Why Your Judge Only Knows One Version of You (Unless You Fix It)

When I first walked into my sentencing hearing, I already knew what the prosecutor’s version of my life looked like. It was a list of mistakes, numbers, and accusations. It had nothing to do with who I actually was.

Judge Mark Bennett—who sentenced over 4,000 people—said something in an interview that stuck with me:

“Too often, judges never hear the defendant’s side. The government’s version is all they get, and most defendants don’t challenge it.”

That hit me because I saw it happen in my own case. My lawyer, like most, treated my pre-sentence investigation report (PSR) like a formality. But here’s what I learned: that report wasn’t just paperwork. It was my first and best shot at making sure the judge saw me, not just the crime.

Step 1: Read Your PSR Like Your Freedom Depends on It

Because it does.

The PSR is the document that follows you through the entire system—your judge, probation officer, and even Bureau of Prisons (BOP) staff rely on it. Yet, most people barely glance at it before sentencing.

I almost made that mistake too, but with White Collar Advice, I went through my PSR line by line. I found small but critical details that were either misleading or flat-out wrong. I corrected them before sentencing—because once that report is final, it’s nearly impossible to change.

Step 2: Challenge the Government’s Narrative

Judge Bennett made it clear: prosecutors submit their version of events, and most defense lawyers just accept it.

I refused to let that happen. I wrote my own version of the events—one that took responsibility but also explained the circumstances of my case. I didn’t let the government be the only voice telling my story.

Step 3: Show, Don’t Tell

Saying you’ve changed means nothing without proof.

Before sentencing, I had already started volunteering, showing the court that I wasn’t just saying I wanted to do better—I was already doing it. I didn’t wait to get to prison to start proving I could contribute.

Judge Bennett said he respects defendants who present a real plan, not just an apology:

“I’d be astounded if a defendant had a real rehabilitation plan before sentencing.”

I built a plan—how I would use my time inside, what programs I’d take, and how I’d prepare for release. My judge took it seriously.

The Result? 28 Months Instead of 60

Because I put in the work, my judge saw me as more than the charges. I got 28 months instead of the 60 the government wanted. More than that, I went in with a plan, served just 10 months, and was home with only a year of supervision.

If you’re facing sentencing, ask yourself this:

Is your judge seeing who you actually are—or just what the prosecutor put on paper?

If you don’t take control of your narrative, I assure you the government will.