In April 2021, I sat down in my dining room and wrote an essay about going to high school with Zach Horwitz.
A year later, I sat down in another dining room, 600 miles away, surrounded by TV cameras – all because of that essay.
***
When news broke that my former high school classmate had been arrested for masterminding a $650 million Ponzi scheme in Hollywood, I knew I had to write about it. I mean, what are the odds that you’ll sit in class with someone who goes on to do something like that?
Not high! So, as a writer, and as a former reporter, I felt like I had a responsibility to share my recollections of Zach. Mainly, I was curious if, in searching my memories, any red flags popped up.
Now, my perspective on Zach isn’t anything special, and I made that clear in the essay. I didn’t know him as a friend; just as a fellow student in a couple of classes. There are tons of people from our alma mater, Carroll High School, who can claim to have known him in that context. I just happened to be the one who said something about it. And once I spoke up, through that essay, it sent me down the most unexpected path.
***
It all started with an Instagram message.
Someone, beyond my usual readership, had found the essay. And this person was claiming to be a movie producer. Who wanted to talk about a project.
Naturally, I was skeptical. Was this person connected to Zach, I wondered, and screwing around with me? But I did some digging. And their credentials were bona fide.
The producer shared that he and a team were working on a documentary about Zach’s life and his scheme. Heading up the project was a filmmaker with an Oscar nomination to his credit, thanks to a shortform documentary he’d made for HBO. They asked me if I wanted to get involved.
Suffice it to say, I did. What an opportunity! It turns out the team was struggling to make inroads in Fort Wayne, where they hoped to tell the story of Zach’s formative years. I helped them with that, suggesting people they could interview, providing pertinent yearbook scans to them, and identifying places to shoot when they were in town to help set the scene.
And the best part? They wanted me to be in the movie.
After a couple weeks of corresponding with the filmmakers via email, I met them when they arrived in Fort Wayne to shoot. For my interview scenes, they rented out the Roller Dome. One of the city’s longtime social hubs, they booked the roller rink on the realistic chance that Zach may have passed through it at some point. Whether he did or didn’t, the rink made for a dramatic backdrop – with the house lights darkened, neon lights glowing, and a mirror ball shimmering.
I went into the shoot assuming the interview would be conducted in the conventional manner, with the interviewer and I seated across from one another, having a dialogue. However, that assumption was promptly dispelled when the director asked me a simple question:
“How are you on skates?”
At first, I laughed the question off. The director was probably just making small talk about being at the Roller Dome, right? But he posed the question again, this time adding context: he envisioned the interviewer and I’s conversation taking place as we skated around the rink.
This was a daunting request. I hadn’t been on skates in over 20 years. And I was already slightly intimidated about being on camera. Now I had to focus on providing articulate responses while staying upright on wheeled shoes in front of a professional film crew?
As apprehensive as I was, part of me admired the director’s vision. It was a creative way to conduct an interview, lending it a sense of energy that interviews often lack. Because the director’s approach possessed this spark of ingenuity, I agreed to lace up a pair of skates.
I had some time to get acclimated to the skates, during which time the director and crew got the camera equipment set up. After 20 minutes or so, they were ready to roll. And so was I, in the literal sense.
Once the interviewer and I got going on the skates, I discovered they had an unforeseen benefit: I was so concentrated on not toppling over that I wasn’t overthinking my responses to her questions. My answers were focused and concise. There was no time to get tongue-tied.
The interviewer and I crisscrossed the rink over the course of two hours – with the director recording every question and answer about Zach from his perch atop a wheeled platform being towed by a crew member.
It was a fantastic experience.
I wish I could divulge more about this movie! It’s not going to be a conventional documentary. I really dig the approach the filmmakers took to telling the story of Zach’s rise and fall.
My expectation is the movie will debut on a streaming platform before the end of the year.
***
While I had suspected my essay would attract some attention, given the subject, I never imagined it would lead to an appearance in a movie. When that happened, all my expectations were exceeded. So, if nothing else happened beyond that, I’d be perfectly content. And, in fact, I didn’t expect anything else to happen.
But that’s not what happened.
In the months that followed my appearance in the movie, the essay continued to get noticed. The New Yorker found it; that resulted in an interview with a Pulitzer Prize-winning writer from the magazine. Air Mail found it, which is the digital publication started by the former editor of Vanity Fair. Air Mail’s writer quoted the essay; ironically, it happened to be a passage where I cursed, which is something I rarely do in my writing.
Ultimately, these experiences were prologue to an email I received in March of this year – mere weeks after Zach got sentenced to 20 years in prison. The email was from a producer with “The Con,” a true-crime series on ABC narrated by Whoopi Goldberg. Production was getting underway on the show’s second season. And given the show’s topic – con artists – the producers were keen on dedicating an episode to Zach.
The producer hoped to enlist my help to tell the story. After a phone conversation where I learned a bit more about the series and what they hoped to accomplish with the episode, I was on board.
I helped out the show just like I had the movie – suggesting people to interview, supplying yearbook scans, etc. Initially, the plan was to interview me in Fort Wayne. ABC would hire its local station to accommodate and shoot the interview, said the producer, while she would ask me questions remotely from Los Angeles.
This plan changed dramatically. One day, the producer called and informed me that the local idea was being scrapped; now ABC wanted to fly me out to LA to do the interview in person.
This took some time to wrap my head around. Zach’s malfeasance in Hollywood had seemed so far away. And now, improbably, I was hurtling toward the scene of his crimes.
***
For the sake of this essay, I wish I could say this is the route my story took. I mean, it’s a Hollywood ending – literally!
But another phone call veered me from this course. Instead of LA, I’d be heading to Charlotte for the interview. I learned that one of the people I had suggested the producer contact had agreed to appear on the show. And as he lived in Charlotte, it made logistical sense, said the producer, to interview us there.
So, in early May, I boarded a flight to North Carolina. My plane touched down around 11 p.m. and I caught an Uber to my hotel. The next day, I spent a few hours at a local coffee shop as I awaited my call time at the interview site. Late that afternoon, I hopped in another Uber and ventured deep into the Charlotte suburbs, where the interview site – an upscale home – was located.
As I pulled up to the house, it looked normal enough. Once I stepped inside, however, it looked thoroughly abnormal. The place had been assimilated by the TV crew; their power cables snaked through the house, terminating at equipment that was set up every few feet.
The crew had finished shooting the other interviewee and was resetting for my interview, which would be recorded in a different part of the house, to make it appear like our interviews had been shot in different homes. The magic of television!
After the crew finished setting up in the house’s dining room, I took my seat. Across from me, there was a chair, a stack of books, and a laptop, which was running a Zoom call with the producer.
I can honestly say I wasn’t nervous, primarily for two reasons. For starters, I had been communicating with the producer for several weeks, so I was comfortable with her. Secondly, she had provided me all the questions that she would potentially ask me. I had reviewed those questions during my time at the coffee shop and felt exceedingly prepared.
We ended up chatting for two hours, covering everything from my impression of Zach in high school to my reaction to his sentencing.
After the interview, I did some other shots for the crew – including one that called for me to walk dramatically toward the camera, which was awesome.
Like my experience on the documentary, this one was incredibly positive, too.
We shot the interview on May 6; by August 4, the episode was finished and aired on ABC. My episode, titled “The Hollywood Mogul Con,” along with the entire second season of “The Con,” is now streaming on Hulu.
I was really happy with the episode. I was flattered to be in it and, most importantly, felt like my voice added something to the story, which was my goal. All the interviewees had unique perspectives on Zach; I learned a lot about him, and elements of his Ponzi scheme, that I wasn’t aware of.
And, pardon me while I geek-out for a few sentences, but it was just really cool to be a part of something that involved Whoopi Goldberg. I’m a lifelong Star Trek fan and adore her in the recurring role of Guinan on “Star Trek: The Next Generation.” So, to have been on a TV show that features her is nothing short of a dream come true.
***
In reflecting on this entire experience, I’ve come to the realization that there’s something deeper going on than just people being interested in Zach and his crimes.
Simply put, I think people are interested in true-crime stories, period. And it feels like the demand for these stories has never been higher.
It’s a demand the entertainment industry has risen to meet. I know whenever my Netflix screensaver turns on, I’m just as likely to see an ad for a documentary about a piece of shit like Jeffrey Dahmer or John Wayne Gacy as I am a “Go, Dog. Go!” ad for my kid. Granted, my wife’s viewing habits have something to do with this… but the content is there, beckoning you to watch.
I suspect this is why I’ve gotten hit up not once, but multiple times, for stuff related to Zach. Producers, directors, writers, etc. are feeding the beast, man. And I don’t blame them.
I understand now that when I wrote my essay, publicizing that I’d crossed paths with Zach, I was also inadvertently sending a signal to all those content creators. I just saw myself as someone who was shedding light on Zach… but they saw me as someone who could be a cog (albeit a small one) that helped the gears of the true-crime content machine continue turning.
For the record, I’m not complaining. I feel blessed to have been a part of the things that I’ve described. But I’m also cognizant of the role I’m playing, on a stage that extends far beyond Zach.
***
When I flew out of Charlotte, it was an ominous scene. The sky was dark and the city was encircled by storm clouds, glowing with lighting.
It was a fitting atmosphere, considering that I’d spent the day in the company of Zach’s dark specter. More days like that could be looming.
Before long, Charlotte receded from view. Ninety minutes later, I was home.
In a sense, though, the flight never ended. It’s ongoing and I’m hurtling toward another rumble of thunder in the distance.
EVE OF STEVE 