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Automatically translated version. May contain inaccuracies compared to the original.
Who tried to swindle a journalist out of 40 thousand hryvnias. Despite regularly monitoring media about new internet projects with possible signs of fraud, especially in the “crypto” sphere, the story surrounding Alexander Orlovsky did not initially attract our attention.
This is about the founder of a project called Financial Freedom Academy, who, according to some clients and critics, may show signs of dishonest activity.
Alexander Orlovsky and the surfacing filth
A couple of weeks ago, news began to appear with tantalizing headlines: “Alexander Orlovsky — another info-gypsy or crypto expert? Reviews and exposés,” “Alexander Orlovsky — a scammer and fraudster? Reviews and the whole truth about making money on crypto,” and so on.
The “exposés,” written as if from a template, boiled down to depicting Alexander Orlovsky not as a “scammer” at all, but as a lamb bearing the light of crypto enlightenment. Nearly every such publication featured a photo of Orlovsky in a luxurious setting (as if someone that wealthy wouldn’t pinch pennies) and a veiled but persistent suggestion to sign up for this person’s courses for the sake of personal financial growth.
Spoiler: Alexander Orlovsky and his crew are clearly not after small change — we verified that personally.
All the “exposés” that rehabilitate Orlovsky primarily appeal to the claim that the worldwide web supposedly contains mostly positive reviews about him and his courses. But here’s the snag: such publications about Orlovsky show glaring signs of “image crafting” (i.e., paid content). At minimum, every one of those “exposés” paints an epic picture of how great Orlovsky is, yet not a single word about who specifically accuses him of what.
Obviously, the appearance of these pieces across various internet sites is not merely an advertising campaign. It’s more a campaign to squeeze negative mentions of our young crypto mentor out of the top search results — and at the same time, an attempt to discredit them.
At first glance — cheap, fierce, and clever. But Orlovsky did not achieve the result he wanted with such primitive information activity. People noticed and evaluated his efforts. And all the shit he so diligently buried started pouring out on him again.
Last week, media project 360ua, citing sources in the Ministry of Internal Affairs, reported (a report many other online resources picked up) that “on 3 May 2024 a criminal case was opened regarding Ukrainian citizen Orlovsky Alexander Alexandrovich, who has lived in Dubai for the past year.” “Alexander Orlovsky is known in Ukraine, Russia, Poland, the UAE and Turkey for selling non-existent cryptocurrency at a discount, trading courses, and creating Ponzi-style pyramids.” Citing anonymous sources, the outlet claims that Alexander Orlovsky owes investors in his crypto pyramid more than $4 million.
Moreover, allegedly “a criminal case against Alexander Orlovsky was opened following a collective complaint from defrauded investors, buyers of pseudo-courses, and ordinary trusting citizens who transferred money to Orlovsky to buy cryptocurrencies.”
We, for our part, conducted a countercheck of the presented information and, frankly, did not find “ironclad” confirmation. In particular, we cannot confirm or deny that Alexander Orlovsky has become a subject of a criminal case — no related court document tied to his full name appears in public databases.
There can be two explanations for this.
First, the simplest — our colleagues “struck out,” the informant fed them false information.
The second is a bit more complicated. As a rule, a criminal proceeding immediately concerning a specific person is opened if, roughly speaking, the suspect was caught red-handed at the crime scene. A proceeding based on victims’ complaints, even a collective one, will be opened on the basis of the complaint’s facts. At the initial stages, investigators need to verify whether a criminal offense actually occurred (not to mention announcing suspicions against someone).
It doesn’t sound that complicated, but the process can stretch for many months. If a complaint against Orlovsky was indeed filed with the National Police relatively recently (in May of this year), investigators might not have physically had time to gather the necessary data. For one simple reason — a shortage of investigators and overloaded courts. [That’s why we didn’t find mentions of Orlovsky in registries in a criminal context].
The second hypothesis has merit. In one podcast, recorded, as far as can be judged, in May of this year (when interest in Orlovsky from law enforcement reportedly arose), Alexander Orlovsky openly admitted he received many complaints due to his “teaching” and the threat of legal prosecution.
But then Orlovsky emphasized that the vast majority of his “patients” are endlessly satisfied with his mentorship. He said critics were just losers and idiots who couldn’t, even under his attentive guidance, dive into the beautiful world of cryptocurrencies.
Alexander Orlovsky and the vanished reviews
Interestingly, it’s extremely difficult to find live negative reviews from those former students of Orlovsky who spent a lot on his lessons and were, to put it mildly, dissatisfied. On the relevant reviews page of Ukraine’s largest review site otzyvua.net, reviews of Orlovsky’s courses are uniformly positive. “Very useful and interesting,” “I’m so glad,” “I made 3000 dollars without investments,” “Thanks to Sasha Orlovsky for our happy childhood.”
As an experiment, the journalist left a bit of negative feedback there.
As you can see, not even 20 minutes passed before some account dropped a five-star, meaningless review. Although a week separated my negative comment from the previous positive one. In other words, Orlovsky’s team meticulously monitors major review sites and drowns out all negativity about the “guru” with fake positive reviews.
And not only that. After examining the review page about our crypto mentor’s courses on otzyvua.net, journalists couldn’t shake the feeling that Orlovsky occasionally pays the site administration some cash to remove unhappy comments (it’s quite possible mine will be deleted soon).
Journalists reviewed all 133 reviews (at the time of preparing this article) and, besides their own, found no purely negative ones. How can that be? After all, even Orlovsky admits that among his former “students” there are about fifty dissatisfied people up to the point of filing a lawsuit and police complaint.
However, the “cleaners” proved insufficiently pedantic: they missed comments to some reviews. See for yourself.
We scroll down.
As you can see, one former student of Orlovsky claims the “crypto guru’s” courses are, figuratively, not very high quality — none of the author’s 120 “classmates” achieved crypto success.
Below — the same story.
There are several other review services into which Orlovsky has not yet inserted his corrections. For example, here.
There you can find enough information about how this crypto mentor’s “lessons” proceed and what results “students” typically achieve under his guidance.
I quote Anton from Lviv (with some edits):
If you’re someone who just wants to slightly structure their knowledge of cryptocurrency and learn what directions exist, the basic training at a minimal price might suit you. Although, to be honest, the structure and presentation here are three out of ten. Weak presentation; it feels like Alexander approached teaching unprofessionally and unloads information straight from his head. There are YouTube channels with much higher-quality presentation (really better) and free. If you really hope to make money in crypto, I advise finding people who are truly into it, not this course.
His arguments are as follows:
1. Zoom meetings with concrete answers are regularly postponed and often led by people who earn from teaching crypto, not from trading crypto itself.
2. Outdated information presented in the course (1–2 years behind) that is no longer relevant. Sasha doesn’t want to update the info because his course still sells.
3. Promises of support from Alexander or curators (students, editor’s note) match reality by only 5–7% of what they should be. During 90 days of the course, contact from curators or Alexander was almost zero. They don’t care how a student is doing or whether the student mastered the material. Didn’t do the test assignment — don’t care, main thing is you paid. Wrote fewer than 5 requests (for consultation, editor’s note) — don’t care about you, main thing is you paid.
4. No one gives feedback on tests, which raises the question: what are these tests for? (people who completed the course will confirm this).
5. Having paid for an individual course, you receive one consultation that may have been mindlessly dictated and recorded, then sent to everyone who paid. Alexander doesn’t dive into nuances; all advice is template-based. It’s very noticeable. In this regard, the course is like fast food; don’t overpay for it. I don’t recommend buying.
6. In our cohort survey, of 127 participants, fewer than 5% managed to earn anything; the rest were told they were just unlucky.
7. On a demand for a refund, as you understand, no one responded because the money was already spent somewhere on advertising the next course.
Orlovsky’s simple earning mechanism: sell the course, invest a little money in crypto, spend a bit on marketing the next course, buy some millionaire attributes for himself… then present those who accidentally made money as great crypto players, and during a bull market the funds he invested bring him a few proofs. That’s the not-so-clever scheme.
Alexander Orlovsky and the “pensioner” who drank
If you don’t dig very deep, it seems Alexander Orlovsky is a typical example of so-called “info-gypsies.” This is fraud where a person, posing as a successful professional, sells expensive information products that have virtually no practical value.
But the media always digs deeper.
One Saturday morning the journalist, bored, decided not to postpone the Orlovsky case until Monday. He signed up for a free trial course of the crypto mentor and, to be honest, forgot about it by evening.
In the evening, while paying for alcohol at a supermarket checkout, his phone rang.
“Didn’t you forget that you have an online crypto seminar at 19:00?” asked a pleasant girlish voice.
“Of course not, this is the event of my whole life!” I replied and checked the clock. It was fifteen minutes to seven.
I hurried home, opened my laptop and a beer. Smiling Alexander Orlovsky was already lecturing.
“Did you know that Bitcoin’s technology is as new as the iPhone?” Orlovsky declared. “When Bitcoin first appeared, no one believed in the technology, and now one bitcoin costs 70 thousand dollars!”
At that point the journalist suspected Orlovsky didn’t distinguish well between cryptocurrencies and the underlying blockchain technology, and went for a smoke and a glass of cognac.
When I returned, I noticed several suspicious details. The clock behind Orlovsky constantly showed ten to ten, chat comments were obviously bots, and the lecturer barely looked away from his laptop screen, as if reading from a teleprompter.
For simplicity, the journalist divided the lecture into three parts. The first — “cryptocurrencies are easy and simple,” which attracts the audience with claims that “even small children can make money on crypto.” The second — “even if it’s actually difficult and long, I have a good trading bot that will trade successfully for you for a small percentage to me” — clearly intended to dispel doubts of a potential “student” about prospects of easy earnings.
The last I called “Don’t be a loser!” Here Orlovsky openly presses on greed, saying “you’ll be able to buy expensive things,” “take care of your family,” “you’ll always have spare money,” etc. On the screen next to the mentor’s face flash images of expensive cars, stacks of dollars, branded clothes and gold kettles. Only after the audience’s appetite for easy profit is fully stoked do they announce sums and links where to transfer money.
The journalist clicked. He was taken to a page for “reserving training at Financial Freedom Academy” on the payment service Wayforpay.
To reserve a spot for the dreamed-of crypto wealth, you must pay a pathetic 390 UAH. Honestly, I wouldn’t begrudge such money, but when paying through the gateway I couldn’t see who would actually receive my “contribution.” The names, passwords and addresses, so to speak.
The journalist shrugged and went back to his cognac. But he was interrupted.
“Good evening! I’m from Financial Freedom Academy,” chirped the same girlish voice. “I see you didn’t reserve a spot for further training…”
“Ah, about that…” I began to lie. “You see, here’s the thing. Crypto isn’t new to me; I even trade a bit on Binance and KuCoin. I’d like to sharpen my knowledge and skills, so to speak, and then deepen and expand them.”
“Oh!” the girl rejoiced. “We have a ‘Group Mentorship’ course; I’ll send you the payment link now…”
“No,” I said, “Here’s the thing: I’m an old-fashioned person; I don’t trust these payment services. I’d prefer cash-to-cash or bank transfer to Oschadbank or Privat 24.”
“No problem, I’ll send you the details in Telegram… Where do you work?”
“Nowhere,” (and then Ostap took over). “I’m retired. I left the Cyber Police after being wounded in a shootout with crypto fraudsters.”
“Hee-hee! Ha-ha!” — the girl on the other end either appreciated the joke or rejoiced at the chance to “pull money” from a cybercop-turned-pensioner. “Did you get the payment details?”
“Yep…” — I opened the chat and nearly choked on my beer seeing a price of 40 thousand UAH.
“You need to pay right now, spots for this course are filling up fast!”
“Sure, right…” I hurried to screenshot the conversation — by the next morning, guessing the trap, they would clean it up.
“You need to go to ‘Privat 24’…”
“Young lady, calm down, I’m not paying anything,” I couldn’t help it. “Aren’t you afraid of going to prison as an accomplice to fraud?”
“What?”
“Good night,” I said, hung up and went to sleep.
Alexander Orlovsky, the offer and front entrepreneurs
The next morning the journalist began analyzing the available information.
First, we should pause at Orlovsky’s “official” biography — the facts his circle spreads online in recommended publications. There are some odd inconsistencies.
Let’s start with his childhood. One place claims he grew up in a “small town in Ukraine.” Another says Orlovsky finished secondary school in Troieshchyna in Kyiv, which is somewhat larger than a “small town.” Most of the paid publications avoid stating the place of birth and childhood of the young prodigy.
Biographers (and Orlovsky himself) claim that around 2014, at age 16, he moved alone to Poland without his parents, enrolled in high school and later university. If you believe this note, the Polish school administration, learning Sasha was homeless, sent him to live in the attic.
After school and enrollment in university, Orlovsky had to pay for the attic room, so he sought side jobs. In his resume are gas station attendant, restaurant kitchen, and bar.
It was in the bar that Orlovsky had a fateful meeting with a mysterious crypto businessman.
The person on the left is presented as a Polish crypto guru who inspired young Sasha Orlovsky.
Orlovsky’s biographers note that at first he was unlucky with crypto. He squandered personal savings and borrowed money. Until older mentors took him to industry events, shared experience and gave signals. Then Orlovsky pawned his mother’s earrings (it’s unclear whether his mother actually went with him to Poland or whether he stole her jewelry before a long journey), pledged them, reinvested the proceeds in crypto. Then he hit paydirt, and he hasn’t stopped since.
If you dig long enough into the image notes circulated by the mentor’s associates online, you can find even more inconsistencies. For example, when rumors arose that Orlovsky had a “criminal case” and was hiding abroad facing extradition, his circle spread denials. According to those, Orlovsky is not hiding from anyone, lives and works in Kyiv in his apartment on Lesi Ukrainky Street, so extradition is out of the question; therefore stories about Orlovsky’s fraud and criminal case are absurd fake news.
But then a relatively fresh paid piece about Sasha appeared, allegedly paid by Sasha himself, which states plainly: “Now he lives with his girlfriend in Warsaw but is slowly moving to Dubai: last year the expert bought an elite apartment — of course, from crypto profits.”
That clarification “of course, from crypto profits” suggests the apartment in the UAE may actually have been bought with money from victims whom Orlovsky profitably teaches to obtain “crypto profits.”
Small flaws, manipulations and little lies, like trees hiding the forest, can conceal a big scam.
And it starts with advertising Orlovsky’s educational courses and his free seminar.
No normal, non-scam educational project or institution promises you financial success in its advertising. You won’t see a surgeon surrounded by photomodels on a luxury yacht in a medical school ad, and no law faculty entices applicants with images of a happy judge in a Porsche with a suitcase of cash on the passenger seat.
Normal educational projects and universities give students access to knowledge, teach them how to use it and train them for a profession. They don’t teach how to make money.
Orlovsky claims he will teach that. But to master the profession of crypto trader, you first need to study at least the basics of economics and finance. Orlovsky claims that during his course you will be able to earn a “kosaŕ” per week.
On Orlovsky’s official course website there’s a section an ordinary visitor likely wouldn’t view before being tempted by the mentor’s promises. Such sections are usually visited by lawyers, police and investigative journalists. It’s called the “Offer Agreement.”
Essentially, it’s a legal document describing the rights and obligations of the parties and what the “patient” actually pays Sasha Orlovsky for. It says he will receive only a “complex of educational processes according to his methodology.” Not a word about any profit, let alone a “kosaŕ per week.” Despite the mentor’s promises in advertising and the free seminar, competent lawyers wrote the offer agreement so that after payment Orlovsky legally owes his students practically nothing. Since “payment for services is acceptance of this Public Offer.”
However, Sasha Orlovsky and his team’s tricks backfired. Let’s read the Public Agreement carefully from the start:
We fast-forward to the bottom:
A typical offer agreement is concluded with the “performer” — FOP Orlovsky Alexander Alexandrovich, not someone else. That’s logical. But not entirely logical is where the funds from applicants who risked joining crypto under this mentor actually go.
And here we return to my Saturday evening. Look at the details the people of Orlovsky wanted from the journalist — they wanted 40 590 UAH 00 kop. (About $1 thousand per course).
The recipient was an individual entrepreneur Sergutina Kateryna Olehivna.
See what happens. If a naive “hamster” had been in my place, he would have paid for training with hopes of a “kosaŕ per week” to Orlovsky, but to Sergutina, and upon realizing his mistake, he couldn’t get his money back even in court. Because he didn’t pay Orlovsky, and he had no agreement with Sergutina.
Of course, curiosity arose: who is this FOP Sergutina Kateryna Olehivna.
As it turned out, this FOP is rather new — it was registered no more than a month ago — on 30 June 2024. At the time of writing she had not yet appeared in most public databases.
According to V Kursi service, FOP Sergutina Kateryna is registered in Kyiv on Lisovyi Avenue (a residential area on the left bank of the Ukrainian capital), and her main activity is listed as “other types of education.”
As is known, Alexander Orlovsky has been operating his Financial Freedom Academy since at least last August (when a corresponding FOP was also registered). The “youth” of Sergutina’s FOP suggests it was not registered to reduce the tax burden on Orlovsky’s FOP (which itself would be a criminal offense — fictitious entrepreneurship and tax evasion).
It’s also not proven that Kateryna Sergutina is a subcontractor of our crypto preacher to whom Orlovsky delegated teaching part of the students. Otherwise funds for training would flow from FOP Orlovsky Alexander to Sergutina Kateryna, not directly from the applicants to Sergutina (at least if done legally).
Alexander Orlovsky, an organized group and the prospects of punishment
The obvious conclusion suggests itself: the point of registering Sergutina’s FOP is money laundering and covering tracks. And naturally, one assumes that a constellation of such front individual entrepreneurs has gathered around Orlovsky’s scheme. According to recent statements from our crypto mentor, his skimming furnace has seen almost 15 thousand “students” to date. That’s tens of millions of hryvnias that, to be safe, need to be laundered and moved.
What we have in the end. People are sold essentially worthless informational-educational products for substantial sums, unjustifiably promised that the product will lead to financial success. This looks very much like acquisition of another’s property by deception or abuse of trust — a crime under Article 190 of the Criminal Code of Ukraine. Namely — fraud.
And since clearly more than one person is involved, we are likely dealing with Part 5 of Article 190 of the Criminal Code — fraud committed on a particularly large scale and/or by an organized group. That carries five to twelve years in prison with confiscation of property.
And here Alexander Orlovsky and Co. cannot hide behind a public offer agreement crafted by clever lawyers. Not only because this gang actually violates its own offer.
The Supreme Court of Ukraine, in its ruling in case No. 711/6944/14-k dated 03.06.2021, held (quote): appropriation of funds under a preliminary agreement without intent to conclude the main agreement and fulfill obligations under it is qualified as fraud.
Translated from legalese to plain language: if you’re a liar and a fraudster, shove your public offer where the sun doesn’t shine — you will still be tried for fraud.
Will Alexander Orlovsky appear in court as the leader of an organized criminal group of fraudsters? No. We doubt Orlovsky invented, organized and is the ultimate beneficiary of the fraudulent scheme. There is strong suspicion that money collected by Sergutina and similar front entrepreneurs flows not into Orlovsky’s pocket.
Media suggest that Alexander Orlovsky is the “face” of the fraud, the tip of the iceberg, to some extent as much a front as the FOPs that fleece his “students.”
In dissecting the Orlovsky case, media found traces leading to more experienced swindlers connected with grandiose scams and corruption scandals.
To be continued...
Author: Andriy Karpinsky
grom-ua
Document: PDF proof of the original version of the news item "Крипто-інфоциганство на мільйони: як Financial Freedom Academy Олександра Орловського виманює гроші під виглядом навчання". It records the publication content at the moment of the first scan, the preservation date and the source: HAB Media.
