Episode 7: The Commissioner’s Racket – How David Moore’s Past Haunts Lorain County’s Present
How silence, selective memory, and unintentional alliances have shielded Lorain’s most controversial commissioner.
I. Introduction – The Myth of the Businessman Reformist
David Moore likes to be seen as a pragmatic outsider—a successful businessman who entered public service to clean up government waste and bring private-sector discipline to public budgeting. It’s a compelling narrative, and one that has earned him votes. But it’s also a myth.
Behind the clean-cut campaign slogans and budget speeches lies a long pattern of evasion, silence, and strategic concealment. Moore hasn’t just tolerated questionable behavior from political allies—he has quietly enabled it, supported it, and in some cases, benefited from it. His public image as a steady hand masks a private record of complicity.
The dissonance between the Moore voters know and the Moore found in court records and deposition transcripts is stark. While Lorain County has focused on other more vocal or controversial figures—Michelle Hung, J.D. Tomlinson, and James Burge—Moore has often flown beneath the radar, avoiding scrutiny by design.
This episode challenges that invisibility. It traces Moore’s arc from his controversial past as a lender with Crystal Mortgage to his quiet participation in political cover-ups involving whistleblowers and public funds. It lays bare how he has cultivated power not through confrontation, but through omission, silence, and carefully maintained plausible deniability.
In doing so, Moore has perfected the art of staying close enough to power to shape outcomes, but far enough away to avoid consequences. He does not yell, threaten, or campaign on grievance politics. He simply nods in the right rooms, attends the right closed-door sessions, and signs off on the payouts that make scandals go away.
What emerges is not a picture of accidental involvement or unknowing oversight. It is a portrait of deliberate disengagement—of a man who understands exactly how much inaction it takes to appear neutral while preserving the systems that benefit him. And Lorain County, by continuing to believe in his reformist image, has let him get away with it.
This investigation does not accuse Moore of committing crimes. It accuses him of something more insidious: knowing how to let others commit them while keeping his own hands clean. That’s not just a failure of ethics—it’s a betrayal of the public trust.
If Lorain County wants real reform, it must begin by recognizing the difference between leadership and longevity. David Moore has had plenty of the latter. It's time to question whether he's ever offered the former.
"If you want to understand a man’s politics, follow the money. If you want to understand his power, follow the silence that surrounds him."
II. The Crystal Mortgage Controversy – Moore’s RICO Past
David Moore’s business career began not with clean books or civic engagement, but with Crystal Mortgage—an enterprise later accused of participating in a predatory lending racket that devastated working-class families. According to a 2002 Cleveland Scene investigation by Sarah Fenske titled "The Commissioner's Racket," Crystal Mortgage was the subject of a federal RICO lawsuit that claimed it engaged in a pattern of fraudulent lending practices. While Moore was not criminally charged, he was named in the civil action, and the allegations centered on a scheme where homeowners were set up to fail.
Plaintiffs alleged that Crystal Mortgage systematically inflated appraisals and buried balloon payments in fine print, resulting in unsustainable loan terms. Once borrowers defaulted—as the lenders anticipated—they lost their homes, and the company profited through aggressive foreclosure strategies. Moore, listed in the corporate structure, claimed he had little involvement in day-to-day operations, but that distancing maneuver didn’t erase his name from the records.
One plaintiff in the RICO case described the operation plainly: "They were loaning people money they couldn't afford to pay back, just so they could take their homes when they failed." These were not isolated incidents. The lawsuit alleged the company’s entire business model was built on this type of exploitation. At the time, Moore defended himself by saying he had stepped away from the business. But the financial and structural ties told a different story.
The RICO suit was eventually settled without an admission of guilt, but settlements often speak louder than verdicts in the court of public opinion. Moore's name vanished from headlines shortly after, not because he was exonerated, but because no one kept digging. This erasure of scrutiny would become a defining theme of Moore’s political trajectory.
Despite this troubling history, Moore rebranded himself. By 2016, he had emerged in Lorain County as a businessman-turned-reformer, promising to bring private-sector efficiency to government. There was no mention of Crystal Mortgage. No mention of the lawsuit. No mention of the lives upended by the company he helped run. And no journalist in the county pressed him to address it.
Moore’s opponents at the time either didn’t have the documentation or failed to wield it effectively. As a result, voters were left with a sanitized version of his biography. His campaign narratives focused on financial discipline and economic growth, glossing over how he made his money and the damage left behind.
This failure to reckon with Moore’s past is not just a missed opportunity—it’s a symptom of deeper institutional rot. When someone with that history can recast themselves without question and then ascend to public office, it reveals how superficial political vetting has become. It also reveals the dangers of a media landscape increasingly reliant on personality over policy.
The Crystal Mortgage saga should have been disqualifying. At the very least, it should have forced Moore to answer hard questions. Instead, it became a forgotten footnote. His name was scrubbed from the public’s short-term memory, and his influence only grew.
The consequences of this erasure are tangible. The same tactics—aggressive silence, vague denials, third-party blame—reappear throughout Moore’s political career. What he learned in business, he carried into government: how to shield himself with structure, how to exploit complexity, and how to let others take the fall.
To understand the present-day ERA scandal and Moore’s current grip on Lorain County politics, one must first understand what was never answered about Crystal Mortgage. The patterns are the same. Only the setting—and the stakes—have changed.
III. Moore’s Rebranding – From RICO Defendant to County Commissioner
After the dust settled from the Crystal Mortgage fallout, Moore gradually rebranded himself as a civic-minded businessman. He avoided direct public discussion of the lawsuit and found new footing in Republican circles, eventually launching a successful campaign for Lorain County Commissioner. During his campaign, Moore relied on vague references to his business experience while scrupulously avoiding the specifics. The media, with few exceptions, failed to press him on his past.
His campaign slogan—"Bringing Business Principles to Government"—resonated with voters weary of bureaucracy, but it masked the fact that Moore’s business principles had once attracted federal scrutiny. His election victory was seen as a political upset, but it also marked a quiet victory for sanitized narratives over journalistic accountability.
This rebranding wasn’t organic. It required the complicity of political donors, local influencers, and community members willing to overlook serious red flags. That includes individuals like Loraine Ritchey, who may not have actively campaigned for Moore, but whose constant attacks on his critics serve as a shield.
In politics, alliances aren’t always formal or intentional. Sometimes, simply echoing someone’s narrative, defending their actions, or targeting their critics—even passively—can place you in their corner. Loraine Ritchey may not wear a Moore campaign button, but by reflexively shielding him from scrutiny and attacking those who expose his misconduct, she acts as an ally—whether she meant to or not.
The campaign benefited immensely from this indirect support. While Moore remained quiet about his past, others created enough noise to distract or discredit those who brought it up. Local groups were often misled into thinking they were supporting a self-made entrepreneur, not a former RICO defendant.
This kind of passive alliance is more dangerous than open collusion. It launders credibility through community familiarity. Moore’s power was built on that scaffolding—shaky, invisible, and lethal to truth.
Moore's electoral success cannot be understood without examining the narratives that accompanied him into office. His story wasn’t merely accepted—it was reinforced by a chorus of defenders who never asked the right questions.
The next sections explore what happens when that same pattern of silence infects governance. Moore’s tactics haven’t changed—they’ve just migrated from finance to politics.
IV. The ERA Scandal – Moore’s Shadow Role in a Cover-Up
Jennifer Battistelli, a former employee of the Lorain County Prosecutor’s Office, received a $100,000 settlement in October 2023 after making serious misconduct allegations against Prosecutor J.D. Tomlinson and his chief of staff, former Judge James Burge. The settlement, approved by the Lorain County Board of Commissioners, was paid from the Prosecutor’s Office budget. Battistelli claimed the agreement was in retaliation for exposing discrimination and mismanagement within the office’s handling of federal Emergency Rental Assistance (ERA) funds.
Following her initial complaint, Battistelli said she was harassed, isolated, and ultimately pressured to remain silent. She later accused Tomlinson and Burge of attempting to coerce her into recanting her statements—alleging she was told to say her original allegations were the result of mental health instability and that the County would protect her if she complied. These claims were corroborated in part by text messages, emails, and a recorded voicemail left by Tomlinson.
James Burge, once a Lorain County Common Pleas judge, had returned to public life as Tomlinson’s chief of staff. His involvement in the controversy raised eyebrows across the legal community, particularly given his prior role as a judge and his re-entry into county government. Burge was not a peripheral figure—he was directly named in Battistelli’s complaints and accused of actively participating in efforts to silence her.
In October 2024, criminal charges were filed against both Tomlinson and Burge. Each faced felony charges of intimidation and tampering with evidence, and Tomlinson was additionally charged with attempted bribery. According to WKYC and The Chronicle-Telegram, these charges stemmed from their efforts to influence and suppress Battistelli’s cooperation in ongoing legal inquiries.
The indictment shocked many in Lorain County’s legal and political circles, prompting new scrutiny of the Prosecutor’s Office. But just four months later, in February 2025, the charges were abruptly dropped—not due to exculpatory findings, but because Battistelli, the key witness, failed to appear at the preliminary hearing. Prosecutors stated they were unable to proceed without her testimony.
Moore’s role in this saga is more nuanced but equally disturbing. Emails and internal correspondence obtained through public records show that Moore was aware of the allegations, the settlement, and the political implications. Yet at no point did he call for an independent review or speak out in favor of transparency. In his sworn deposition, Moore falsely claimed the matter was discussed in executive session—a statement directly contradicted by county records. There was no executive session. The payment was moved forward without one. This discrepancy raises serious questions about whether Moore knowingly misrepresented the facts under oath. Ultimately, he signed off on the six-figure payout without demanding any public accountability from the Prosecutor’s Office.
Moore’s silence functioned as a tactical endorsement. He did not need to coerce or threaten anyone directly; his complicity was in omission. Multiple county officials familiar with the situation described Moore’s presence in these conversations as “calculated” and “non-confrontational.” This behavior echoes the pattern seen in his handling of past controversies: avoid fingerprints while helping bury the mess.
Former Judge James Burge, serving as Tomlinson’s chief of staff, confirmed in deposition that Moore was part of strategy sessions aimed at limiting fallout. Battistelli’s complaints weren’t viewed as a call for justice—they were viewed as a political threat to be contained. By assisting in the narrative shift from whistleblower to disgruntled former employee, Moore helped insulate both Tomlinson and the institution.
This entire episode represents a chilling message to public employees in Lorain County: speak out, and you may be painted as unstable, pressured to recant, and abandoned if you don’t comply. Moore didn’t issue those threats—but by doing nothing to stop them, he became part of the machinery that carried them out.
The ERA program, meant to protect vulnerable renters, became a vehicle for political retaliation and bureaucratic concealment. And once again, Moore’s hands appear clean only because he kept them hidden. His role in enabling that outcome—by failing to act, failing to speak, and prioritizing optics over oversight—should concern every taxpayer in Lorain County.
Moore’s involvement in the ERA scandal may not generate headlines the way criminal charges do. But his quiet maneuvering behind the scenes—ensuring settlements were paid, whistleblowers were silenced, and public attention was redirected—speaks volumes about how power is protected in Lorain County. It isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s just invisible enough to endure.
V. Silence, Shielded Allies, and the Political Ecosystem
David Moore’s continued political survival doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It’s made possible by a dense web of enablers, opportunists, and accidental allies—people who either benefit from his presence or lack the courage to confront him. Some offer vocal support. Others, more insidiously, act as shields by deflecting criticism, confusing the public discourse, or harassing those who dare speak out. This protective ecosystem is why scandals rarely stick and why accountability in Lorain County feels like a mirage.
At the center of this web are figures like Loraine Ritchey. Ritchey is not an elected official, but her influence over online discourse and local political narratives is considerable. On Facebook forums and in comment threads, she consistently defends Moore’s reputation—not by championing his record, but by relentlessly attacking his critics. Her fixation on silencing dissent—whether it’s directed at whistleblowers, journalists, or citizens—has a chilling effect. People begin to weigh the personal cost of speaking the truth.
It’s important to recognize that Ritchey doesn’t need to carry Moore’s banner to serve his interests. In politics, alliances aren't always formal or intentional. Sometimes, simply echoing someone’s narrative, defending their actions, or targeting their critics—even passively—can place you in their corner. Loraine Ritchey may not wear a Moore campaign button, and she may even deny political allegiance, but by consistently dismissing the seriousness of his misconduct, undermining those who expose it, and reframing the conversation around personal vendettas rather than policy failures, she enables him. That, in practice, is alliance.
This model of indirect defense is powerful because it disguises itself as neutrality or civic-mindedness. But in reality, it enables political wrongdoing. When those who raise concerns are immediately vilified or mocked, the message is clear: complicity is rewarded, and dissent is punished. Ritchey and others like her may view their actions as independent commentary, but the practical effect is that Moore operates with fewer constraints.
What makes this protection so effective is its informality. Moore can claim he has no involvement in these online crusades. And technically, he’s right. But he doesn’t need to instruct anyone directly. His defenders take it upon themselves to control the narrative, discredit the opposition, and launder his public image. Their loyalty may be unspoken, but it is unwavering.
The broader political machine in Lorain County has taken notice. Officials who might otherwise question Moore's actions often choose silence. They don’t want to become targets themselves. City employees, agency heads, and even some journalists have admitted privately that criticizing Moore carries professional risk. In this way, intimidation becomes policy, and fear replaces oversight.
The cumulative result is a climate in which truth is distorted, not through outright lies, but through omission, distraction, and derision. When someone tries to expose the inner workings of corruption, they are painted as obsessive, unstable, or politically motivated. This tactic has been used not only against whistleblowers like Jennifer Battistelli, but also against community advocates and local reporters.
Meanwhile, Moore’s defenders cite the lack of formal charges or convictions as proof of innocence. But the absence of legal action is not evidence of exoneration—it’s evidence of the system’s failure. When every mechanism of accountability is paralyzed by complicity, the powerful face no meaningful consequences. This is the lesson Lorain County has yet to learn.
Silence is not neutral. It’s a decision. And those who remain silent while Moore consolidates influence and dodges scrutiny are making a choice—one that ultimately sacrifices the public good for personal comfort. Whether they do it for access, approval, or out of fear, the result is the same: a culture where corruption thrives unchecked.
To dismantle this ecosystem, we must stop pretending that only active participants are responsible. Passive enablers are just as essential to the machinery of misconduct. If we truly want reform, we must expose not just the perpetrators, but the protectors—the ones who guard the gate while pretending there’s no fire behind it.
VI. Final Thought – The Cost of Ignoring the Past
David Moore’s career is a case study in the corrosive power of selective memory. The public has been told a story of a self-made businessman turned pragmatic public servant, but the truth—buried in court documents, whistleblower accounts, and backroom correspondence—is far more troubling. Moore’s story is not one of redemption but of reinvention, achieved through omission, intimidation, and the manipulation of public narrative.
The same man once named in a federal racketeering lawsuit is now entrusted with millions in public funding. The same tactics used to obscure exploitative mortgage practices in the 1990s have reappeared in political form: denial, deflection, and a calculated absence from scrutiny. The victims then were working-class homeowners. The victims now are renters, taxpayers, and the integrity of local governance.
When public officials go unchecked, and when allies—both intentional and inadvertent—shield them from consequences, corruption becomes institutionalized. It becomes part of the system. It grows roots in boardrooms, council chambers, courtrooms, and even social media pages. Accountability isn’t just stalled—it’s subverted.
The most dangerous figures in politics are often not the loudest, nor the most overtly corrupt. They are the ones who operate just outside the margins of confrontation. They don’t need to silence critics themselves because others will do it for them. They don’t need to lie because others will distract. In that sense, Moore is a master of modern political survival.
The silence surrounding Moore’s past and present misdeeds is not apathy—it’s design. A County that prides itself on hard-working values and community resilience has allowed itself to be lulled by rhetoric and veiled promises. The cost of that complacency is real: misused funds, retaliated employees, disenfranchised voters, and a public increasingly disillusioned with the very concept of justice.
Lorain County deserves better. It deserves a political culture that values transparency over ties, accountability over allegiance, and truth over convenience. The whistleblowers who came forward, the reporters who uncovered the paper trails, and the residents who continue asking questions are not enemies of stability—they are its last hope.
There is no reform without reckoning. And there is no reckoning without truth. David Moore’s legacy need not be one of unchecked power—but that depends on whether this moment becomes a turning point or just another page turned too quickly.
For the residents of Lorain County, the choice is clear: demand better, speak louder, and refuse to let silence write the next chapter.
VI. Final Thought – The Cost of Ignoring the Past
David Moore’s career is a case study in the corrosive power of selective memory. The public has been told a story of a self-made businessman turned pragmatic public servant, but the truth—buried in court documents, whistleblower accounts, and backroom correspondence—is far more troubling. Moore’s story is not one of redemption but of reinvention, achieved through omission, intimidation, and the manipulation of public narrative.
The same man once named in a federal racketeering lawsuit is now entrusted with millions in public funding. The same tactics used to obscure exploitative mortgage practices in the 1990s have reappeared in political form: denial, deflection, and a calculated absence from scrutiny. The victims then were working-class homeowners. The victims now are renters, taxpayers, and the integrity of local governance.
When public officials go unchecked, and when allies—both intentional and inadvertent—shield them from consequences, corruption becomes institutionalized. It becomes part of the system. It grows roots in boardrooms, council chambers, courtrooms, and even social media pages. Accountability isn’t just stalled—it’s subverted.
The most dangerous figures in politics are often not the loudest, nor the most overtly corrupt. They are the ones who operate just outside the margins of confrontation. They don’t need to silence critics themselves because others will do it for them. They don’t need to lie because others will distract. In that sense, Moore is a master of modern political survival. (Just ask Hung and soon you can ask Riddell)
The silence surrounding Moore’s past and present misdeeds is not apathy—it’s design. A County that prides itself on hard-working values and community resilience has allowed itself to be lulled by rhetoric and veiled promises. The cost of that complacency is real: misused funds, retaliated employees, disenfranchised voters, and a public increasingly disillusioned with the very concept of justice.
Lorain County deserves better. It deserves a political culture that values transparency over ties, accountability over allegiance, and truth over convenience. The whistleblowers who came forward, the reporters who uncovered the paper trails, and the residents who continue asking questions are not enemies of stability—they are its last hope.
There is no reform without reckoning. And there is no reckoning without truth. David Moore’s legacy need not be one of unchecked power—but that depends on whether this moment becomes a turning point or just another page turned too quickly.
For the residents of Lorain County, the choice is clear: demand better, speak louder, and refuse to let silence write the next chapter.
This is Part 7 of our investigative Substack series on corruption in Lorain County government. Stay tuned for Episode 8: "Hung Out to Dry – The Rise and Fall of Michelle Hung."