An Associated Press investigation has uncovered serious concerns about private, for-profit residential treatment centers that care for adopted children at exceptionally high rates. These facilities are often funded by taxpayer dollars but are subject to minimal oversight and face few consequences following allegations of abuse and neglect.
The investigation focuses on a facility in rural Missouri called Calo Programs, also known as Change Academy at Lake of the Ozarks. Costs can reach up to $20,000 per month, attracting families nationwide who send their children across state lines to the center. Calo promises relief for desperate parents of struggling adopted children, marketing itself as a lakeside, summer camp-like academy where kids can heal by bonding with golden retrievers and caring employees who aim to 'create joy.'
Disturbing Incidents
However, the AP report paints a far more complicated and less idyllic picture. Law enforcement is frequently called to Calo to investigate assaults or track down runaways. State agencies that fund placements for children there have questioned its operations, training, and transparency. Parents and former employees describe minimal treatment and barely any schooling, with only young, poorly trained staff supervising the children. Two mothers likened the environment to something out of 'Lord of the Flies.'
In emailed statements, Calo denied all allegations of wrongdoing and asserted that student outcomes demonstrate the strength of their approach. The company stated, 'For nearly two decades, Calo has provided innovative treatment and critical mental health services for young people who have been failed by the system. Over and over again, parents across the country have come to us in their moment of need, and we are proud of the track record we’ve established helping treat their children and return them to their families with the skills and tools they need to get ahead.'
The AP obtained troves of state data and documents through public records requests and interviewed young adults who recently attended, parents, former employees, and lawyers involved in more than a dozen lawsuits against the company.
Runaways, Assaults, and Injuries
Hundreds of pages of Camden County Sheriff’s Office reports from 2020 to 2025 document incidents involving children in Calo’s care as alleged victims, witnesses, and perpetrators. Last summer, a group of escaping girls ran toward the woods and jumped into the lake to swim away. Employees chased and returned them, only to see them escape again. Calo said none were injured.
Earlier, sheriff’s deputies reported that two children had gotten high on methamphetamine brought in by a Calo employee. Calo said the employee was fired and the substance was never confirmed as meth. In another incident, staff were outnumbered as teens 'stormed' a room to attack another student. A boy climbed onto the roof and jumped, landing on rocks below, requiring airlift to a hospital. Calo claimed altercations happen among troubled kids and that staff followed protocol; the boy suffered a sprained ankle.
A mother from Illinois reported in 2024 that her daughter and another girl had been sexually assaulted by another child. She alleged Calo failed to notify her, the state, or law enforcement and covered up the assault. Her daughter’s stay was funded by Illinois’s Family Support Program, run by the Illinois Department of Healthcare and Family Services. She and other Illinois parents believed the state had vetted the program because it paid for so many placements.
Both the Illinois Department of Healthcare and Family Services and the Illinois State Board of Education list Calo among approved residential treatment programs. Over the past decade, the two agencies spent more than $35 million sending children to Calo. Last year alone, the Board of Education paid over $1.6 million for 13 children, and Healthcare and Family Services spent $1.2 million for 19 children. Some families used funds from both agencies.
Bill Hayden, a retired doctor, used Illinois education money to send his adopted daughter from Russia to Calo a decade ago. He told AP he believes Calo changed her life, saying, 'I felt that they were dedicated professionals who were trying to do their best with about the toughest group of kids you could probably ever house.'
Remarkable Profits, Struggling Kids
Calo is part of the so-called troubled teen industry, a network of loosely regulated, for-profit residential centers, boarding schools, and wilderness programs that institutionalize adopted children at extraordinarily high rates. Calo opened in 2007 with 40 beds and has expanded to a capacity of 144. It specializes in adoption trauma and reports that 90% of its clients are adopted.
Around 2011, Calo was acquired by a private equity firm led by Stanford graduate Alex Stavros, who expanded the business by merging with other treatment centers to form Embark Behavioral Health. Stavros, who stepped down in 2024, did not respond to requests for comment. His LinkedIn profile claims he built Embark to 38 programs across 20 states, achieving a 40-fold increase in revenue to $180 million. Under his leadership, Calo shifted from entirely private pay to majority third-party reimbursement, including private insurance, Medicaid, and government programs.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, Embark held a sales and marketing conference with a handbook titled 'DOING EPIC SH$T' that included sessions on overcoming objections and building client base. A session touted admissions as a vital part of the treatment team, noting, 'The admissions person sells hope when the family is at their lowest and most hopeless, scary, and vulnerable time.' The company defended its marketing, stating, 'It is a common misconception that for-profit entities are more expensive or less ethical than non-profit organizations. Reaching them through thoughtful outreach and advertising helps break down the mental health stigma that keeps people from seeking treatment.'
Concerns from Officials
Some officials have expressed skepticism about Calo’s business model. Stacy Roberts, who runs the local juvenile detention center, said his agency is frustrated by Calo and processes as many as a dozen cases each year involving out-of-state Calo children. Many families have decried conditions at Calo as jail-like, but Roberts rejects that comparison because traditional juvenile detention centers are held to higher standards. Unlike Calo, Roberts answers to the public, a judge, and the juvenile justice system. 'It’s a business,' Roberts said. 'They’re not doing this because they want to help. They’re making money off these kids.'
