Fahmi Quadir, Adtalem, and the High-Stakes Ethics of Short-Selling

In the realm of Wall Street, few figures challenge the system from within quite like Fahmi Quadir. Known in financial circles as “The Assassin,” Quadir has made a name—and a mission—for herself by exposing fraud and predatory behavior in publicly traded companies. But unlike most short-sellers chasing profits on volatility, Quadir brings a moral clarity to her work, emphasizing that short-selling can be an instrument of justice when practiced with rigor, purpose, and transparency. Her recent campaign against Adtalem Global Education, a for-profit college conglomerate, underscores the power—and danger—of this approach.

Fahmi Quadir is the founder and Chief Investment Officer of Safkhet Capital, a short-only hedge fund she launched in 2017 at the age of 26. Safkhet is not your typical Wall Street operation. Built on deep forensic research and a mission to hold corporations accountable, the firm takes bold, high-conviction positions against companies it believes are engaged in deception, exploitation, or fraud.

Quadir's career trajectory is as unlikely as it is impressive. She originally planned to pursue a PhD in mathematics, but a series of encounters at New York’s National Museum of Mathematics—funded by quantitative finance giants like Renaissance Technologies—introduced her to a world where market dynamics and moral imperatives could collide. She quickly realized that capital markets held not just monetary power, but the potential to drive social change. With no formal finance background, she was identified by hedge fund insiders as a natural fit for short-selling. She dove in, eventually appearing in the 2018 Netflix documentary Dirty Money, which chronicled her pivotal role in the takedown of Valeant Pharmaceuticals.

In February 2024, Quadir spoke at Stanford’s Graduate School of Business during an event hosted by the Corporations and Society Initiative (CASI). In a conversation moderated by JD/MBA student Thomas Newcomb, she unpacked her approach to short-selling—one defined by intellectual rigor, emotional resilience, and moral conviction.

"Short selling means you borrow shares from your bank, sell them, and hope the price drops so you can buy them back at a lower price and pocket the difference," Quadir explained. “But prices can go up infinitely. The potential losses on a short are also infinite.”

That risk, she emphasized, is not theoretical—it’s lived. “You need to withstand a lot of pain,” she said. “Short-selling isn't for everyone. It’s about doing uncomfortable work, challenging popular narratives, and being willing to look like a fool—until you're proven right.”

And yet, in Quadir’s view, this discomfort is necessary. “Shorting is important for the functioning of our markets. It provides liquidity and price discovery. But in a tiny corner of the market, there are those of us who are using short selling as a way to expose injustice and correct bad capital market behavior.”

Quadir focuses on companies she believes are harming customers or committing fraud, rather than chasing momentum or hype. “We avoid situations of mass delusion,” she noted, “because mass delusion can stay delusional forever.”

Her most famous case remains the takedown of Wirecard AG, a German electronic payments firm that collapsed in 2020 amid massive accounting fraud. Safkhet's 25% short position on Wirecard was the culmination of years of research and collaboration with whistleblowers and law enforcement. It was a textbook example of what Quadir calls "story-driven" short-selling—piecing together a company's past to uncover the rot at its core.

She recounted a chilling origin story involving Wirecard’s founders, Markus Braun and Jan Marsalek—who is now a confirmed Russian agent—and an Austrian billionaire with ties to adult entertainment who allegedly used intimidation tactics to force a takeover. “When that’s part of your origin story,” she said, “whatever comes after is going to be epic.”

But Quadir’s sights have recently turned toward a different kind of fraud—one operating under the guise of education. In January 2024, Safkhet Capital released a detailed short report on Adtalem Global Education, labeling it a “toxic byproduct of an imperfect higher education system.” The report highlighted Adtalem’s dependence on federal student aid—more than 70% of its revenue—and exposed dismal outcomes at its institutions, including Walden and Chamberlain universities, both of which serve a disproportionately high number of Black and working-class women.

The report also noted a financial responsibility score of 0.2 out of 3.0—far below the threshold used by the U.S. Department of Education to flag institutions at risk of mismanaging federal funds. In Quadir’s view, Adtalem wasn’t just financially shaky—it was “completely uninvestable.”

The market agreed. Following Safkhet’s report, Adtalem’s stock dropped 19% in a single day, with further losses in the days that followed. The company attempted to halt trading and accused Quadir of “short and distort” tactics—a claim that fell flat. “It was very satisfying after that hold was released to see the market validate our thesis,” she said. “Their strategy backfired.”

At Stanford, Quadir reflected on why she made the Adtalem report public: “There was an informational vacuum around this company. The shareholder base was largely passive. No one was doing the kind of research or analysis we were doing.”

But Quadir is quick to point out that short-sellers alone cannot fix a broken system. “Nothing is going to change if there isn’t enforcement,” she said. “We need to have some high-profile cases where people go to jail. These characters continue to get away with it or settle, and what happens? Their stocks go up.”

She remains hopeful, however, that markets—if given the right incentives—can self-correct. “I think the greatest believers in market efficiency have to be short sellers. I believe capital markets can correct bad behavior, and that benefits all of us.”

Short-selling, when practiced ethically, is not about sabotage. It is about storytelling, investigation, and risk—a lot of risk. Quadir’s approach requires patience, emotional stamina, and intellectual courage. It is not for the faint of heart. But in a world where regulators are often captured and media attention can be fleeting, short-sellers like Quadir play an essential, if controversial, role.

Her work against Adtalem is not just a case study in financial activism. It is a call to reexamine how markets reward failure, how federal funds prop up predatory institutions, and how silence—especially in higher education—can be bought. As Quadir puts it, “We have the power to affect change. We just have to be willing to take the hits.”

Sources

This article draws significantly from the February 2024 Stanford Graduate School of Business event, A Conversation with Fahmi Quadir, Wall Street’s Fearless Short Seller, hosted by the Corporations and Society Initiative (CASI). The event transcript and summary are available at https://casi.stanford.edu/news/conversation-fahmi-quadir-wall-streets-fearless-short-seller.

Additional information was compiled from the Safkhet Capital short report on Adtalem Global Education (January 2024), publicly available statements by Adtalem Global Education, coverage of Adtalem’s stock movement by MarketWatch and Bloomberg, investigations into Wirecard by the Financial Times, and Quadir’s portrayal in the 2018 Netflix documentary Dirty Money.

Legal responses to Safkhet’s report were also noted from Pomerantz LLP and Block & Leviton, which opened shareholder investigations into Adtalem in January 2024. Data from the U.S. Department of Education regarding Title IV funding and financial responsibility scores was used to contextualize Adtalem’s regulatory risk.

For further background on short-selling’s role in price discovery and enforcement gaps in higher education, see related coverage in The Wall Street Journal, The Chronicle of Higher Education, and Inside Higher Ed.

I Did Everything Right. And I’m Still Paying for a Degree I Never Got (Chamberlain School of Nursing- Single Mom)

In 2010, I was a mom-to-be with one child already at home and a marriage quietly unraveling. I knew I had to secure a future for my children and myself. So, while pregnant with my second child, I made the leap and enrolled in nursing school. I borrowed around $30,000 in federal student loans to earn my associate degree in nursing, graduated, passed my boards, and began working immediately. For a while, things felt like they were on track.

By 2016, I was encouraged to advance my education and pursue my BSN. That’s when I heard about Chamberlain University. It sounded like the perfect fit — I was told I could finish in as little as six months, that I’d only pay one semester at a time, and that there would be no out-of-pocket costs. The admissions team made it sound like a streamlined path forward. It wasn’t.

Eighteen months later, I was nowhere near graduation, and my debt had ballooned by another $45,000, bringing my total student loan balance to $75,000 — and I still didn’t have a degree. Every time I asked how close I was to finishing, I was told “just another semester or two.” The promises felt endless, vague, and increasingly disheartening.

What’s worse: before I even began the program, I had emailed asking about credentialing in my state and clinical eligibility. The response I got was delayed and full of mixed messages. One advisor assured me they were “working through compliance,” but I was never given a definitive answer. That means I was never sure the clinicals I would complete — or the degree itself — would even be recognized by my state’s Board of Nursing. That ambiguity is one of many red flags I flagged in my Borrower Defense application.

By 2018, I had enough. I was exhausted by the emotional and financial toll and withdrew from the program just a few classes short of completing my BSN.

Since then, I’ve been steadily working as a nurse, raising my kids, and doing what so many borrowers do — making monthly payments while watching the interest grow faster than I could keep up. I never missed payments. I never defaulted. But it still didn’t feel like progress.

Then this year, I finally decided to buy a home — something I never thought possible as a single mom buried in debt. I was approved and in the final stages of closing. But when my lender pulled an updated credit report, a new collection for $1,115 had mysteriously appeared. It was from Chamberlain.

This debt had never shown up before. It wasn’t on my May report, but suddenly it showed up in June — just two months before it was scheduled to fall off my credit report entirely (August, 2025). With that, my mortgage approval was revoked.

I had the option to pay it off. But honestly? I couldn’t stomach paying another cent to a school that left me with no degree, unclear clinical credentials, and a mountain of debt. So I let the home go.

In the meantime, I’ve discovered resources I wish I’d known about years ago. I submitted an application for Public Service Loan Forgiveness (PSLF) — something I assumed I wasn’t eligible for because I was on a standard repayment plan. But I’ve now been told I have 144 qualifying payments on my original loans and around 70 qualifying months on the second set tied to Chamberlain. I'm now working on certifying my employment to formalize that progress. One where I have had 10, yes 10 failed submissions due to silly clerical errors.

I also submitted a Borrower Defense to Repayment application — twice. The first time, I felt unsure. The second time, I attached emails and evidence showing the misleading guidance, false promises about timelines and costs, and unclear accreditation issues. I now believe my application is materially complete, without any assurances or timeline. Promises from others shared experiences that this process will in fact take me years if not decades. With no legal representation, or protections like the earlier class action members. Feeling alone, and kind of like a loser. I just wish I had known about it sooner.

I know my case might be denied. I know this might take months — or years- or decades. But I’m not giving up. Because this isn’t just my story. It’s the story of so many of us who tried to do everything right… and are still paying for it.

Ambow Education's Latest Move Raises Red Flags—A Second Warning to Colorado State University

On June 11, Ambow Education Holding Ltd. (NYSE American: AMBO) announced the appointment of James Bartholomew as its new president, emphasizing his leadership experience at DeVry University and Adtalem Global Education. While this move is being framed as part of a bold pivot toward global expansion through its hybrid learning platform, HybriU, the deeper reality of Ambow’s operations suggests that institutions like Colorado State University (CSU) should proceed with extreme caution.

Ambow Education is no stranger to controversy. In May 2022, The Higher Education Inquirer began investigating the company after credible tips about its mismanagement of Bay State College in Boston. The Massachusetts Attorney General had already fined the school in 2020 for misleading students. By August 2023, Bay State College closed abruptly, leaving behind a mess for students and staff. Throughout this time, Ambow operated with an alarming level of opacity, raising concerns among journalists, regulators, and public officials—including Senator Elizabeth Warren and Representative Ayanna Pressley.

Ambow’s financial practices and leadership structure have remained elusive, with lingering ties to the People’s Republic of China (PRC). The company sold its PRC-based assets in 2022 and relocated to a small office in Cupertino, California, but its auditor remains based in China, and it has expressed interest in projects in Morocco and Tunisia involving Chinese-affiliated partners. The proverb about fishing in murky waters aptly describes how Ambow has operated in both Chinese and American markets.

Now, Ambow is promoting HybriU, a “phygital” platform it claims is revolutionizing education and corporate communication. Marketed heavily at events like CES and ASU-GSV, HybriU has been linked to a $1.3 million contract with a small firm in Singapore, but no major U.S. clients have been named. Visuals from the company’s website include stock images, and there’s no publicly available evidence that HybriU is delivering measurable results in any real-world education setting. The platform’s “OOOK” (One-on-One Knowledge) technology was first introduced in China in 2021, but it has yet to prove itself in American classrooms.

James Bartholomew’s appointment appears to be aimed at lending credibility to the HybriU initiative. However, his background warrants a closer look. DeVry University, where Bartholomew previously served as CEO, was embroiled in a long list of scandals, including a $100 million settlement with the Federal Trade Commission in 2016 for deceptive advertising practices. These included inflated job placement claims and misleading earnings expectations for graduates. The Department of Education also scrutinized DeVry for poor student loan repayment metrics and aggressive recruiting tactics.

At Adtalem Global Education—DeVry’s former parent company—similar concerns persisted. Offshore medical schools under Adtalem’s umbrella, such as Ross University and American University of the Caribbean, were criticized for high tuition, student debt, and low U.S. residency placement rates. The company spent years lobbying against federal gainful employment regulations that were designed to protect students from predatory institutions. While Bartholomew may not have initiated these practices, he held leadership roles during a time when the institutions were navigating declining trust, financial turbulence, and increasing regulatory scrutiny.

Against this backdrop, reports have emerged that Colorado State University is considering a partnership with Ambow to implement the HybriU platform. On the surface, this might seem like a step toward innovation and flexibility in digital learning. But such a partnership could expose CSU to national security and data privacy risks, regulatory backlash, reputational damage, and questionable academic outcomes.

Given Ambow’s historical ties to the PRC, questions have been raised about the possibility of exposing sensitive university data to foreign surveillance or influence. CSU is a major research university with partnerships across science, defense, and technology. Even the perception that its digital infrastructure could be compromised could undermine public trust and jeopardize government grants and contracts.

The regulatory landscape is also increasingly cautious when it comes to foreign influence, particularly from China, in American higher education. Federal agencies have warned about the risks of partnerships that could compromise institutional independence or data integrity. Entering into a relationship with a firm like Ambow could place CSU under increased scrutiny or spark political backlash.

From a pedagogical perspective, HybriU is unproven. It has yet to demonstrate any significant results in U.S. education settings, and its claims are not substantiated by independent data. Adopting a platform without a strong record could endanger CSU’s teaching mission and student learning experiences at a time when the credibility of online education remains fragile.

Historically, investors and institutions have backed away from Ambow. The company was delisted from the NYSE in 2014 following accounting fraud allegations and shareholder lawsuits. It has struggled to maintain financial health and transparency. Its last remaining U.S. college, NewSchool of Architecture and Design in San Diego, has just 280 students and is currently under Heightened Cash Monitoring (HCM2) by the U.S. Department of Education. Lawsuits in San Diego allege non-payment of rent and unpaid compensation to the school’s former president. 

Meanwhile, Ambow has commissioned favorable research reports—like one from Argus Research—even though its spending on research and development remains remarkably low, at only $100,000 per quarter. Its current auditor, Prouden CPA, is new to the company’s books and based in China. Whether Ambow’s next annual report will bring clarity or further confusion remains to be seen.

For these reasons, The Higher Education Inquirer urges the leadership of Colorado State University to approach Ambow with skepticism and perform exhaustive due diligence. The CSU community deserves full transparency regarding Ambow’s ownership, financial practices, and data handling policies. Decisions should be made in consultation with cybersecurity experts, faculty, IT professionals, and government advisors. Alternative domestic edtech providers should be considered—especially those that are accountable, proven, and aligned with CSU’s mission.

At a time when public trust in higher education is strained and geopolitical tensions are high, it is not enough to adopt flashy technology for the sake of appearance. Colorado State University—and the taxpayers who support it—deserve better than an experiment based on unproven claims and a troubling history. CSU should reconsider any move forward with Ambow, before it finds itself entangled in another education debacle disguised as innovation.

More than 200,000 former Walden University students owe more than $9 Billion

The Higher Education Inquirer has recently received a Freedom of Information (FOIA) response regarding student loan debt held by former Liberty University students.  The FOIA was 25-01941-F.  

Walden University President Michael Betz Cashing In

Walden University President Michael Betz has sold $380,000 worth of Adtalem shares. Walden is one of America's largest robocolleges, proving online education to tens of thousands of folks in psychology, social work, nursing, education, business, and criminal justice each year.  

Adtalem, formerly known as DeVry Education, is Walden's parent company.  Adtalem also owns the Chamberlain College of Nursing and medical schools in the Carribean.  Walden and Adtalem have been profitable despite mediocre results for worker/consumers, a disproportionate number are women and people of color.  

In 2024, Walden settled a case for $28M that claimed the school systematically deceived black and female students.