It’s truly heartbreaking to hear stories like Vinyasi’s, where the very system designed to protect vulnerable individuals ends up failing them in the most profound ways. Imagine being someone who relies on others for basic needs, whose financial well-being is entirely in the hands of a professional, only to find yourself struggling for food and shelter. That’s the painful reality Vinyasi faced when Donna Bogdanovich, a professional fiduciary licensed by California, was put in charge of his special needs trust. Bruce Knopf, Vinyasi’s brother, entrusted Bogdanovich with this critical responsibility in 2012, believing she would manage Vinyasi’s money with care. Instead, Bogdanovich began neglecting her duties, leading to a cascade of devastating consequences for Vinyasi. His car broke down, and he stared eviction in the face, leaving him in a desperate situation. “There were times I went without food,” Vinyasi recounted, painting a stark picture of his hardship. When his pleas for help went unanswered by Bogdanovich, Vinyasi turned to the Professional Fiduciaries Bureau in June 2019, the very agency Californians are supposed to depend on for protection in such predicaments. He filed a complaint, detailing how Bogdanovich wasn’t paying his rent and was consistently late with other bills. But, despite the urgency of Vinyasi’s situation, the bureau inexplicably took no immediate action. In a cruel twist of fate, Vinyasi, a man who should have been safeguarded, eventually became homeless—a direct result of the system meant to shield him crumbling around him.
Vinyasi’s agonizing experience, unfortunately, wasn’t an isolated incident. The Professional Fiduciaries Bureau, the agency tasked with licensing and overseeing these professionals, started receiving complaints about Donna Bogdanovich just months after granting her a license. This license, a badge of trust and authority, empowered her to control the finances and lives of vulnerable individuals who, by definition, couldn’t manage their own affairs. Over the years, despite a growing trail of red flags, the bureau’s actions against Bogdanovich were insufficient. They issued fines for her failure to provide records during investigations and for operating with an expired license. Even more alarming, about a year before Vinyasi’s complaint, warning signs emerged that Bogdanovich was illicitly transferring money between client accounts. Yet, this critical allegation seemingly fell through the cracks. The bureau closed the complaint, citing a lack of contact information for the alleged victim, a bureaucratic oversight that allowed Bogdanovich to continue her destructive path. For years, she maintained an iron grip on Vinyasi’s finances. Even after her arrest by the police for stealing a staggering $2.5 million from her clients, Bogdanovich incredibly held onto control over Vinyasi’s money for nearly ten more months before finally resigning. This prolonged period of unchecked power, even with criminal charges looming, highlights a profound systemic failure that left Vinyasi and others like him in a perilous state, utterly let down by the very safeguards designed for their protection.
The California Legislature, two decades ago, established the Professional Fiduciaries Bureau with a noble and critical mission. This came after a damning Los Angeles Times investigation exposed how judges were failing to prevent abuse and insider dealing within the system. The state armed the bureau with the responsibility to license fiduciaries, enforce the law, and uphold ethical standards, intending it to be a bulwark against exploitation. However, a recent and ongoing investigation by CalMatters, a deep dive into probate court records, agency documents, and countless interviews with impacted families, paints a grim picture: the bureau has tragically fallen short of its vital promise to protect Californians, particularly as the state’s population ages. It hasn’t effectively curbed conflicts of interest explicitly prohibited by its own code of conduct, nor has it reined in the outrageous behavior exhibited by some California fiduciaries. This failure leaves desperate families feeling helpless as they try to protect their loved ones and preserve their hard-earned wealth. Adding to the distress, the information the bureau maintains on fiduciaries is often shrouded in secrecy or, worse, inaccurate. This lack of transparency leaves those who rely on the industry with little to no dependable information about who they should—and absolutely shouldn’t—trust. A deeply troubling aspect is the agency’s reliance on an “honor system,” where fiduciaries are largely expected to self-report if they’ve been removed from a case due to misconduct, effectively placing the fox in charge of the henhouse and eroding public trust in the system.
The operational state of the Professional Fiduciaries Bureau further reveals the depth of its struggles. It has been merely “puttering along,” as described, with a severe lack of leadership and a bare-bones staff. Governor Gavin Newsom’s prolonged failure to fill the chief position for a year and a half speaks volumes about the priority – or lack thereof – placed on this crucial agency. As of now, the bureau functions with just one employee, as two of its three other positions remain vacant. This solitary individual is ostensibly responsible for overseeing nearly 900 licensed fiduciaries across the state. While an agency spokesperson mentioned receiving support from its parent agency, the Department of Consumer Affairs, it’s hard to imagine how such minimal staffing can effectively handle the immense responsibilities. In 2025, the bureau processed 174 complaints. While it can issue fines and citations for minor violations like late annual statements and inaccurate information relatively quickly—taking an average of 58 days in 2025—the process for addressing more serious misconduct is painstakingly slow. That same year, it took, on average, more than two years from the initial complaint to suspend, revoke, or secure the surrender of a license. According to annual reports, only five licenses have been revoked since 2022. Vinyasi’s cutting remark, “Why put up a false front that they’re there to serve a purpose? They don’t serve any purpose,” perfectly encapsulates the disillusionment felt by many who have been failed by a system that promises much but delivers little meaningful protection. His plea to “erase the lie that they’re there to do something” is a desperate cry for honesty and accountability from an agency that appears to be failing its fundamental mandate.
Despite persistent efforts by CalMatters to engage with the Professional Fiduciaries Bureau for over a year regarding their investigative series, the Department of Consumer Affairs consistently declined interview requests, citing the vacant director position. Governor Newsom’s spokesperson, Izzy Gardon, acknowledged the issue, stating that the governor is “actively recruiting to fill the position.” It was only when a victim directly approached the Los Angeles Police Department in 2022 that Donna Bogdanovich’s criminal enterprise truly began to unravel. Court records reveal that she pleaded no contest to siphoning over $160,000 from Vinyasi and more than $1 million from her other clients. Shockingly, she continued to funnel their money into her own accounts even after the bureau had placed her on probation, a testament to the agency’s inability to effectively rein her in. At the bureau’s request, Bogdanovich’s license was finally suspended weeks after her arrest, yet even this measure failed to remove her from her existing appointments. A bureau investigator informed the court in March 2024 that Bogdanovich was still managing 24 open cases and $2.8 million in assets while she sat in jail, a staggering and deeply concerning revelation. The state eventually revoked her license, but only four months after her arrest, highlighting the glacial pace of justice within the regulatory body. Agency spokesperson Monica Vargas, in response to questions, emphasized the bureau’s need to “do its due diligence to gather facts and collect evidence to take action against a license.” Bogdanovich was ultimately sentenced to four years in jail and four under supervision, but her story serves as a stark reminder of the prolonged suffering and financial ruin inflicted on her clients due to systemic failures.
One of the deeply concerning aspects of the bureau’s past limitations is how individuals like Bogdanovich avoided serious consequences simply by being uncooperative. For years, she managed to evade substantial punishment during the bureau’s investigations by refusing to respond, an alarming loophole that existed because the agency lacked the authority to revoke a license for such non-compliance. Thankfully, the Legislature addressed this critical flaw in 2023, granting the bureau the necessary power to take action against uncooperative fiduciaries. However, almost paradoxically, during the same legislative session, the bureau lobbied for and received further restrictions on the information it could share with the public. Now, the public cannot access crucial details such as whether a fiduciary has business or family ties with companies hired using client money, or any specifics about such connections. Information on whether a court has found a fiduciary in breach of their duties, or case numbers and details when a fiduciary was removed or resigned from a case or agreed to a settlement, is also withheld. Instead of transparent details revealing a fiduciary’s past issues, the public is often presented with heavily redacted documents, essentially “a wall of black ink,” containing only yes-or-no boxes that may or may not be accurately checked. A 2021 law intended to require courts to notify the bureau if judges punished fiduciaries for abuse has not been funded by lawmakers, rendering it ineffective, according to the Judicial Council. Carole Herman, an advocate instrumental in the bureau’s creation, expressed her profound disappointment, stating that the bureau is “insufficiently staffed and funded,” and “nobody is really monitoring like they should.” She had envisioned strong oversight, but sadly, “that’s not how it turned out.” The story of Leyla Zabih, who resigned as a conservator after a family’s objections and failed to adhere to a court-approved settlement, yet checked “no” on her annual statements when asked about resigning or settling a case where a complaint was filed, starkly illustrates this lack of transparency. When confronted, Zabih invoked her right to “plead the Fifth,” further highlighting the frustrating opacity within the system. The bureau’s reliance on fiduciaries to “attest to the information they’ve submitted is truthful and accurate” while lacking the resources and transparency to verify these claims creates a perilous environment for vulnerable individuals, leaving them largely unprotected in a system designed to safeguard their interests.