Corey Brinson's law career was once thriving.

He worked for Big Law firm Day Pitney in Hartford, and then the Washington, D.C., offices of Epstein, Becker & Green before opening his own practice in 2009. He represented more than 700 clients over the next seven years and then—with the representation of one client—his whole career came crashing down.

Hard.

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"I put myself in a bad situation," said Brinson, who added the publicity of his arrest and time in prison was "the most difficult part of the journey for me."

Now 39 years old, the former local politician and attorney is looking to regain public office, running for a seat on the Hartford City Council this November, after a prison sentence of 16 months for money laundering.

In his private life, Brinson plans to get married in May 2020.

Brinson says he wants to make a difference, helping others who faced what he faced: a prison term.

Downfall

Brinson's incarceration stemmed from his representation of Christian Meissenn, who would later be convicted of running a $20 million pump-and-dump scheme that manipulated prices before leaving investors with worthless stocks.

The client, Meissenn, earned about $4.4 million through the scheme between 2011 and 2015, the government said. He got a three-month prison sentence due in part to "serious health conditions," according to court documents.

His lawyer's personal gain was $200,000, according to prosecutors. Brinson took a plea deal that landed him in federal prison for 16 months, beginning in June 2017, for unlawful monetary transactions.

As part of the scheme, authorities said Brinson, who didn't have experience with securities and or securities markets, signed or permitted others to affix his signature to false and misleading attorney-opinion letters that were designed to provide assurances to securities transfer agents and prospective investors. Among other things, the government said, the letters falsely stated that Brinson had adequately reviewed corporate records and filings and was satisfied with the adequacy of the companies' public disclosures. The opinion letters were then provided to securities transfer agents and prospective investors.

The government said that Brinson knew that about $3 million that passed through his Interest on Lawyers Trustees Account, or IOLTA, were the proceeds of the securities scam. In exchange for providing his services, the government said, Brinson received about 5%t of the proceeds that passed through his IOLTA.

"The press was full of inaccurate information," Brinson said. "It made it worse than it actually was. One example of inaccurate information was that I had stolen the investors money, which was not the case. Meissenn and his conspirators stole the money, while I handled the money for Meissenn."

Uphill Battle

After prison, Brinson spent about six months at a halfway house and in home confinement. He is currently on supervised release, and plans to apply for reinstatement of his law license in May 2021, the earliest he can do so.

But he doesn't expect the road back to be easy.

"The phone calls took longer to get returned after prison than when I was at the top of my game," Brinson said. "People, though, who know me and know my heart, they've been consistently supportive. I learned from this whole experience that you need to be honest and upfront from the beginning."

New Britain criminal defense attorney Adrian Baron, who ran for that city's council, said electoral precedent shows voters sometimes elect candidates with criminal records.

"He will have an uphill battle, but it's not unheard of for someone to redeem themselves," said Baron, a partner with Podorowsky Thompson & Baron. "[Bridgeport Mayor] Joe Ganim is a perfect example. He spent time in prison for corruption and was elected again."

Baron continued: "As someone who does criminal defense law, I often see how one incident does not define a person. You need to look at the totality of their character."

But candidates in that position will likely face additional scrutiny.

It's Brinson's responsibility to "be upfront and open about it with his constituents," Baron said. "He needs to answer questions they might have about that time in his life."

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Inmate-turned-prison consultant

Brinson said accountability is a chief motivator.

He does community service with young people in Hartford, even though it's not part of his sentence.

It's also why, he said, he pays his victims extra restitution every month. He is supposed to pay 30% of his monthly income or $1,000, whichever is higher.

"I pay more than that," Brinson said. "I want to do everything in my power to make those victims feel whole again."

A 2005 graduate of the University of Connecticut Law School, Brinson said he sometimes looks back at his fall from grace. He got advice from his former defense counsel Mark Dubois, who taught him in law school and was also president of the Connecticut Bar Association.

"I told him if he ever hopes to come back as a lawyer, he needs to live a period of a redemptive life," Dubois said. "He has to show the court and bar examining committee that he has a history of good work since leaving prison. I think he is on the right path now."

Soon after he got out of federal prison, Brinson founded Second Chance Firm LLC, a Hartford-based national criminal justice consulting company that prepares clients to serve time behind bars.

"I work with them post-conviction," he said. "I do not give them legal advice, but I tell them how to stay safe, stay out of conflict in prison and what jobs to apply for in prison."

There is a market for such advice, said Brinson, who says he's fielded calls from about 50 individuals across the country. His clients include a doctor, lawyer, former broadcast company manager and a businessman involved in insider trading. Brinson advises them on what to expect behind bars, and gives tips on the best prison jobs: tutoring or driving inmates and others to appointments in town, not working in the kitchen.

"There is a lot of theft in the kitchen, and it's aggravating," he said. "If you are a wealthy individual, I tell them do not talk about your fancy homes or cars. Guys in prison don't like that. And do not complain about a relatively short sentence. Some guys are doing 20 years, and don't want to hear you talk about your one or three years."

Brinson is also eager to get back into the courtroom.

"I want to go back to criminal defense. I've seen the entire criminal justice system, not just as a lawyer but also as a defendant," he said. "That will definitely give me more empathy toward my clients."

Brinson said he wants his legacy to be one of perseverance.

"We are all humans and we all make mistakes—some mistakes worse than others," he said. "However, when you fall down, you can get back up again. I want people to remember me for that. I fell down and got back up, and made the best of a bad situation."

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