepresentations with the intent to defraud shareholders. Wilson’s goal wasn’t to uphold the law — it was to bury damning evidence and insulate a fraudulent executive from accountability.

And then, Louis Bevilacqua himself joined the offensive. Instead of explaining why his CEO had lied, Bevilacqua turned his attention to discrediting me — the whistleblower. In his own words, he wrote:

“It appears that you are intentionally trying to harass and damage the company by attempting to bring frivolous claims…”

But he didn’t stop there. In what can only be described as a chilling declaration of corporate policy, he issued the company’s stance on whistleblowers:

“Do note that the Company also takes wrongdoing and other conduct aimed at harming the Company by shareholders or third parties seriously. Among other things, the Company will not tolerate and will take swift legal and other action to address fraudulent or deceptive statements about the Company and threatening or harassing emails directed to Company officers, directors, or employees… The Company will act swiftly to address acts by shareholders or third parties violating federal securities laws.”

Translation: if you tell the truth, we’ll threaten you with criminal charges and accuse you of violating securities law. Bevilacqua didn’t refute the facts — he declared war on the person exposing them.

When those threats failed, they escalated again — hiring a third-party reputation management lawyer, the kind typically retained to scrub bad Yelp reviews, to send me a cease-and-desist letter accusing me of publishing “verifiably false” information. They demanded I retract my claims or face further legal action. Once again, I invited litigation. Once again, they went silent. Their intimidation tactics collapsed under the weight of the facts.

This is a hallmark move for Bevilacqua and Roberts: when caught, they don’t explain — they play the victim. Time and again, when shareholders realize they’ve been robbed and demand restitution, Lou and Ellery attempt to flip the narrative. They fabricate claims that they’re being harassed, physically threatened, or fear for their safety — none of which is true. These tactics are not about protection; they’re about deflection. They seek to reframe victims of financial fraud as aggressors, using reputational spin to shield themselves from accountability. It is a calculated strategy — one that allows them to continue looting while painting themselves as the ones under siege.

This victimhood theater was on full display during a so-called “fireside chat” in September 2023, where Ellery Roberts had the audacity to read from a scripted statement accusing shareholders of harassment, misinformation, and personal attacks. It was pure gaslighting. He looked visibly irritated — not because of the mounting evidence of fraud, but because he had to hold the session at all. It was clear: this wasn’t a leader facing the music. This was a con artist begrudgingly going through the motions, angry that anyone dared challenge his narrative.

And yet, Louis Bevilacqua still appears at microcap investor conferences, strutting among small-company executives as though he hasn’t left a trail of financial devastation in his wake. In photos, you’ll notice him proudly posing at these networking events — the image of a confident insider, dressed to impress and perfectly staged. But make no mistake: this is no coincidence. Bevilacqua must create the illusion that he is a respected thought leader — someone widely accepted in the financial community — because that image is his last remaining asset. It’s not about connection; it’s about credibility laundering.

To these event organizers: whether you’re aware of his history or not, let me be clear — accepting his sponsorship dollars and giving him a platform makes you complicit. That money belongs to defrauded shareholders. Until the millions looted through these schemes are seized and returned, every dollar Bevilacqua spends publicly should be frozen and clawed back. Anything less empowers future harm.

Let’s be brutally honest: this was not an isolated incident. Bevilacqua and his circle have executed variations of this blueprint across multiple microcap companies, refining it to perfection. Each time they’re welcomed back into the room, new victims are created. Each time they escape prosecution, they grow bolder. This is organized, systemic, and ongoing.

Now is the time for real accountability.

The assets of Louis Bevilacqua and Ellery Roberts must be seized. While I cannot state as fact that they’ve moved funds offshore, one would have to reasonably conclude — based on the shell entities involved and the sheer magnitude of the scheme — that stolen investor capital has been funneled into jurisdictions beyond easy regulatory reach. It is the duty of the SEC, DOJ, and FINRA to follow those trails and recover what was taken.

As for Bevilacqua’s fate: I’ll leave that to the courts. But make no mistake — his continued freedom, while the wreckage of his schemes remains unresolved, is not just unjust. It’s dangerous — to every investor operating in the U.S. public markets.

Matt Miller

Strategic Risk LLC

New York

NY

United States

914-306-4771

matt@strategicriskllc.com