Hope Florida and Racoon Journalism

The $10 Million Headache for People Who Can’t Read Settlements

There are few spectacles more grotesque than the modern press attempting to prosecute a scandal with nothing but access to a public records portal and a profound misunderstanding of how law, charity, and Medicaid settlements actually work.

The latest installment—filed by the journalistic duo of Mower & Glorioso, who write like they’re investigating Watergate but are really reading a coloring book—suggests that $10 million from a legally negotiated Medicaid settlement was secretly and unlawfully “diverted” to fund a DeSantis-aligned charity.

This is false. Embarrassingly so.

Let’s be clear: there is no whistleblower.
There is no criminal complaint.
There is no IRS concern. Nor has there been anything even coming close to a complaint of such easily verifiable nonsense.
There is only headlines assembled from calendar invites, frustrated and ineffective legislators running out the clock, and the sort of deeply unserious analysis that causes readers to mistake innuendo for insight.

Now let’s walk through the wreckage.

🧾 First, the So-Called “Diversion”

The article breathlessly claims that:

“$10 million from the $67 million Centene settlement was diverted to the Hope Florida Foundation.”

False. The $10 million was never owed to the state. The settlement was structured—like most large Medicaid settlements—based on negotiated harm.

• The state calculated that $56–$57 million reflected overpayments.

• Centene agreed to a $67 million settlement, which included an additional $10 million.

• That “sweetener” was legally designated as a voluntary charitable contribution—not Medicaid restitution.

To claim it was stolen Medicaid money is not just misleading—it’s malicious slander dressed in fiscal cosplay.

Contingency fees typically run between 20% and 40% of any settlement, which means firing Liston & Deas could have actually saved Florida tens of millions, increasing the net benefit to the state.

Let’s entertain Mower’s imaginary scenario for a moment—he suggests Liston & Deas might’ve secured a $67 million settlement. Setting aside the fact that he provides zero evidence they would have done so, the math still works against his narrative.

At standard contingency rates, Liston & Deas would have pocketed $13.4 million to $26.8 million, leaving Florida with $40.2 million to $53.6 million net.

Compare that to the actual $67 million the state received—without fees.

So even if we pretend his fantasy is real, the real-life deal came out better for Florida than the one he’s making up.

In short: Mower’s math only works if you leave out the math.

💼 Second, the “Dark Money” Nonsense

The article attempts to tie the Hope Florida Foundation to political spending via two unrelated 501(c)(4) organizations that received grant funding months later. Heavilly monitored grant funding.

Not only is there no evidence the Foundation earmarked funds for political activity, but IRS law prohibits 501(c)(3) organizations from doing so. The Foundation would lose its status in seconds if it violated that line.

If the Times/Herald had any documentation—a memo, an email, a whisper—they would have published it.
Instead, they give us calendar entries. Calendar entries. From two years ago.

This isn’t a scandal. It’s a group chat with formatting.

🧠 Third, the Convenient Amnesia

Let’s talk about context. Remember that Centene reached settlements with 20+ states—some publicly, some confidentially. These settlements were often closed-door, negotiated affairs.

• Florida’s deal was finalized in September 2024.

• It involved no lawsuit, no trial, and no taxpayer-funded contingency fees (unlike other states).

• Florida fired the politically connected law firm seeking those fees—and got a larger settlement without them.

But that part is buried beneath so much speculation you’d think the reporters were writing for Reddit, not a newspaper.

🤨 Fourth, the Fake Timeline Conspiracy

The article slyly implies that the settlement’s timing—close to the Amendment 3 campaign (literally at the end of it btw)—proves it was used to fund political operations.

There’s just one problem: Hope Florida Foundation’s 990 shows no such spending.

And even if the 501(c)(4)s that received grants later made political contributions, unless those grants were earmarked—and evidence exists to prove that—they are legally insulated from any campaign finance violation.

The authors know this. They simply hope you don’t.

💬 Fifth, the Quotes That Give It All Away

You can always spot a weak story when it must rely on:

• Calendar entries from 2022

• Anonymous staffers guessing about roles

• Emotional quotes from politicians (“They were in no rush until they needed cash!” Incidentally with zero evidence that they “needed cash.”)

Rep. Alex Andrade says the Governor is “either misinformed or lying.”

Well, Alex was also the one who likely invited internet trolls to crash a Hope Florida board meeting, so perhaps he’s not the best judge of integrity.

The Nonsensical Conspiracy

The media is now suggesting DeSantis engineered a $67M Medicaid settlement years ago to fund both a campaign against Marijuana legalization before it was an issue and also use the same exact money to pay a PAC through a charity that also didn’t exist yet.

This isn’t reporting. It’s conspiracy cosplay.

The Centene Settlement Was Not New — It Was Nationwide

• The $67 million paid to Florida was part of a broader, multi-state settlement regarding Centene's pharmacy benefit billing practices.

• This investigation began under multiple state attorneys general, and many states received similar payments.

• Florida got one of the largest payouts because of its size, scope of the alleged overbilling, and Medicaid structure.

• There is no evidence it was tied to political initiatives — and if it were, other state AGs would be implicated too (which they’re not).

✅ Fact: Florida’s portion of the Centene settlement was finalized in 2024. Not “years earlier.”
✅ Fact: These settlements are legal, public, and audited — often with a charitable carve-out to support community health.

Centene settled with multiple states. Hope Florida was founded in 2023. The timeline doesn’t match, the logic doesn’t hold, and the IRS isn’t knocking.

The Lawrence Mower approach to journalism seems to be: When you can’t find a scandal—just invent one.

This article is not journalism.
It’s fan fiction, starring calendar invites and footnotes from disgruntled insiders who are mad the First Lady’s initiative succeeded without them.

The real story?

• A $67 million settlement was reached.

• $10 million of that was legally, openly, and voluntarily contributed to a registered nonprofit.

• The nonprofit later gave grants to community organizations not political entities which would have been tracked and we’d be talking about Federal investigations at this point.

• The press cannot prove misuse, so they manufacture “optics.”

The only “diversion” here is readers’ attention—from what really matters.

🧠 The Questions Worth Asking:

• Why is the Florida Legislature spending more time attacking Hope Florida than addressing the $57 million it gave back to itself after DeSantis vetoed it?

• Why are these articles surfacing just as SB 1144—which would enshrine Hope Florida—moves toward passage?

• And why do these journalists keep using Casey DeSantis as collateral in their ideological tantrums? There’s obviously a goal here, and it has nothing to do with Hope Florida, Medicaid or what’s best for Florida.

🧨 Here’s the Truth:

The $10 million wasn’t stolen. The narrative was.

This isn’t about Medicaid. It’s about control. It’s about who gets to define “help.”

Hope Florida committed the only sin Tallahassee’s consultant class can’t forgive:

It worked. Without them.

Let’s be clear: this isn’t a smoking gun. It’s a smoke machine—purchased by bitter political operatives and operated by journalists who think Google Calendar is evidence.

If Hope Florida had broken a single IRS rule, it wouldn’t be Alex Andrade hosting a subcommittee circus. It’d be a federal investigation. But there isn’t one.

No IRS complaint. No AG probe. No whistleblower. Just Mower and Glorioso digging through meeting minutes like two raccoons in a Wawa dumpster.

They’re not reporting facts. They’re protecting a narrative.

And the story they don’t want to tell is the one every working parent in Florida already knows:

Hope Florida did what the legislature never could—helped people directly, without red tape, without consultants, and without cutting anyone a check for “optics.”

That’s the real crime here.

Not fraud.

Effectiveness.

Want more clarity in a world of clutter? I cover these topics—and the intellectual battles behind them—on Substack: The Rational Purview

🟩 Subscribe.
🎙 Listen to Firing Lane.
☕ Support the anti-grift with a Buy Me a Coffee.
🛍 Check out @MrsCroaky’s merch store.

The fight for reason isn’t won in a day. But we can win it one argument at a time.