1. Introduction
In November 2024, the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau (CFPB) released a damning Consent Order detailing a series of alleged legal violations committed by Global Tel Link Corporation (doing business as ViaPath Technologies), Telmate, LLC (also doing business as ViaPath Technologies), and TouchPay Holdings, LLC (doing business as GTL Financial Services). These three entities provide services to correctional facilities—particularly, money-transfer services and communication services for incarcerated individuals and their families.
What makes this Consent Order especially alarming is not only the detail of the allegations—such as unfairly blocking the accounts of incarcerated people when a third party files a chargeback, quietly withdrawing funds from consumers’ “Unified Accounts” after short periods of inactivity, and failing to disclose the full schedule of fees—but also how such alleged practices exemplify the broader systemic issues under neoliberal capitalism. Specifically, the allegations highlight the relentless drive toward profit-maximization, regulatory loopholes, and the corporate greed that surfaces when large institutions manage a near-monopoly in a highly vulnerable market.
At the core of the allegations is the claim that the corporation effectively punished incarcerated individuals (and the families who support them) for chargebacks filed by third parties. Often, a family member might file a chargeback after encountering a duplicate transaction, an unauthorized payment, or other legitimate billing error.
Yet the result of that dispute, the CFPB claims, was that the incarcerated person’s Trust/Commissary Account would be barred from receiving future deposits—unless someone repaid the disputed amount and, in many cases, an added fee. It is exactly these sorts of alleged corporate ethics lapses that have prompted the CFPB to take legal action.
Even more startling is the evidence in the complaint that Global Tel Link and Telmate would “zero out” any remaining funds in a consumer’s Unified Account after a specific period of “inactivity.”
Tens of thousands of people lost substantial sums of money when they did not use their accounts for 90 or 180 days—funds that were presumably held for the corporate entity’s own benefit. The complaint contends that the company failed to provide sufficient notice to consumers before seizing these balances, drawing allegations of abusive and unfair acts and practices.
Where were the regulators over these years, as families and incarcerated individuals were allegedly burdened with hidden fees and questionable “inactivity” policies? To what extent did the lax regulatory environment—and broader patterns of corporate corruption in sectors with captive consumer bases—permit or encourage such conduct? And more fundamentally, under a neoliberal economic model that often emphasizes shareholder returns above all else, are the alleged practices truly a “bug” or are they, in fact, a “feature” of the system?
In this article, we will delve into these questions, weaving together specific details from the CFPB’s Consent Order and broader context about corporate social responsibility, corporate corruption, and the dangers to public health (particularly the financial health of families). The goal is to show how these alleged practices do not happen in a vacuum but are part of a familiar corporate playbook that leverages economic disparity, captures markets with little competition, and shores up profits through fees that can be opaque at best, and exploitative at worst.
We’ll also place the voices of affected communities front and center. Families who try to send modest sums to incarcerated loved ones for basic necessities—like snacks, medical items, or telephone calls—report being blindsided by additional fees and labyrinthine processes. The complaint indicates that many people likely had no idea that the corporation’s standard practice was to block their deposits if any chargeback was filed by another party, or that an “inactivity” policy would automatically claim leftover funds. These concerns form part of a larger tapestry of corporate ethics debates over how the private sector profits from public services, such as prisons and jails.
While the corporation in question has not admitted or denied the CFPB’s allegations, they have consented to the Order’s terms. This includes monetary redress for some affected customers, as well as certain injunctive provisions designed to prevent further misconduct. However, the deeper systemic issues persist. As you read on, the story unfolds into an emblematic case of alleged corporate greed—one that underscores the urgency of corporate accountability, stronger consumer protections, and the recognition that under neoliberal capitalism, profit imperatives can lead to harmful economic fallout, even within the realm of incarceration services.
In the following eight sections, we will explore: (1) the thrust of the allegations and the immediate ramifications for local communities and workers; (2) the stated corporate intent and how it allegedly manifests in everyday business; (3) the standard corporate playbook used to extract fees, limit recourse, and retain ill-gotten gains; (4) how crime pays in the form of profitable outcomes that overshadow consumer well-being; (5) the systemic failure of regulators to act swiftly or decisively until now; (6) a critical analysis of why this pattern appears to be a “feature” rather than a “bug” of neoliberal capitalism; (7) the corporation’s likely PR approach to damage control; and (8) an overarching reflection on the balance of corporate power vs. the public interest.
We begin with Section 2 by reviewing corporate internal motives, building directly on the Consent Order’s findings. Prepare for a deep dive that not only highlights the specifics but also broadens the conversation to the structural incentives—like wealth disparity and minimal competition in the corrections market—that cultivate these controversies.
2. Corporate Intent Exposed
Nothing captures corporate intent more succinctly than a pattern of alleged behavior that zeroes in on maximizing revenues at the expense of vulnerable consumers. The CFPB’s Consent Order goes to considerable lengths in detailing how the corporation, which includes Global Tel Link, Telmate, and TouchPay, built an ecosystem around money transfers to incarcerated individuals and paid communication services, then allegedly exploited that ecosystem to extract fees in ways that consumers often found impossible to avoid.
Blocking Accounts After Third-Party Chargebacks
One of the most striking allegations is the corporation’s practice of blocking an incarcerated person’s Trust/Commissary Account after someone else—a family member, typically—filed a chargeback with their bank. This alleged tactic, described as “unfair” in the Consent Order, effectively forced families into either abandoning their claims of duplicate or unauthorized charges, or else paying the corporation an additional fee on top of the charged-back amount simply to restore the incarcerated person’s access to deposits.
While the money itself might not appear overly large in each instance (sometimes an additional $25 or so), for families living paycheck to paycheck and for incarcerated individuals who are heavily dependent on these funds to cover basic necessities—like hygiene items and medicine—this represented a massive financial burden.
The intent was transparent: according to the CFPB, it all but guaranteed that the corporation never really lost money from a disputed transaction. If a consumer filed a legitimate dispute, the recipient’s account would stay locked until someone repaid not only the disputed amount but, in many cases, an extra fee for the trouble. Through this approach, the corporation could remain confident that “chargebacks”—a consumer protection mechanism—would rarely function as intended.
Such practice speaks volumes about corporate ethics. Rather than resolving disputes in ways that balanced the interests of the company and the consumer, the alleged policy took a heavy-handed approach that leveraged the incarceration context to secure payment. Because the incarcerated person cannot receive money from any other source until the block is lifted, families were coerced into meeting the corporation’s demands. When you strip the PR spin away, that is a powerful reflection of the systemic dynamic at play: vulnerable people with no alternate provider are effectively locked into funneling more money to the business.
“Inactivity” Seizures of Consumer Balances
A second major area of alleged misconduct outlined in the Consent Order involves the “Unified Accounts” that friends and family can use to pay for phone calls, video visitations, and other communication services. According to the complaint, Global Tel Link and Telmate had an “inactivity” policy that, for years, allowed them to take any remaining funds out of these accounts after just 90 days of no account usage. Later, they extended that threshold to 180 days.
This might sound benign at first—an administrative housekeeping measure. But the CFPB discovered that the corporation would “zero out” the consumer’s balance and retain the money for itself without providing direct notice to the account owner beforehand. In an environment where many families juggle uncertain finances and sporadic contact with incarcerated loved ones, it’s easy to see how someone might go months without using or checking their balance. Then, upon returning to the service, they might discover that their funds simply vanished—reverting into corporate coffers. The sums at stake ranged from just a few dollars to potentially hundreds of dollars per account, but the total soared into the millions collectively.
From a corporate intent perspective, the design of such an inactivity policy speaks to the question: “Who truly benefits?” If the rationale was to “manage dormant accounts,” there are more consumer-friendly methods—such as providing consistent notice to the account holders, or returning unused funds to them upon inactivity. Instead, the alleged approach ensured that dormant consumer funds would remain with the corporation. That, according to the CFPB, was an abusive act under consumer-protection law.
Concealed Fee Schedules
Further evidence of corporate misconduct emerges from the complaint’s discussion of incomplete or undisclosed fee schedules. The corporation’s money-transfer service featured widely varying fees depending on the deposit channel, payment type, and deposit size. For instance, kiosk-based deposits vs. phone vs. online deposit each had a different set of base fees and percentages. Yet the CFPB alleges that the company never presented the entire fee schedule in an upfront manner. As a result, consumers often paid more than they might have if they had known about the cheaper channel or deposit amount threshold.
When a business carefully omits the fact that a higher deposit might trigger a bigger fee, or that paying with a credit card yields additional surcharges, the probable intent is to maximize revenue by relying on the consumer’s lack of information. While from a strictly profit-driven standpoint, such omissions may appear “good for business,” the complaint sees them as an unfair practice. People, especially low-income families, have little bandwidth to parse complicated deposit thresholds. The net result is that they might pay significantly more in fees than necessary.
Exploiting a Captive Market
The allegations paint a picture of a corporation that understands it holds a virtual monopoly over certain services for incarcerated individuals in facilities that contract with it. Once the contract is in place, families have no real competition to turn to.
If your loved one is housed in a jail or prison that uses Global Tel Link or Telmate, you must pay that corporation’s rates for phone calls, messaging, or money transfers to commissary accounts. In typical consumer markets, if a company’s fees or policies are too burdensome, people take their business elsewhere. Here, the broad dynamic of privatized corrections technology—enabled by minimal government oversight or delayed regulatory intervention—creates a captive consumer base.
In the lens of neoliberal capitalism, the corporate profit equation can overshadow corporate social responsibility, especially when the consumer is uniquely vulnerable. Indeed, for many of those impacted, the question is not “How do I avoid paying these fees?” but “How do I scrape up enough money to keep my loved one clothed, fed, and in contact with me?” This dynamic, the complaint alleges, gave Global Tel Link and its affiliates a strong incentive to keep families in the dark about hidden fees, to treat consumer disputes aggressively, and to withdraw any leftover balances rather than returning them to the rightful owner.
Larger Social Consequences
Whether by design or side effect, the alleged actions described in the Consent Order have serious consequences for families and communities already struggling with wealth disparity. Incarceration often saddles these families with a host of collateral expenses—loss of income, legal fees, burdensome bail costs, etc. The added burden of hidden or unfair fees for basic financial transactions to support an incarcerated family member can generate further economic fallout.
From a moral standpoint, if one grants that the alleged misconduct is true, the corporation intentionally capitalized on the desperate state of these families—a decision that arguably places corporate greed and short-term profit above any notion of corporate ethics. At the same time, within a system that structurally incentivizes maximizing profits, it’s hardly surprising that a private provider might adopt such policies. This tension underscores a fundamental concern about corporate accountability in markets serving the public. Once a for-profit vendor secures a near-exclusive contract in a sphere like correctional services, the potential for abuses—especially if regulators are inactive or slow to respond—becomes high.
Having outlined the allegations most damaging to the corporation’s image, it becomes clear why this Consent Order has garnered attention. In the next section, we shift the focus from the factual record—what the CFPB specifically found—to a deeper exploration of how these policies map onto a well-documented “corporate playbook.” By placing these alleged actions in the context of a standard suite of profit-driven maneuvers, we can better see how, from the corporation’s standpoint, these measures might not be a random set of exploitative tactics but a structured approach to maximizing revenue within a captive market.
3. The Corporate Playbook / How They Got Away with It
The allegations levied in the CFPB’s Consent Order echo long-standing themes in corporate America—particularly in industries where companies face little effective competition. Practices such as piling hidden fees onto captive consumer groups, adopting strict no-refund policies, and withholding critical information until the last possible moment are all part of a standard corporate playbook. Under neoliberal capitalism, corporations often adopt these tactics in the name of profit-maximization, leveraging deregulation and regulatory capture to skirt robust consumer protections.
The “No-Refund” Culture
The legal complaint specifies that the corporation maintained a “no-refund policy” on money-transfer transactions, except in a few extremely limited circumstances. For families trying to correct a billing error—say, an accidental double payment—this effectively slammed the door shut on easy resolutions. Even if someone called customer service for help, the typical guidance might be “file a chargeback,” not a direct refund.
In many standard consumer industries—like online retail—companies understand that prompt refunds maintain goodwill and reduce negative word of mouth. However, in a captive market, consumer goodwill is less relevant. There is no alternative competitor offering a similar service for cheaper or with friendlier policies. So companies can risk negative feelings when they see no immediate competitor to gain from consumer dissatisfaction.
Policing the “Captive” Customer
For families of incarcerated individuals, the standard corporate playbook can include what might be labeled as “compliance by necessity.” Because their incarcerated loved one’s basic needs and emotional wellbeing are tied to these accounts, families comply with the provider’s demands to avoid cutting off communication or commissary access. This dynamic appears throughout the allegations: from the blocking of accounts for third-party chargebacks to the hush-hush “inactivity” policy that zeroed out balances, each tactic is more potent when consumers have nowhere else to turn.
In conventional markets—like banking or phone services outside of corrections—a consumer’s ability to shop around imposes competitive pressure on businesses to maintain fairer practices. In the correctional sector, however, a single vendor often runs all phone, video visitation, and commissary deposit services at a given facility. As a result, that vendor is free to set policies that funnel additional revenue with minimal risk of losing customers.
Invisible or Confusing Fee Structures
One hallmark of the corporate playbook is to conceal or minimize fee disclosures. Rather than offering a transparent schedule (e.g., “For kiosk deposits up to $20, you pay $3.95; for $20.01 to $100, you pay $4.95; plus 3.5% if using a credit card…”), the complaint states that the corporation simply displayed the final fee in small text near the end of the transaction. Consumers who do not compare deposit methods side by side might never realize they are paying, for instance, an extra 3.5% for card transactions.
Moreover, families who might be able to reduce their fees by depositing smaller amounts multiple times (or by choosing a different channel) are left in the dark. Without a full, upfront fee schedule, people cannot make informed decisions. This confusion is extremely profitable: each deposit might cost the corporation pennies in real processing fees, but yields a multi-dollar charge to the consumer.
The Stonewalling of Consumers Seeking Redress
The complaint implies that, historically, customer service was not structured to assist families who encountered errors or had legitimate concerns. Instead, if a consumer wanted their funds back or needed to correct an unauthorized charge, they were often directed to file a chargeback. Paradoxically, as we saw, a filed chargeback triggered punishing consequences for the incarcerated person’s commissary account.
This tactic is reminiscent of certain strategies in the financial services industry where a company’s internal dispute mechanism is designed to be so cumbersome or unhelpful that consumers give up, or are forced to escalate to external dispute processes. Under normal competitive market conditions, such an approach might cause an exodus of customers. But in the corrections market, that exodus is not an option. Hence, “stonewalling” becomes far more lucrative and less risky.
Leveraging Deregulation and Slow Regulatory Action
The corrections communication market has historically been regulated more loosely than mainstream consumer-telecom industries. Such deregulation can occur due to industry lobbying, limited enforcement resources, or the misbelief that “these are criminals, so it doesn’t matter.” Whatever the cause, the oversight vacuum allows corporations to push the envelope.
It took years—and many reported consumer complaints—before the CFPB took this action. This delay exemplifies the phenomenon of regulatory capture or, at the very least, a regulatory void. Corporate entities in specialized markets often enjoy minimal day-to-day scrutiny, especially if their operational intricacies are not widely understood by the public or the relevant enforcement agencies. By the time an enforcement body steps in, the questionable practices may have become deeply ingrained in the business model.
Financial Ties with Correctional Facilities
Although not explicitly alleged in the Consent Order, it is a well-known dynamic in the corrections industry that providers sometimes share revenues with the facilities. Correctional institutions might receive commissions or “facility fees” in exchange for granting an exclusive contract. While the complaint does not detail that arrangement here, historically, such deals create a structure in which both the facility and the corporate provider have an incentive to set higher rates—because the facility pockets a share of the additional fees.
This arrangement can reduce the impetus to keep fees in check or to be transparent. Instead, the corporation might find a partner in the very government agency that, in theory, should be looking out for the public interest. It’s a microcosm of how wealth disparity and corporate corruption can flourish when accountability is weak.
The Broader Strategy of Profit Maximization
From a purely commercial standpoint, the alleged practices that the CFPB has itemized make perfect sense:
- Block the account of the final user if a financial dispute arises with the original payer, thereby ensuring the risk is borne by the person in jail or prison who most needs the service.
- Refuse easy refunds to deter consumers from seeking them, given that a chargeback is a blunt instrument and triggers negative consequences for others.
- Hide the full fee structure so the consumer inadvertently chooses a higher fee category out of ignorance or convenience.
- Seize leftover funds after 90 or 180 days, ensuring that any break in usage translates into free profit.
In short, each step funnels more money into the company’s coffers and insulates it from financial losses. The cost to families or individuals—especially the intangible costs of stress, confusion, and restricted communications—has no immediate bearing on the corporation’s bottom line. This dynamic epitomizes how corporate greed can drive social harm, which is arguably a systemic problem in neoliberal capitalism. When the primary measure of success is short-term shareholder returns, the corporation can systematically adopt strategies that exploit gaps in enforcement and consumer protection.
How They “Got Away with It” for So Long
Why did it take so long for robust consumer protection measures to emerge, culminating in a 44-page CFPB Consent Order in November 2024? The question underscores a larger pattern of under-regulated corporate sectors, particularly when they deal with marginalized populations. Families of the incarcerated often lack the political clout, financial resources, or broad public sympathy to mount a sustained lobbying campaign against exploitative practices. Regulators, juggling countless consumer issues across multiple industries, may prioritize more visible or high-value sectors.
That said, consumer complaints did eventually accumulate, prompting the CFPB’s investigation. The real shock here is perhaps not that the corporation employed these tactics, but that no one in a position of authority (whether a state attorney general, the Federal Trade Commission, or another federal bureau) took major enforcement steps earlier. That highlights how the slow churn of the regulatory apparatus can inadvertently embolden questionable corporate strategies.
In sum, the alleged corporate playbook is neither new nor unique to the corrections technology market. What is especially troubling is how effectively it leverages the vulnerabilities of a captive consumer base. When families cannot walk away from the service, the usual check on corporate greed—market competition—fails. The next section explores how, in a purely profit-driven sense, “crime pays” for the corporation, because the alleged wrongdoing brought significant revenue streams with minimal risk.
4. Crime Pays / The Corporate Profit Equation
One of the most damning takeaways from the CFPB Consent Order is how financially rewarding the alleged misconduct appears to have been. Under a conventional sense of corporate social responsibility, you would not expect a corporation to profit by blocking funds to an incarcerated person’s account, or by quietly pocketing “inactivity” funds. But the logic of neoliberal capitalism, with its single-minded focus on shareholder returns, suggests that it may not just be possible—it may be an attractive revenue strategy.
The Bottom-Line Benefits of “Blocked Accounts”
Consider the alleged practice of blocking an incarcerated person’s account anytime a chargeback was filed. The immediate result was that the person behind bars could not receive further deposits. This, in turn, created an urgent crisis for families who wanted to keep providing money for commissary or phone calls. The “solution” was to repay the chargeback (even if the dispute was legitimate) and, until 2021, often pay an additional fee of $25. The net effect:
- Reduced Probability of Chargebacks – Families would be reluctant to file or maintain disputes, even if valid, because it threatened the well-being of the incarcerated loved one.
- Additional Revenue – If a consumer had already taken back funds through a bank dispute, the corporation could recoup not only that lost amount but tack on extra charges.
In an ordinary retail environment, such a policy might cause public backlash, resulting in mass boycotts. But in a captive market, the corporation faced limited backlash—people need the service, no matter how unfair the terms. So the corporation’s profits remained safe, and the cost was borne by consumers.
Profiting from “Inactivity”
The complaint cites that from January 2019 to January 2023, millions of dollars in total were seized from Unified Accounts after brief periods of inactivity. Each of those was, in effect, pure profit. By failing to clearly notify or remind people, the corporation benefited from consumers who simply forgot about their balance or assumed they had indefinite time to use the funds.
When multiplied across tens or hundreds of thousands of accounts, such inactivity seizures create a sizable windfall. The fact that a consumer’s money is held in trust for them implies a standard in which leftover funds should be returned if no longer needed for the service. Instead, the corporation effectively orchestrated a scenario in which it was cheaper and simpler for them to zero out the account than to track down the rightful owner of that balance.
The Fee Maze
Another dimension of the profit equation is the sheer complexity and inconsistency of fees for money transfers. The complaint outlines how the corporation charged different fees for kiosk-based deposits, phone transactions, and online payments—and even layered on an additional percentage for credit card transactions. Without disclosing these differences in a “Clearly and Prominently” manner, consumers were often flying blind.
This confusion fosters revenue generation. For example, if you deposit $110 by credit card, you might face a $5.95 base fee plus 3.5% of $110—amounting to nearly $10 total, if not more. Had the consumer known that depositing $100 or less triggered a smaller base fee and the same 3.5% rate, they might have considered multiple smaller deposits. But the complaint suggests the consumer was never told these details upfront, turning their ignorance into a corporate advantage.
Scale and Scope of the Profits
With large correctional clients spanning entire states or major metropolitan counties, the potential scale of these alleged practices is enormous. Every day, families deposit sums into commissary accounts, not to mention the phone calls, messaging, and video visitations that require a separate Unified Account. Even if each deposit yields just a few extra dollars in undisclosed fees, the aggregate income for the corporation can reach millions.
Moreover, the Consent Order indicates that over half a million Unified Accounts had funds withdrawn and “zeroed out” after inactivity. If an average consumer lost even $7–$8, the total might be in the millions—though many accounts likely contained more. That “inactivity windfall” feeds the notion that “crime pays” in a market that lacks meaningful checks and balances.
The Sparse Threat of Enforcement
Until the CFPB action, the main risk to the corporation from engaging in these alleged practices was consumer backlash in the form of negative press or the occasional lawsuit. However, historically, scattered class-action lawsuits can take years to organize, and many fail to make substantial progress against well-resourced corporate defendants. Meanwhile, smaller regulatory bodies might see the correctional sector as a niche area, or they might not have clear jurisdiction.
Thus, for the corporation, the potential profit from implementing these alleged tactics probably far outweighed the perceived risk of enforcement. Even now, while the corporation has to pay $1 million in civil money penalties and millions in redress, it’s not entirely clear if that sum is substantial enough to deter future misconduct—especially if, for years, it collected far more than that from questionable fees and inactivity seizures.
Cost-Benefit Analysis in a Neoliberal Environment
Under neoliberal capitalism, corporate decision-makers weigh the cost of potential legal challenges against the robust revenue to be gained from pushing legal and ethical boundaries. If the anticipated penalty is smaller than the cumulative profits, a purely economic approach might categorize unethical or borderline-illegal conduct as “worth it.” This is the heart of the “crime pays” argument.
Critics argue that this dynamic underscores the need for stronger corporate accountability. When a company’s profit from alleged exploitation dwarfs the penalty, it fosters an environment that encourages repeated misconduct. This risk is heightened in sectors where corporations can form contractual exclusivity with public institutions—like jails or prisons.
Real-World Harm vs. Corporate Gains
One might attempt to rationalize a “crime pays” perspective as simply “the cost of doing business.” But from a social justice standpoint, the harm inflicted on marginalized communities is severe. Families who attempt to maintain contact with incarcerated loved ones often do so under financial strain, juggling job losses and other legal fees. Even minor “junk fees” or lost deposits can push these families further into economic hardship.
Meanwhile, the corporation’s business model remains robust: as alleged, they pocket the money from inactivity, shift the cost of billing disputes onto the most vulnerable, and reap the benefits of under-disclosed fees. It’s a stark demonstration of wealth disparity in action—some might call it corporate corruption—where the powerless subsidize the powerful.
The Value of Transparency and Oversight
To break the cycle in which “crime pays,” robust oversight and meaningful penalties are essential. In an ideal scenario, companies know that if they adopt certain unfair or abusive tactics, regulators will not only demand restitution for consumers but also exact a penalty so large that the net outcome is a financial loss for the corporation. That is how regulation can deter misconduct.
The CFPB’s Consent Order does require the corporation to implement changes, such as disclosing fee schedules, ending the practice of blocking accounts due to chargebacks, and paying significant redress. However, it is still an open question whether these measures and the resulting settlement will be enough to dissuade other corporations—both in the corrections industry and beyond—from employing similar tactics.
So as we close this section, the broader lesson is clear: “crime pays” when the internal corporate calculus deems the revenue from exploitative practices to exceed the possible penalties. In the next section, we’ll explore how regulators, at least in theory, are supposed to prevent such an outcome, and why they often fail to do so in a timely or effective manner.
5. System Failure / Why Regulators Did Nothing
On paper, the United States has an array of regulators designed to protect consumers: the CFPB, the Federal Trade Commission, state attorneys general, and other state-level agencies. How, then, did such blatantly harmful alleged practices—account blocking, inactivity seizures, and nondisclosure of fees—remain largely unaddressed for years? The answer speaks to systemic breakdowns in both the design and implementation of regulatory frameworks, particularly under neoliberal capitalism, where deregulation and profit-maximization overshadow public interests.
Limited Public Awareness and Political Will
The corrections sector occupies a niche consumer market that the general public rarely engages with unless they have a loved one behind bars. Because society often stigmatizes incarcerated people, the hardships faced by their families tend not to garner mainstream sympathy. This fosters an environment in which regulators do not face the same pressure they would if, for instance, a telecom giant applied unfair charges to tens of millions of middle-class households.
Moreover, families of incarcerated individuals rarely have deep pockets or extensive lobbying power to push for swift enforcement actions. Without robust advocacy or media coverage, it becomes easy for regulators to deprioritize or overlook issues that affect a smaller, less politically influential subset of the population.
Fragmented Oversight
Another complicating factor is that the services in question—telecommunications, money transfers, and digital communications—fall under multiple regulatory domains. Historically, phone rates for incarcerated individuals were subject to the Federal Communications Commission (FCC), but states also had a say. Meanwhile, financial transactions might come under the purview of the CFPB or state financial regulators. This fragmentation often slows enforcement; if one agency is unsure about its jurisdiction, it may either coordinate with others (a slow process) or let the matter drift.
Regulatory Capture or Inertia
Regulatory capture refers to a scenario where the agency tasked with overseeing an industry becomes overly influenced by that industry’s perspective—through lobbying, revolving-door employment, or simply by adopting the industry’s worldview. While the Consent Order does not accuse any agency of direct capture, the broader pattern of minimal oversight in the corrections technology sector implies at least a degree of regulatory inertia. Agencies might rationalize that “niche services” for incarcerated individuals do not warrant the same level of scrutiny.
Even absent direct capture, inertia arises because investigating corporate wrongdoing is resource-intensive. Agencies must gather detailed data, interview affected consumers, and battle teams of corporate lawyers. If budget constraints or other priorities exist, regulators often delay or forego action until a significant scandal or public outcry forces their hand.
Complex Corporate Structures
Large corporations in specialized industries often function through numerous subsidiaries, each handling different aspects of a service. In this case, the Consent Order names Global Tel Link, Telmate, and TouchPay. Breaking down which entity does what, how fees are imposed, and how revenue flows may require forensic accounting. Unless regulators have specific complaints that point to wrongdoing, they might not be aware of (or able to parse) the labyrinth of corporate structuring.
Complexity also aids in obfuscation. If families see “ViaPath Technologies” as the brand name but contract documents mention “GTL,” “Telmate,” and “TouchPay,” it can be challenging to know which entity to complain to or which is truly at fault. This confusion can undermine the complaint process, leading to incomplete or misdirected reports to regulators.
The Myth of “Self-Policing” in Free Markets
Neoliberal proponents often argue that the free market, if left deregulated, will correct itself—consumers can “vote with their wallets,” and unscrupulous companies will be weeded out. But as we’ve repeatedly noted, in the correctional environment, consumers cannot freely walk away. The captive consumer base undercuts the argument that pure competition ensures corporate ethics. This mismatch is a classic example of why purely market-based solutions fail in certain contexts and require direct consumer protection oversight.
Enforcement as a Last Resort
The CFPB’s intervention in November 2024 came only after years of alleged consumer harm. This underscores that, for many agencies, enforcement is a last resort—activated when complaints accumulate to a critical mass or when investigative journalists or advocacy organizations raise public awareness. Until that threshold is met, unscrupulous practices can persist, generating significant profits for the corporation.
In the context of the Consent Order, it took a robust investigation to outline how the corporation allegedly exploited a captive market in ways that appear on their face to be patently unfair or even abusive. Had early red flags prompted swifter enforcement, the harm and economic fallout for families might have been lessened. This temporal gap is the precise advantage corporations bank on when adopting the questionable tactics described in previous sections.
Where Were Other Regulators?
While the CFPB’s mandate is to protect consumers in financial products and services, some might wonder whether the FCC or state utility commissions (for phone rate regulation) or attorneys general (for consumer fraud) could have intervened earlier. The answer, historically, is that oversight of inmate communication services has been balkanized and contested for years. The FCC has tried to cap phone rates, only to face legal challenges. Meanwhile, money transfers and stored-value accounts can slip through the cracks because they’re not strictly telecommunications.
In sum, the corrections communication sector is a prime example of the broader structural shortfalls in U.S. regulatory systems. The industries that most demand vigilant oversight—like private corrections technology, for-profit healthcare in prisons, or polluting industries in low-income neighborhoods—are often precisely those that see the fewest resources devoted to thorough monitoring. The result is a “system failure,” in which the alleged misconduct can flourish for an extended period before the government steps in.
A Window into Larger Systemic Problems
This case is emblematic of neoliberal capitalism’s deficiencies: the reliance on deregulated markets to solve social problems, the acceptance of private monopolies in traditionally public arenas (such as prisons), and the delayed or haphazard nature of enforcement. Many see this pattern replicated across industries—from corporate pollution cases, where toxins seep into communities for years before the EPA intervenes, to financial services, where payday lenders exploit regulatory gaps.
Ultimately, the real tragedy is not merely that it happened but that it’s likely to happen again elsewhere. Corporate accountability frameworks often rely on sporadic enforcement actions that come too late, by which time the corporation has already garnered years’ worth of profit. Even if the final settlement includes restitution and fines, the net benefit may remain with the corporate actor. Without structural reforms—like timely data sharing, improved agency coordination, or more robust consumer advocacy—these outcomes will recur.
Moving forward, the narrative transitions to the bigger philosophical question: what if these types of exploitative practices are not an accidental byproduct of the system but are, in fact, an intended feature of a socio-economic model that privileges private profit over public interest? We unpack that in Section 6.
6. This Pattern of Predation Is a Feature, Not a Bug
The allegations against Global Tel Link, Telmate, and TouchPay are not anomalies or one-off instances of corporate greed. Instead, they fit neatly into a historical and global pattern: under neoliberal capitalism, corporations often prioritize shareholder returns above any moral or social responsibilities, especially when operating in captive markets. The negative impacts on local communities, families, and even workers in these companies can be dismissed as externalities—collateral damage on the path to growth and profitability.
Predatory Practices and Neoliberal Capitalism
Neoliberal capitalism, as an economic philosophy, emphasizes minimal government interference, deregulation, and the privatization of public services. When a public sector function—like prison communication—is outsourced to a private corporation, the impetus shifts from public service to profitability. Without robust watchdogs or legislative constraints, the private actor naturally seeks to maximize revenue. The pattern we see—hidden fees, blocking accounts, seizing inactive balances—is consistent with other privatized services where consumer choice is curtailed.
One might argue that if public institutions or nonprofits ran inmate communication services, the fees might be more transparent, the blocking policy more equitable, or the inactivity policy nonexistent. But the very logic of privatization is that competition fosters efficiency. Unfortunately, in corrections, competition is typically absent once a single contract is granted. This dynamic feeds the argument that the alleged predatory practices revealed by the CFPB are not a bug of the system, but a natural consequence of it.
Financialization of Everyday Life
The corporate approach described in the Consent Order effectively financializes basic human needs—communication, commissary funds, and intangible emotional support. When every phone call or video visit becomes a revenue stream, the lines between service and exploitation blur. This is not unique to corrections. We see similar phenomena in privatized healthcare, predatory student lending, or even in credit card late-fee structures. In each instance, the corporate entity monetizes a necessity, capitalizing on limited consumer leverage.
Undermining Corporate Social Responsibility
The entire concept of corporate social responsibility (CSR) is that corporations should self-regulate and take steps to ensure their practices benefit society at large. However, in the eyes of critics, the allegations here illustrate how “CSR” can remain superficial. If the corporate bottom line thrives on imposing extra fees and seizing unused funds, then truly responsible behavior might stand in conflict with business objectives.
A further cynicism is that some corporations adopt philanthropic gestures to polish their public image without altering core exploitative mechanisms. If one day we see the same corporation touting a scholarship program for ex-offenders or a donation to a prisoner reentry nonprofit, one might wonder if it offsets the years of alleged systematic overcharging. The underlying structural incentives that produce the questionable practices remain intact.
Wealth Disparity Exacerbated
When families pay inflated fees to maintain contact with incarcerated relatives, that money comes directly out of scarce household budgets. This contributes to wealth disparity: a corporation accumulates profits, while households—often already in lower-income brackets—grow poorer. As the complaint notes, the sums seized from inactivity or the extra fees from undisclosed pricing can collectively reach into millions of dollars. Those millions are effectively transferred from the pockets of some of society’s most financially strained households into a corporate treasury.
The social ramifications ripple outward. Less money for groceries, rent, or the basic cost of living. Less money saved for a child’s education or an unexpected medical bill. These families, on the margins, may also suffer psychologically from the stress of dealing with complex or unfair corporate policies.
Locking Out Consumer Advocacy
Even though the CFPB eventually acted, the slow pace underscores another systemic feature: consumers reliant on these services often have minimal recourse. They may not have easy access to legal representation, class-action frameworks can take years, and complaining to scattered regulators can be a daunting, time-consuming process. Many simply endure the fees in silence, which inadvertently “validates” the exploitative business model. Because families typically do not mount large-scale campaigns against these corporations, and because the relevant customers—incarcerated individuals—lack access to typical consumer tools, the cycle of exploitation can continue for long periods.
In short, the structure of private corrections technology services, combined with limited consumer power and delayed regulatory action, fosters a perpetual environment of corporate impunity. Whenever the system tries to “correct” itself, it is often too late, with the corporation still retaining significant advantage.
A Broader Symptom of Neoliberalism’s Failures
This is symptomatic of a broader set of failings within the neoliberal model, which entrusts even essential public goods—like access to family communication—to private corporations oriented toward profit. The risk is that critical services become over-financialized and exploitative, with negative consequences for public health and social justice. After all, family contact is widely recognized as a key factor in reducing recidivism and supporting mental health among incarcerated individuals. When corporations artificially inflate the cost or create hurdles to that contact, it not only harms families’ finances but could also hamper successful reentry into society.
Reforms That Stay Surface-Level
Even when confronted with allegations or forced to pay settlements, corporations may accept a “cost of doing business” viewpoint. They might tweak a few policies—perhaps disclosing fee schedules more transparently or raising the threshold for inactivity—but the fundamental profit-driven structure remains. In the final analysis, unless there is a stronger push toward public accountability, or unless the fees are capped at more consumer-friendly levels, the conditions that enabled these alleged abuses will persist.
Thus, the pattern of predation remains an integral “feature” of how certain for-profit corporations navigate markets with constrained consumer choice. The final two sections of this article will examine how the corporate PR playbook might frame these allegations—and the larger tension between corporate power and public interest.
7. The PR Playbook of Damage Control
When allegations of significant misconduct emerge—especially those as serious as blocking prisoner accounts and zeroing out consumer balances—corporations often employ a well-honed PR strategy. From carefully worded statements of “no wrongdoing admitted” to philanthropic gestures meant to distract from the negative press, there is a pattern to how large entities respond in damage control mode.
While the CFPB’s Consent Order does not extensively cover how Global Tel Link, Telmate, and TouchPay are handling public communications, history suggests that some or all of the following tactics may be employed:
1. “We Take These Allegations Seriously”
Typically, the first official statement will acknowledge the investigation or the settlement but insist that the company “respects and complies with all regulations.” The statement might say, “While we disagree with certain characterizations in the complaint, we are committed to serving our customers fairly.” This approach sets a tone of semi-cooperation without conceding wrongdoing.
2. Minimizing the Harm
Next, corporations often downplay the scope of the alleged misconduct. They might claim the issues affected “less than 1% of our customers” or that “only a small number of accounts were subject to inactivity fees.” Such language aims to assure the public that the overall consumer experience is positive, even if the complaint’s allegations depict systematic flaws.
3. Shifting Blame to “Industry Norms” or “Technical Glitches”
When pressed for specifics, the corporation may point to industry standards or claim that the issues arose from “technical complexities.” For example, they might argue that blocking accounts after chargebacks is a necessary fraud-prevention measure. Or that “inactivity fees” are standard in many stored-value or prepaid card industries. While certain fees are indeed widespread, the difference is that in the correctional sector, families do not have the usual marketplace exit options.
4. Announcing New “Initiatives” or “Task Forces”
To show that they are taking “proactive steps,” the corporation might announce the creation of an internal compliance task force or the expansion of consumer support lines. They might even rename certain fees, reevaluate “inactive account” policies, or promise more transparent communication. Over time, these changes could be partially effective—but they can also serve as a strategic pivot to deflect immediate criticism.
5. Highlighting the Corporation’s Good Works
We often see announcements about scholarship programs for the formerly incarcerated or donations to charities that assist families with reentry. While these initiatives might bring real benefits, they can be overshadowed by the continuing profit model. Critics question whether such efforts amount to what is sometimes called “reputation laundering”—using philanthropic gestures to wash away public scrutiny of more systemic, harmful practices.
6. Silence or Legal Deflection
In some instances, the corporation may simply refuse to comment further on the Consent Order, citing “ongoing legal matters,” especially if it anticipates related private lawsuits. This is a standard tactic to avoid statements that could be used in civil litigation. Meanwhile, executives might frame the settlement with the CFPB as simply the closure of an old legal dispute, thereby deflecting from a broader conversation about corporate responsibility and ethics.
Reading Between the Lines
For families directly harmed by the alleged misconduct, these damage-control tactics may ring hollow. Public statements rarely bring about an immediate return of seized funds or an apology for the hardships endured. The fundamental question is whether the company truly addresses the structural problems identified in the Consent Order or merely placates the public with short-term fixes and carefully curated outreach efforts.
Furthermore, while reputational concerns do matter in many corporate contexts, the correctional technology sector is somewhat insulated. Jails and prisons typically choose service providers through contracts, which may hinge on cost proposals and revenue-sharing arrangements rather than consumer satisfaction. As a result, the standard PR strategy—concerned with brand image—can be less critical here, given the captive nature of the consumer base. This dynamic highlights a unique aspect of corporate accountability in privatized prison services: large-scale negative PR may not result in lost contracts if correctional administrators or state procurement officers are not directly impacted by public sentiment.
Impact on Regulatory Bodies
A robust PR response also aims to demonstrate to regulators that the corporation is cooperative and taking corrective measures. This can help the corporation in future dealings, such as renewing contracts or lobbying for minimal oversight. It is not unusual for corporate representatives to emphasize their “ongoing dialogue” with regulators and “comprehensive compliance systems,” hoping to stem further investigations.
All told, the “PR playbook” sets the stage for re-framing the narrative. Incarcerated individuals and their families, however, often remain skeptical, having experienced the real consequences of alleged corporate greed. The question that lingers is whether any superficial damage control can truly undo the harm or prevent a repeat of the same systemic issues in the future.
In the final section, we will explore the broader policy implications: how do we weigh corporate power against public interest, especially in a domain—incarceration—where equity and social justice concerns should, arguably, take priority over financial returns?
8. Corporate Power vs. Public Interest
The story told by the CFPB’s Consent Order extends well beyond the alleged misconduct of one corporation. It sheds light on fundamental tensions in modern society: who holds power, who pays the price, and how do we reconcile profit-driven motives with the well-being of vulnerable communities?
The High Stakes for Public Interest
When we talk about prison communications, we are not discussing a trivial consumer product. The ability to communicate with loved ones is vital for maintaining mental health, aiding rehabilitation, and smoothing reentry into society. Additionally, money transfers to incarcerated individuals can cover essential commissary items like food, clothing, and hygiene products that supplement the often-inadequate provisions of the correctional facility. In effect, these services play a vital public health role.
Yet, as the Consent Order alleges, the corporation in question turned these essential services into profit centers with questionable fee structures and policies. When a private actor wields that level of control over a crucial need, conflicts of interest can arise: maximizing corporate profitability vs. ensuring that the public is served ethically.
The Incentives Are Stacked
Under neoliberal capitalism, the incentive is to keep increasing revenue streams, particularly if the cost of regulation is relatively small. Add the captive consumer base of families who must use these services, and the result is a near-perfect environment for exploitation. This tension—between corporate power and public well-being—rarely resolves in favor of the public without robust intervention, whether by regulators, courts, or grassroots activism.
Lessons for Policy Reform
From the vantage point of corporate accountability, one might consider multiple avenues for reform:
- Stricter Fee Transparency Requirements – Regulators can mandate that all fees be disclosed in a standardized, easy-to-read format at every step of the transaction, with no hidden surcharges.
- Prohibitions on Blocking – The Consent Order itself addresses the issue of blocking an incarcerated person’s account based on someone else’s chargeback. Codifying this into law or broader regulations would provide a universal safeguard.
- Limits on “Inactivity” Seizures – States could pass legislation banning or heavily regulating the forfeiture of consumer funds after short periods of inactivity. This would prevent corporate appropriation of unclaimed balances without due process.
- Enhanced State and Federal Oversight – Assigning dedicated resources to continuously monitor corrections-related financial services, rather than waiting for a crisis, might catch exploitative practices in early stages.
- Public or Nonprofit Alternatives – Some reformers argue that communications and commissary accounts in prisons could be operated by a public agency or a nonprofit, removing the profit motive that drives up costs.
All these measures would require overcoming powerful lobbying forces. Private providers and sometimes even correctional facilities themselves might resist changes that would reduce the revenue from these relationships.
A Symbol of Broader Battles
This confrontation between the CFPB and the corporation is emblematic of wider battles: from the environment (“corporate pollution”) to healthcare (“surprise billing”) to consumer lending (“payday loans”). In each domain, the fundamental question remains: should essential services be subjected to unrestrained profit motives that may lead to corporate corruption and inflated fees?
Where neoliberal advocates see market efficiency and cost savings, critics see exploitative policies that deepen wealth disparity and place an intolerable burden on low-income populations. The allegations in this Consent Order offer a stark illustration of how such burdens manifest in real life: a mother paying extra fees just so her son can call her, or an older sibling helplessly watching funds vanish from their account because they didn’t log in for a few months.
Will Corporations Truly Reform?
Can large corporations operating under these incentives truly change for the better? The cynics among us point to “shareholder primacy,” the principle that managers must deliver maximum returns. If that means imposing borderline exploitative policies, corporate governance often rationalizes such moves as “fiduciary duty.” Even if one enforcement action sets boundaries, the underlying drive for profit may encourage companies to find new ways to skirt regulations.
Many suspect that unless the financial penalties far exceed the gains reaped from unethical practices, corporate misconduct will remain an ongoing risk. This is why robust consumer advocacy groups push for structural changes—like capping rates, banning certain fees, or removing private interests from essential service provision altogether. Without systemic reform, the cycle of harm and partial remedy is likely to continue.
Conclusion
The CFPB’s Consent Order tells a story of corporate misconduct that resonates far beyond the corrections technology field. It highlights how profit-maximization within captive markets can result in hidden fees, withheld balances, and aggressive tactics that leave vulnerable families bearing the brunt. Even the partial redress spelled out in the settlement—while welcome—raises the question of whether it’s enough to fundamentally alter the landscape.
For families dealing with the immediate fallout, the corporate ethics debate might seem like an academic exercise. Their priority is ensuring that their loved ones have access to basic necessities and regular contact while incarcerated. Meanwhile, for broader society, this case should prompt serious reflection on whether the privatization of essential services—especially in public spheres like prisons—inevitably leads to exploitative outcomes.
Ultimately, if there’s a silver lining, it’s that the allegations have been brought to light, and the CFPB has taken action. This shines a spotlight on how, under neoliberal capitalism, corporate greed can quietly thrive. Perhaps, in the long run, the public scrutiny will catalyze more robust regulations or encourage policymakers to reassess the wisdom of entrusting vulnerable populations to private entities whose goals may conflict with the public interest.
Yet the tension remains, and likely always will, as long as corporate power is left relatively unchecked in markets where consumers have no escape. The question left for all of us is: Will we allow the same patterns to repeat, or will we demand a system that places human dignity and social justice ahead of “crime pays” business models?
We upload 4 new articles on corporate misconduct every single day! To read them as they come out, visit:
Evil Corporations neglecting safety protocols to cut costs, risking consumer harm for higher profits: https://evilcorporations.org/category/product-safety-violations/
Evil Corporations deliberately contaminating ecosystems to avoid expenses, prioritizing greed over sustainability: https://evilcorporations.org/category/environmental-violations/
Evil Corporations exploiting workers through unsafe conditions and unfair wages to maximize corporate gains: https://evilcorporations.org/category/labor-exploitation/
Evil Corporations recklessly mishandling or exploiting personal data, prioritizing profit over user security and consent, often exposing individuals to harm or manipulation: https://evilcorporations.org/category/data-breach-privacy/
Evil Corporations manipulating records to mislead stakeholders, enabling illicit wealth accumulation and systemic corruption: https://evilcorporations.org/category/financial-fraud/
Evil Corporations deceiving consumers with false claims to manipulate demand and conceal product risks: https://evilcorporations.org/category/misleading-marketing/
Evil Corporations doing corporate misconduct that doesn’t neatly fit into the earlier mentioned categories: https://evilcorporations.org/category/misc/
