Christopher Cadman once carried a badge and a gun, a man entrusted by the people of Los Angeles County to protect the vulnerable, uphold the Constitution, and stand on the right side of the law. On Monday, Sept. 14, that badge meant nothing inside a federal courtroom. Cadman, 34, of Fullerton, was sentenced to one year and nine months in federal prison for crimes that betrayed the very core of his oath. U.S. District Judge Percy Anderson also ordered him to pay $25,000 in restitution, a sum that barely scratches the surface of the damage he helped cause. Cadman had pleaded guilty in August 2025 to one count of conspiracy against rights and one count of subscribing to a false tax return. The charges sound like legal jargon, but they describe something deeply human: a law enforcement officer who used his position to threaten, intimidate, and financially harm a person on behalf of a wealthy and dangerous man. The sentence marks a stark fall from grace, but more importantly, it tells the story of how easily power can be abused when the people who hold it forget why it was given to them in the first place.
The man Cadman chose to serve was not his department or the public, but Adam Iza, a 26-year-old self-styled cryptocurrency businessman who lived in Beverly Hills and Newport Beach. Iza has been in federal custody since September 2024, and he has pleaded guilty to conspiracy against rights, wire fraud, and tax evasion. His own sentencing hearing is scheduled for Oct. 5. But Iza is already serving a 15-year federal prison sentence for a separate and even more disturbing crime: his involvement in an attempted robbery of bitcoin and a kidnapping in Connecticut in August 2024. This is the man Cadman became entangled with, a figure who moved through the world of digital currency with apparent wealth and influence, but whose enterprises were built on fraud, violence, and manipulation. For Cadman, working for Iza meant being paid in cash to lend the credibility of a law enforcement officer to a criminal operation. It meant using the tools of his profession not to investigate wrongdoing but to help a criminal settle debts and silence rivals. The story that emerged in court documents is a chilling reminder that the line between protector and predator is not always visible until it is crossed.
The details of Cadman’s conduct paint a picture of deliberate and calculated abuse. In August 2021, according to court documents, Cadman and fellow LASD Deputy Scott Simpkins confronted one of Iza’s rivals at Iza’s office inside his Bel Air mansion. This was not a routine investigation or a legitimate police interaction. Simpkins held the victim at gunpoint while Cadman stood by, and the message was unmistakable: do what Iza wants or suffer the consequences. The victim, terrified and with no way out, transferred approximately $25,000 from his bank account to Iza’s account on the spot. It was not a negotiation; it was a shakedown conducted under the color of law. But the abuse did not end there. In September 2021, Cadman helped orchestrate what appeared to be a routine traffic stop in Paramount, a staged law enforcement action designed to arrest the same victim on Iza’s behalf. Cadman helped coordinate the traffic stop and the arrest, using his position and his connections to turn the power of the state into a weapon for a private criminal enterprise. For his efforts, Cadman received cash payments from Iza. Every step of the way, he knew what he was doing. He wasn’t a bystander or a reluctant participant; he was an active collaborator in a scheme that treated another human being as a pawn in a criminal’s game.
Beyond the violence and intimidation, Cadman also cheated on his taxes, a quieter but still serious betrayal of civic duty. He received income of at least $40,500 in connection with his work for Iza, money he failed to report on his 2021 federal tax return. That unreported income meant he owed roughly $11,000 in federal taxes for that year, money that should have gone to schools, roads, public safety, and all the other things that taxes support. Instead, Cadman kept it, adding financial fraud to a list that already included conspiracy and the violation of a person’s civil rights. The fact that Cadman is one of five now-former LASD deputies convicted in connection with Iza’s criminal activities makes the story even more troubling. This was not a single bad actor who slipped through the cracks. It was a small network of people who wore the same uniform and each made the choice to abuse it. As federal prosecutors wrote in their sentencing memorandum, law enforcement officers are entrusted with extraordinary authority, and that authority carries a corresponding duty to uphold constitutional rights, exercise sound judgment, and serve the public with integrity. When an officer abuses that trust, the harm extends far beyond the immediate victim. It undermines confidence in the rule of law, weakens trust in government institutions, and damages the reputation of the countless officers who serve honorably every day.
The web of corruption around Iza reached beyond the deputies who directly carried out his orders. In a related case, Iris Ramaya Au, 37, of Irvine, who was Iza’s ex-girlfriend, pleaded guilty in March 2025 to one count of subscribing to a false tax return. Au failed to report more than $2.6 million in ill-gotten funds that she obtained from Iza’s criminal activities. That is an enormous amount of money, and her willingness to hide it shows how deeply the corruption ran. She now faces up to three years in federal prison at her sentencing hearing. Together, these cases tell a larger story about how crime is rarely a one-person operation. There is usually a leader like Iza, who comes up with the plan and reaps the rewards. There are enforcers like Cadman and Simpkins, who use violence and threats to protect the enterprise. And there are accomplices like Au, who help hide the money and keep the scheme alive. Each one of them made a series of choices, small and large, that led them to federal court. But the victims are not just the person who was held at gunpoint or the taxpayers who were cheated. Society as a whole is victimized when the people who are supposed to enforce the law become criminals themselves.
The sentencing of Christopher Cadman is a sobering moment, but it is also a testament to accountability. The justice system that he once represented worked, slowly and imperfectly, to bring him to face the consequences of his actions. Prosecutors described the deep harm caused by police corruption, and their words carry an important reminder: the vast majority of law enforcement officers are honest, dedicated, and deserving of public trust. But trust is fragile. Every time an officer abuses his power, it makes the job harder for every other officer who puts on the uniform. Cadman’s case is not just about one man’s downfall. It is about the danger of unchecked authority, the seductive power of money, and the ease with which someone can convince themselves that loyalty to a criminal is somehow justified. He had every opportunity to do the right thing. He could have reported Iza. He could have walked away. Instead, he chose to become part of the problem, and now he will spend nearly two years in federal prison. For the victim who was threatened and robbed, the scars may last much longer. But at least there is now a record of what happened, a public acknowledgment that what was done was wrong, and a sentence that says clearly that no one, not even a sworn deputy, is above the law. The hope is that this case serves as a warning and a lesson, for this deputy and for anyone else who might be tempted to trade integrity for cash. The badge is not a license to harm; it is a promise to protect. Cadman broke that promise, and now he is paying the price.