Inside the Minnesota Home Health Fraud Machine

Thirty-nine houses, two hundred million dollars, less than a decade.

Across the Twin Cities, you can run a "home healthcare organization" out of a house on a residential street. Hundreds of people do. But you don't need hundreds to understand what's happening here. You need thirty-nine.

Thirty-nine residential addresses. Between 2019 and 2024, those 39 houses collected roughly $209 million in Minnesota Medicaid home-care payments. They are a sliver—about one in ten—of the residential addresses billing this kind of care across the metro. And the money doesn't spread evenly across even them. Five addresses hold more than half of it. Ten hold nearly four-fifths.

Do the arithmetic the state would rather you skip. Two hundred nine million dollars across 39 addresses is an average of $5.4 million per house over six years—nearly $900,000 every single year, flowing out of a single residential address, billed to taxpayers for in-home care. Not a hospital. Not a clinic. A house. And thirty-eight more like it.

That's the part nobody in St. Paul wants you to sit with, because Minnesota has already admitted—in federal court, under oath—that its home-care programs were a fraud magnet built with the doors left open.

Start with what's certain, because the certainty is the story.

A System Being Looted

Minnesota didn't get blindsided. The state stood up a series of Medicaid programs with low barriers to entry and almost no records requirements, then watched the spending detonate. Housing Stabilization Services had a projected cost of $2.6 million a year; by 2024 it paid out over $104 million, and the state shut the whole program down for fraud. Integrated Community Supports went from $4.6 million in 2021 to $170 million in 2024. The autism program— Early Intensive Developmental and Behavioral Intervention, or EIDBI—climbed from a few hundred thousand dollars in 2018 to over $400 million by 2025. A congressional investigation has since estimated that Minnesota put as much as $9 billion in Medicaid-related funds at serious risk—or lost it altogether.

Nine billion. With a B. In one state. In less than a decade.

So when 39 houses turn up holding $209 million in home-care payments, the question isn't whether that's possible. We already know what's possible here. The question is what's underneath the number.

Houses That Bill

Here's what $900,000 a year, run out of a residence, should look like. Somebody goes into homes to provide care. The address on the paperwork is where the company is registered, not where the patients live. A single residential address billing the government that much, year after year, implies an operation moving a small army of aides through a long roster of clients—the kind of footprint that doesn't fit inside a split-level on a quiet block.

Compare that to what the prosecuted cases actually look like. Promise Health Services billed Medicaid for years for home-and-community services while operating, according to the U.S. Attorney General, out of a mailbox—no office building at all. Its owner was convicted of swindling $7.2 million. Ultimate Home Health Services billed for a client it claimed to serve twelve hours a day; the man's own mother said the care didn't exist. Another client was found dead in his apartment while the company kept billing for his services.

That's the template. Not a busy agency stretched thin. A storefront, a mailbox, a rented apartment, an address on a residential block—and a billing line into the Medicaid system that never stops running. The fraud Minnesota has already charged didn't look expensive from the curb. It looked like nothing. The money was the only thing that gave it away.

Which is exactly why the concentration matters—and here the live numbers are blunt. The single highest-billing residential address belongs to Stonecrest Living Inc., which collected $40.4 million over six years from a home in Minnetonka registered to an entity called Gabeyre Holdings LLC. Others include: American Best Home Care ($20.6 million, Brooklyn Center), Midway Home Health Care ($17.6 million, St. Paul), Delight Home Healthcare ($16.2 million, Brooklyn Park), and Holistic Home Care ($14.4 million, Woodbury). Those top five addresses account for $109 million—more than half of the entire $209 million—and the top ten swallow nearly four-fifths of it. A real home-care market spreads: many providers, modest billing, churn. Growing by word of mouth and customer satisfaction. 

What we have instead is a handful of houses sitting on almost all of the money.

At least one of these houses does double duty. The home behind Midway Home Health Care—the third-largest biller at $17.6 million—is owned by an entity called Psdl Group LLC. And the building Psdl owns right behind it is… you guessed it: a daycare. An adult day center, billing Medicaid on its very own line. One owner, two front doors, two open spigots into the same program. If that pairing rings a bell—Twin Cities, daycare, public money—it should.

The Press Runs Cover

None of this happened quietly. Minnesota spent the last decade building Medicaid programs with the oversight dial turned all the way down—low barriers, minimal documentation, self-attestation, pay first and ask questions never. The state's own designers predicted these programs would cost a fraction of what they ended up costing, and when the bills came in at ten, twenty, forty times the projection, St. Paul kept the spigot open.

That's the populist heart of it. The money isn't abstract. Roughly a quarter of Minnesota lives on Medicaid, and the program exists for the people who actually need it—the disabled, the elderly, kids. Every dollar that walks out through a mailbox or a registered LLC at somebody's house is a dollar that never reached a patient. When the Attorney General shut down Housing Stabilization Services, the people who lost their support weren't the operators who looted it. They were the vulnerable clients the program was built to serve. Fraud doesn't just steal money. It burns down the programs real people depend on—and then the officials who left the doors open show up to deliver the eulogy.

And the operators understood the assignment. Feeding Our Future—the largest pandemic-fraud scheme in the country—wasn't an outlier. It was the proof of concept. The same playbook, the same Twin Cities provider ecosystem, surfaced again in the autism program, in housing services, in the home-care raids federal agents are running right now. The U.S. Attorney's office and the FBI have spent two years pulling thread after thread out of the same cloth, and the indictments keep landing on connected operators working connected programs.

So let's say plainly what the establishment press tiptoes around: the prosecuted fraud in these programs has clustered, repeatedly and undeniably, in a specific provider network concentrated in and around the Twin Cities. That's not a slur and it's not a theory—it's what the federal charging documents and the trial records show. The same names recur across schemes. The same addresses recur. The state knew which programs were bleeding and which networks were billing them. For years it kept writing checks rather than risk the political cost of asking who got the money. Scrutiny got coded as an attack, and the fraud got a protected runway.

That isn't my framing—it's the finding of a 205-page House Oversight Committee report released June 8, 2026, titled "The Cost of Doing Nothing: How Tim Walz and Keith Ellison Fueled Minnesota's Fraud Explosion." The committee concluded that Governor Walz and Attorney General Ellison knew of credible, systemic fraud in the state's social-service programs as early as 2019 and failed to act to protect taxpayer funds. Payments to Feeding Our Future and other high-risk entities kept flowing even after officials had identified serious problems, and the report found the administration retaliated against state employees who tried to raise the alarm.

The report's most damning artifact is a recording. In December 2021, with Feeding Our Future already under scrutiny, Ellison met with figures tied to the scheme—several of them later convicted—and cast the investigations into their nonprofits as racist. According to the audio, Ellison told the group, "Let's just go fight these people." He later accepted campaign contributions from Feeding Our Future defendants; his office says it returned them. The report lays out the mechanism in plain language: the fear of being branded a racist talked the state out of guarding the spigot.

That's the failure. Not that immigrants run home-care agencies—plenty do honest work, and they're undercut worst of all when the looters operate in their name. The failure happened in the state that built programs deliberately intended to create fraud, watched a documented network game them at scale, and decided auditing the spending was more dangerous than losing the money.

What the Data Answers

None of these numbers come with a verdict attached. They're addresses and dollar figures, straight out of public records—what each house is registered to bill, and how much it billed. Maybe one of these 39 is a perfectly legitimate, genuinely high-volume agency with every hour documented. Fine. Let them document it. The rest of us are allowed to notice that nearly $900,000 a year, every year, is an awful lot of money to run out of a single home.

Because in a state that just told a federal judge it may have lost $9 billion to exactly this kind of program, "trust us, it's all legitimate" is a hard sell—and $5.4 million a house is not a number most people are going to take on faith.

And the blame for that has an address too. The House Oversight Committee didn't scatter its findings across a faceless bureaucracy—it assigned them to the top, on two desks. Governor Tim Walz and Attorney General Keith Ellison, the report concludes, received credible and specific warnings that these programs were being looted as early as 2019, and both failed to act while the money kept moving. Payments ran for roughly two years after the alarms reached them. The whistleblowers who tried to force the issue say the state punished them for it. The committee didn't find that Walz and Ellison couldn't stop the bleeding—they chose not to, after repeated warnings. 

Two men sat at the head of a government that watched $9 billion walk out the door, waved through a system built with the doors left open, and looked away, attacking anyone who asked questions.

Minnesota built the spigot. Thirty-nine houses read the meter. It's long past time somebody else did.


KEEP UP WITH CORRUPTION COVERAGE FROM RESTORATION NEWS

   Systemic Fraud in Medicaid: Unbridled Spending: Billions for Medicaid Expansion Congress Never Approved

   Minnesota Isn't Alone: Michigan's Medicaid Fraud Out in the Open

   A Righteous Battle: Why the Battle Against Fraud Has Become a Conservative Calling Card


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Walter Curt is a Senior Fellow for Restoration News, independent investigative journalist, podcaster, and Townhall columnist. His work focuses on accountability reporting, culture, policy, and political analysis. Follow his work at WCDispatch.com and on X @WCDispatch.

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