A froyo company made splashy deals with MLB teams. Ex-employees say it was a big-league con

SCOTTSDALE, Ariz. — In the fall of 2023, the baseball world watched as Arizona Diamondbacks closer Paul Sewald cannonballed into the water, star outfielder Corbin Carroll partied with goggles atop his head and manager Torey Lovullo dove headfirst into a pool, splashing water on the concrete above.

The Diamondbacks had just defeated the mighty Los Angeles Dodgers to advance to the 2023 National League Championship Series. The celebration in Chase Field’s signature swimming pool led to some of the most indelible images in Diamondbacks history. Most of them happened to be filled with the logo of one particular corporate sponsor.

The company was called Cremily. It sold French frozen yogurt billed as a healthy, lactose-free treat. Proceeds were supposed to be donated to “empowering women and girls globally.”

In January of 2022, the brand purchased sponsor rights to Chase Field’s keystone feature, then branded it as the Cremily Pool Suite. Photographs show a massive popsicle sculpture looming in the background, with the company’s name spelled out in black tiles at the pool’s bottom and lit up in white on a sign above. The company agreed to pay the Diamondbacks more than $2.3 million over five years for the sponsorship.

More than 350 miles away, Angel Stadium in Anaheim, Calif., displayed similar Cremily advertising, including a massive electronic sign glimmering behind Mike Trout in the outfield. Cremily agreed to pay the Angels more than $3.45 million over five years, a deal that included rights to an animated between-innings race, in-game commercials and more.

Less than a year after Cremily was on center stage as the Diamondbacks partied their way past the Dodgers, both the Angels and Diamondbacks were suing the company for non-payment. Cremily also faced lawsuits from an upstate New York farm, an Arizona landlord and multiple former employees. Their allegations largely aligned: that the company made big commitments, promised great things, then disappeared when it was time to pay its bills.

The alleged cons deceived two MLB franchises, impacted dozens of employees and left many financial partners picking up the pieces.

“I think there were bad intentions from the beginning,” said one of Cremily’s former employees.

The Athletic reviewed dozens of court documents and spoke with more than 20 former Cremily employees and business partners. Many of those employees, including some who signed non-disclosure agreements, were granted anonymity to speak candidly about their experiences.

“We were naive,” said another former employee, “in thinking it was a real product.”

When Cremily began its liftoff in January 2022, few who accepted their job offer knew about Steven Delaportas’ history of alleged fraud.

Delaportas was tasked to run Cremily by founder Kylie Schuyler, a wealthy Orange County-based nonprofit executive. Delaportas was a short and stocky man in his 60s with gray, slicked back hair. In most employees’ first interactions with Delaportas, they said they found him charismatic, even trustworthy.

But for much of his life, the man had a trail of lawsuits alleging money borrowed and money owed.

“I’m just assuming, because he’s done this time and again, that he’s got the ability to sort of sell himself to people,” said Jeremy Sitcoff, an attorney who successfully represented a client who sued Delaportas for fraud.

The Athletic made numerous attempts to reach Delaportas and Schuyler. Delaportas did not respond to six separate messages sent at different times over the last year, and did not answer his phone or respond to voicemails left. The Athletic attempted unsuccessfully to locate him in person at listed addresses in Arizona. One of the addresses tracked to a private mailbox at a UPS store; another led to a house where Delaportas no longer lived, according to its current residents, who added that mail still occasionally arrived for him at the home.

Photos of Delaportas could not be found online, and employees said they didn’t have pictures of their former boss.

Schuyler did not respond to multiple messages sent to her personal and professional email addresses. An email sent to her foundation, Global Girls Glow, did not receive a response. The Athletic traveled to the foundation’s Southern California address, which was also a private mailbox in a UPS store. The listed phone number for the foundation was disconnected. The Athletic called a cell phone number listed for her husband, Doug Hodge, whom employees said was also involved in Cremily. Hodge answered the phone, confirmed his identity, and declined to answer questions, stating, “I’m not involved.”

He passed along Schuyler’s cell phone number. Schuyler did not respond to a text or voicemail.

James Austin Woods, an attorney for Le Nid Consortium International, Cremily’s corporate parent company, declined comment via phone call with reporters who stood in the lobby of his office building. He passed along a phone number for Rich Rossi, who he said was general counsel for Le Nid. The Athletic sent three separate messages to Rossi and attempted to call him twice, but did not receive a response.

Kylie Schuyler, photographed in her California home in 2016. (Leonard Ortiz / Digital First Media / Orange County Register via Getty Images)

Per federal court filings, Delaportas was sued in 2005, alleged to have accepted and resold more than $2 million worth of goods without paying a plaintiff their share. A ruling from a district judge concluded Delaportas used one company as a “front” for another that was “blackballed in the industry” and “was passing invoices from his left hand to his right.”

In 2006, Delaportas pleaded guilty to a felony for concealment in bankruptcy and was sentenced to probation for a case involving an LLC he managed.

A 2017 court filing in the southern district of New York summarizes much of Delaportas’ legal history. The filing states a plaintiff won a $2 million judgment against Delaportas in 2008 in a suit that revealed Delaportas had “conspired with others to hide assets through a complex corporate shell game.”

Madison Square Garden sued Delaportas in 2016, alleging he failed to pay sponsorship fees while marketing Jim Beam Nuts under a company called TDG brands. The suit was ultimately dismissed.

Delaportas was accused of knowingly mismanaging the finances of Korn guitarist Brian Welch, according to Welch’s manager David Williams. The claim was also mentioned in a 2008 lawsuit.

“They were starting businesses, and they would put Brian’s name as the president of the company,” Williams said. “And just running money from one company to another. It was like a big Ponzi scheme.”

Various lawsuits allude to Delaportas’ use of aliases, such as spelling his first name “Stephen” or his last name as “Dellaportas.” Court documents indicate Delaportas was often involved in businesses registered under his mother’s name.

“Whether Delaportas is the upscale equivalent of a three-card monte dealer remains to be seen,” district judge Barbara Crabb wrote in a 2005 judgement, “but he most definitely is not some hapless naïf whose irreproachable business practices are undermined constantly by an unremitting string of bad luck.”

Cremily was Delaportas’ latest venture. Under his leadership, the company hired employees in rapid succession, many leaving comfortable jobs in the food and beverage industry, drawn to Cremily’s offer of high salaries, the promise of future company equity and a beautiful Scottsdale office.

Multiple Cremily employees stressed that Delaportas had a charming side, and could come across as gentle and caring. He also carried a darker persona that flashed when his temper flared, employees said.

“The best way to describe him (is) like a Sour Patch Kid,” one Cremily worker said. “Like sour and then sweet.”

Cremily’s early advertising materials featured the so-called “authentic French frozen yogurt” with the Eiffel Tower in the background. It was billed as a company that would give away 100 percent of profits to “empower girls globally.” The products were said to be made with the help of top chefs and nutritionists, using sheep’s milk to keep the yogurt lactose and keto-friendly.

Toward the bottom of its marketing deck, Cremily touted “long-term partnerships” with some of the top sports arenas in the world. Company materials featured logos for the Diamondbacks and Angels, and also the Boston Red Sox, New York Mets, New York Knicks, Boston Celtics and more. The Red Sox had a one-year partnership with Cremily that ended after the 2022 season. A Mets representative did not respond to requests for comment. Representatives from TD Garden also declined to comment.

Early in the company’s existence, its employees traveled to New York to pitch Madison Square Garden; soon, their logo lit up on each side of its famous scoreboard.

Madison Square Garden put Cremily’s name up in lights, despite suing Steven Delaportas only a few years before.

The company was in its infancy, without any track record or online footprint. Any true scrutiny, or a background check into Delaportas and his extensive history of being sued, including the 2016 MSG lawsuit, might have sunk his chances with MSG executives. But Cremily won over teams and venues with a story worth drooling over.

Madison Square Garden did not respond to multiple requests for comment.

“Everywhere you look you saw that 100 percent (profits) were going back to girls,” said one of the employees who made the pitch. “It’s a little cup. It’s healthy, it’s keto. It makes a ton of sense.”

Many of Cremily’s salespeople had impressive track records. Cremily hired Brendan Cunningham, a well-respected sports marketing professional, away from the Diamondbacks. His background helped build trust in the negotiations with MLB teams.

Cremily employees would go into ad meetings with an “endless amount of money to spend,” a different marketing employee said. Whatever number the team asked for, Cremily was willing to shell out.

“Five million, $10 million, whatever,” an employee said, noting all Delaportas wanted was additional perks. “We’re like, ‘Cool man. This is what we want. We’ll pay for it.’”

The Diamondbacks gave away T-shirts featuring the Cremily logo at a game that year. Ballparks in both Phoenix and Anaheim had stands in the concourse featuring Cremily products. But as the company’s spending mounted, so did the questions.

Employees’ perspectives on where things went wrong varied. Some believed the initial plan for the business was genuine. Some believed Schuyler was naive to Delaportas’ tactics and merely a passive investor. Others say she can’t be separated from the ultimate demise of the company.

“She let that vampire in,” Manny Rosales, a former Cremily employee, said of Schuyler. “Then he just ran the company into the ground with zany ideas that didn’t go anywhere.”

The Angels eventually wrote in a legal filing: “Cremily is a fake shell entity for its alter ego, Le Nid Consortium International, and the founder and principal of both, Kylie Schuyler.”

In a prior legal filing, Schuyler wrote in a declaration that Cremily was “a privately-held corporation.”

The Angels declined further comment. The Diamondbacks did not respond to a request for comment.

Like Delaportas, the company could appear polished from the outside. But inside the company’s Arizona headquarters, the atmosphere was far from organized.

“Six months in was when I knew, wait a minute,” one former employee said. “These costs don’t make sense. The finances don’t make sense. Then comes that multimillion dollar deal with the Angel Stadium, and we all just sat there like, ‘Hold on. We haven’t earned a single dime of revenue. And yet we just went and spent how much on a contract?’”

At its peak, Cremily had more than 50 employees in sales, IT, social media and more. Many had left cushy jobs in the corporate beverage industry. First based in Tempe, Ariz., Delaportas moved to a pristine new office nearby in the heart of downtown Scottsdale. The company, though, hardly had enough workers to fill the building.

Sisense, a sublandlord, eventually filed suit, alleging Le Nid owed $200,879.08 in unpaid rent for the Scottsdale office. The case was settled out of court in 2025.

“We were just collecting paychecks and sitting around,” one employee said.

Another employee described their work as a “ghost job,” saying they watched YouTube clips for hours on end. Cremily gave that employee a raise and doubled the size of their department.

When they did work, multiple employees said it was solely for the purpose of showing Schuyler things were happening. They created ad shoots and social media campaigns, but Delaportas rarely let those projects see the light of day.

“(Delaportas) wanted to play-work,” said a former employee, “to pretend that there was business happening.”

Every now and then, there would be a glimmer of hope. The company, multiple employees said, cycled through different frozen yogurt formulas as they struggled to ramp up production. Some of them were awful. But at least one small-batch sample was right on the money.

“After four months, everyone was like, ‘OK, is this gonna fold or not?’” an employee said. “Then we tasted the product and it was like, ‘Holy s—. If we can sell this, we’re all gonna be millionaires.’”

But scaling and reproducing the product was a constant issue. When one employee inquired about the lack of sales, they said a vice president, Eddie Ennesser, told them that they were still “sorting out some kinks.” Ennesser, who had left a high-ranking job with Coca-Cola, did not respond to requests for comment.

Former employees said something was always holding up production. And when the sporting venues questioned the lack of product at their ballpark stands, former employees said there was either an excuse or no reply.

When pleas to Cremily executives were ignored, representatives from the Diamondbacks and Angels would reach out to other employees directly. In most cases, those employees were also in the dark.

The company, they said, sailed about like a ghost ship with no real direction.

“We just thought it was a bad company that was still trying to find itself, or was maybe overbuilt (and) wasn’t ready for this stuff,” said a former Cremily employee. “It was like walking around an empty mall. It was crazy.”

By the middle of 2023, the cracks started turning into chasms.

According to court filings, Cremily’s operations at the ballparks were plagued with problems.

Multiple former employees said Cremily could not produce product to scale, leaving teams with “untenable delays” and subsequently providing the Angels and Diamondbacks with product that was not made by Cremily. The Angels argued in a court filing Cremily was “fraudulently passing (third-party) ice cream off as its own” and knew it didn’t have a viable ice cream formula. An ex-marketing employee even said he was asked to create Cremily labels for generic ice cream.

“(It was) just ice cream,” the employee said. “And they were selling that as authentic French frozen yogurt, that was also keto.”

As part of Cremily’s cross-complaint, Ennesser, in a legal filing, placed the fault on the Angels, writing the team selling non-Cremily products was the Angels’ choice, and “a liability to our brand.” He said he raised the issue with an account representative, but it wasn’t resolved.

As the Diamondbacks celebrated, Cremily was there — though by that point, Cremily was allegedly selling generic ice cream under the Cremily label at Chase Field. (Chris Coduto / Getty Images)

In a Cremily court filing, the brand highlighted a 2022 email from Cunningham to the Angels stating that “none of the soft serve machines are working properly.” In court documents, an Angels employee alleged the ice cream’s thickness often broke ballpark machines. Employees said there were often issues with freezer burn.

Negative reviews started flowing quicker than soft serve. One employee filmed a video of their attempts to thaw the ice cream. At times, the actual Cremily product was rock hard and difficult to eat.

“He took it home, and literally set it on the counter,” the employee said. “He was stabbing it with the knife. The knife wouldn’t even go through it.”

Eventually, employees said it became apparent Cremily was generating little to no revenue. Once Schuyler’s husband started questioning the lack of return on his investment, the layoffs began in droves.

By July 2023, a whistleblower began sending mass emails to company employees from anonymous accounts. In addition to including embarrassing allegations about Cremily executives, the whistleblower said they wanted to expose the reason for the layoffs, tying them to Delaportas’ fraudulent track record. Someone had finally done some digging.

Cremily first sought to block the emails, then called the police and eventually sued an employee named Mical Heminger, alleging he was the sender. Heminger declined comment for this story, and that the case was settled out of court.

“That was like an episode out of ‘Gossip Girl,’” said one employee who received the emails.

At least one of those emails urged Cremily employees to contact Schuyler and share their experiences of working for Delaportas.

In interviews with The Athletic, many former employees painted Schuyler as a victim of Delaportas’ scheme. Some also believe she failed to address the company’s obvious issues.

According to their lawsuit, the Angels sent invoices to Cremily in July, August and September of that year and never received payment. They were owed $401,700, and, through a law firm, sent notice demanding payment on Nov. 6, 2023.

In a court filing, the Angels said Delaportas explained the lack of payment through a text message that read, “(Unfortunately) our VP of finance/controller was sent to the hospital last week and will not be back until this week.”

By August 2024, the Diamondbacks filed suit, alleging Cremily failed to make its second, third and fourth payments for the 2024 season, accruing a past due balance of $358,053.78.

“He misrepresented himself to me,” said Malcolm Stogo, an ice cream developer that Delaportas hired, offering him a lucrative future with the company. “He promised me the moon and delivered me a quarter.”

In the fall of 2023, one already laid-off Cremily employee was at Chase Field, watching the Diamondbacks play with a former coworker. Even though he was no longer with Cremily, the Diamondbacks had just sent him an invoice for an unpaid bill.

Watching the game, he took a moment to appreciate the irony of everything that was still in front of him. The giant Cremily popsicle, the pool tiles.

The most recognizable parts of the ballpark still represented a company on the brink of collapse.

“I go, ‘Dude,’” the ex-Cremily worker said, “‘they’re not paying the bill.’”

In Ancramdale, New York, there’s a small family farm that’s been in business for more than 80 years. On Fridays, Ronnybrook Farms offers a free ice cream stand. On summer weekends, the farmers drive to New York City to sell their product at markets.

On May 1, 2022, the farm entered into a five-year partnership to produce Cremily products. Cremily promised the farm a minimum of $40 million in sales by the final year of the deal.

Rick Osofsky, the man who oversees the business, said he dreamed that the partnership would be his lasting legacy.

By late 2023, the payments stopped, threatening Ronnybrook Farms’ entire business.

“I’m basically begging that you send it along to us,” Osofsky wrote to Delaportas in emails shared with The Athletic. Delaportas lambasted the farmer for threatening to cut off service due to nonpayment. “Your conduct,” Delaportas wrote, “was wrong. … (You) breached our agreement.”

Ronnybrook sued Cremily after it fell $196,434.22 behind on payments. The ordeal nearly ruined everything the family built. The sides ultimately settled out of court.

When asked if Delaportas was a scam artist, his former attorney, Greg Shanaberger — who himself was named in a 2008 lawsuit alongside Delaportas — said: “I would not disagree.”

“It’s sort of like the duck test. If it looks like a duck, and walks like a duck and smells like a duck, it’s probably a duck,” Shanaberger said.

Cremily touted its stated aim of helping women and girls in its marketing and ballpark signage. But, business associates said, the company ended up harming the very people it was supposed to be helping.

The Super Girl Surf in Orange County is an annual event that features sports, performances and merchandise sales, with proceeds assisting women and girls. In 2023, Cremily was represented at the festival as a sponsor. When it came time to pay the bill for its booth and subsequent advertising, Cremily ghosted, organizers of the event said.

“I reached out to (Schuyler) directly,” said the event’s director, who was granted anonymity in order to speak freely. “I figured, she probably doesn’t know. She’s a champion for women and she’ll get it straightened out.

“I reached out to her four times, and she never even gave me the courtesy of a single follow-up.”

The director declined to share the cost of Cremily’s sponsorship.

When things go wrong with Delaportas’ various ventures, incidents in Delaportas’ past indicate things tend to get ugly.

In 2011, Welch, once of the band Korn, filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy.

David Williams, Welch’s current manager, said Delaportas had access to all of Welch’s finances and racked up massive debts through various business entities.

Welch was named as a defendant in the 2008 suit involving the business Fortitude Entertainment. In a court deposition, business associate Richard Gilmore testified that, when he and Delaportas would get in arguments about paying for elements of their business, “he would get all irritated with me and get up and leave.”

“Steve is a control person,” Gilmore said in court. “He has to control every aspect of what goes on. When he loses it, he loses interest and then it dies. … (He) was more excited about the deal-making than he was (with) actually making it work.”

Many Cremily employees say that they experienced similarly explosive moments. One employee said that if Delaportas forgot you existed, the silver lining was you’d at least have a job the next day.

As cracks in the company became clearer to those who worked there, the job itself became more difficult. He’d berate workers in his creative department for fulfilling his own assignments, only to later say “‘Why did you even do this? This is nothing I ever approved.’”

Layoffs started happening in chunks, with Delaportas unsuccessfully reassuring those who remained that their jobs were safe, even as evidence started to mount that they weren’t.

“I cried every single day at work,” an employee said. “I would lock myself in the bathroom and cry. I was just so overwhelmed.”

As the product failed, employees were let go and the company crumbled, Cremily’s grandiose visions descended into chaos.

“The Diamondbacks lost out on $2 million,” a Cremily employee said. “But all these people who lost out on their livelihoods because of Delaportas, that is the true crime.”

Trash lay strewn at the site of Cremily’s former headquarters in Arizona. (Sam Blum)

On the side of an abandoned Arizona office building, thousands of plastic bottle caps lay strewn on the ground. Delaportas and his company vacated the building more than a month after being evicted for nonpayment. A giant poster of NBA star Shaquille O’Neal still lies face down, building up a collection of dirt.

“They left everything behind,” the building’s landlord said. “The building was essentially trashed.”

Many of the employees have struggled in the aftermath of Cremily’s collapse. One took the experience off their resumé entirely after a potential employer asked in a job interview, “‘Aren’t they a scam?’”

Delaportas, though, seems to have had no such problem since the company dissolved.

After Cremily folded, Delaportas began a new venture in water. He became the CEO for Clean Bottling Co., and entered into an agreement in late 2023 with Alkaline88 to produce products for their brand.

“Power to you if you can live 100 lives in this one life we get,” said a Cremily employee. “But at what point do you stop? Don’t you get tired of keeping up with the lies you’ve built around you?”

Rosales, the former marketing employee, said he is still not working.

“Steven kept me around to help them move the s— out of that office into their new office, then fired me afterwards,” Rosales said. “I guess I was cheaper than hiring an actual moving company.”

Rosales said he attempted to collect government assistance but was blocked because Cremily disputed that he was laid off, arguing to the state that he was fired for cause. Multiple employees said they were never technically terminated, only furloughed, and as a result, never received severance.

Coworkers said Cunningham, the ex-Diamondbacks marketing executive hired for his credibility in professional sports, was unwittingly used as a tool to get in the door of pro sports arenas. He now works for the Chicago White Sox. Cunningham did not respond to interview requests.

Litigation has followed Delaportas to his new business, with a financing company, separate bottling company and employee all suing for various reasons. The bottlecaps outside the old Cremily office were from that venture, and the Shaq poster was an Alkaline88 advertisement.

Some who worked for Cremily have been able to move on. Others’ careers have stalled.

One employee, who had been with the company about 18 months before getting laid off, couldn’t help but reflect one last time while packing and preparing to depart the office.

“That was one of the strangest things I’ve done.”

— The Athletic‘s Doug Haller contributed to this report.