NFL Failures, EDM Greed and Massive Corruption: The Inside Story of the L.A. Coliseum Scandal

Some called DeStefano "the golden boy." When DeStefano married a former Clippers cheerleader in Hawaii in 2009, Lynch was there, as was Bill Chadwick, a Coliseum commissioner.

Many of DeStefano's co-workers liked him, but some found him arrogant and overly ambitious. He often said he wanted to be like David Checketts, a sports executive who became a general manager before he was 30.

Todd DeStefano, who was working for both the promoters and the facilities

PHOTO BY NANETTE GONZALES

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More About

• Tony Estrada
• Todd DeStefano
• Pat Lynch
• College Basketball
• College Football

"He thought football was coming," Etting says. "He wanted to be a part of that."

But when the NFL talks collapsed, DeStefano, too, began to look for other opportunities. In August 2006 — the same month that Goodell took over as NFL commissioner, and the same month that Lynch began receiving money from Estrada — Lynch agreed to give DeStefano a $60,000-a-year bonus for booking film shoots at the facilities.

To his co-workers, it looked like a sweetheart deal, and they resented it.

"He made no secret that he was well compensated," Jonathan Lee, the Coliseum's marketing director, would later tell the grand jury.

DeStefano got a better title and a new office in the Sports Arena, away from the rest of the staff. He upgraded to a BMW 5-series, paid for by the Coliseum. His personal bank records show that he dined at Ruth's Chris, Katsuya and Nobu.

Just three months after securing the filming bonus, he hit upon another moneymaking scheme. This one he kept secret. DreamWorks wanted to film the Will Ferrell vehicle Blades of Glory at the Sports Arena. But instead of paying the Coliseum directly, DeStefano had the company cut a $74,000 check to an entity called LAC Events.

The owner of LAC Events was Todd DeStefano.

And DeStefano wasn't done yet. For years at the Sports Arena, electronic dance music promoter Reza Gerami had been hosting a Halloween show called Monster Massive. In 1998, Gerami partnered with a rival promoter, Pasquale Rotella, on a New Year's show called Together as One. Though rave critics warned that hosting the events in a public venue gave tacit approval to drug use, the events drew enormous crowds — in the tens of thousands — which helped the Coliseum's bottom line.

In 2005, DeStefano persuaded Gerami to put on a summer show, Independance, to bring in more revenue to the Coliseum. Two years later, Gerami declined the summer date, opening the door for Rotella to bring in his Electric Daisy Carnival, or EDC.

Until then, EDC had been held at a variety of smaller venues on the fringes of L.A. A sort of cross between Burning Man and Alice in Wonderland, EDC was unlike anything else — a wild, all-night, neon circus of pulsing bass beats and spectacular light shows. The Coliseum represented a chance to expand.

In its first year there, EDC drew 29,000. Two years later, it was up to 120,000.

With those numbers, an event could gross millions of dollars, and yet the business was wide open. It seemed like almost anyone could get in and make a killing.

"I think [Todd] dug the music, but, if anything, he saw opportunity," says Chris Irving, a boyhood friend of DeStefano's. "He saw the size those things were getting, and the popularity. And they weren't mainstream yet. They weren't controlled by Live Nation."

In 2008, DeStefano drew up a partnership agreement between promoters Rotella, Gerami and himself. DeStefano would get 10 percent of the gross ticket sales at Coliseum raves as a "consulting fee." In exchange, he would be responsible for "keeping all building-related expenses as tight as possible." In other words, he would use his influence with the Coliseum to minimize costs, such as ambulances and security guards.

Though the agreement was not signed, it appears to have been the basis for their partnership. Soon after it was drafted, Rotella and Gerami began writing checks to DeStefano.

At first, DeStefano kept the arrangement secret. But in late 2009, he told Lynch that he was doing some outside work for the promoters, on his own time. He said it was about to go to "a more significant level," but that it would not conflict with his duties at the Coliseum.

Lynch checked with the Coliseum's attorney, Donovan Main: Would it be OK for DeStefano to work for the promoters?

Main gave some general advice about the state's conflict law, and warned that there would have to be financial "firewalls" in place to make sure that DeStefano was not directly involved in decisions from which he stood to make a profit. But Main also said he could not give a definitive opinion without more details.

That was good enough for Lynch — perhaps because DeStefano was the point person behind the Coliseum's EDM business, which by that point represented 28 percent of the facility's annual revenue. Lynch took away DeStefano's filming bonus and reduced his title. But he allowed DeStefano to continue to coordinate the EDM shows for the Coliseum, even as he partnered with the promoters behind them.

Chris Irving, DeStefano's friend, says he expressed concern about drug use at the events. DeStefano said they had it under control.

"Cover your butt," Irving says he advised him. "You're one issue away from people turning on you."