Frank Parlato
Salida Capital, led by the notorious Danny Guy, registered a 67 percent loss a few years back. A free fall. Its exposure ran through Lehman Brothers.
Lehman folded under lies and leverage and liabilities. Salida went down with it. On paper, it was a global collapse. In reality, Salida’s death was not the end.
The irony, if you cared to look, was that Guy had destroyed his own company. None of this was about embarrassment. It was about insulation. Because something had to be protected. The filings came later.
When short-sellers uncovered fraud, Guy painted them as criminals. When lawyers asked for proof, there was none. It was never about evidence. It was about who could be discredited. Who could be delayed long enough to move the money and close the door.
This was not Wall Street. This was not finance. This was something older. Something quieter.
Salida Capital, the firm that had collapsed, was listed in Rosatom’s corporate disclosures. Not as a creditor. Not as a counterparty. As a subsidiary. Rosatom—the nuclear energy arm of the Russian Federation wholly owned Salida – and not a penny returned to the investors.
And Danny Guy sold out the West. Not in the way of traitors in uniforms or politicians caught in the act. His betrayal was quiet. He did it for money.
It began with uranium. Uranium is not like oil or coal. It does not rest in barrels or burn in stoves. It fuels submarines. It powers reactors that hum under cities. And when enriched, it becomes a weapon. A means to erase a coast, a city, a million people. It cannot be substituted. Once sold——it does not return.
In 2012, the nuclear agency of the Russian Federation—Rosatom – secured control of 20 percent of the United States’ uranium production. Not by force. They bought Uranium One, a Canadian company with licenses in Wyoming, Utah, and beyond. It was approved. Not by vote. Not in daylight. But behind a closed door at CFIUS—the Committee on Foreign Investment in the United States – with Secretary of State Hillary Clinton presiding.
That same year, a hedge fund in Toronto—Salida Capital—run by Danny Guy – received $3.3 million. Anonymous. Shortly after, Salida’s foundation gave $2.65 million to the Clinton Foundation. It was 90 percent of their charitable giving that year.
Rosatom’s filings later listed Salida as a subsidiary. The uranium was gone. The Russians walked away with it. No hearing. No reversal. Danny Guy said nothing. But the question was who moved the money? Was it “friends”? A church? A religious group? In the United States, such organizations don’t have to explain their donors. They can take money. And no one can ask who it came from. Was it a dry cleaner? Investigators use that phrase when the money’s gone—a cash-heavy front. A place where dollars go in and something else comes out.
We know where the money went- it went to the Clintons. We know who approved the sale – Hillary Clinton. We know who got the uranium – Russia. We know who was in the middle – Danny Guy. Salida was not just a hedge fund. And Danny Guy was not just a bad investor. He was the courier. What he carried was uranium. From a Canadian company. To a Russian agency. Through American soil. And into the dark.
And Guy, the man who built Salida, did not vanish. He migrated to Bermuda—with no snow, no subpoenas, and very few questions.
At a waterfront estate curving around Harrington Sound, Guy reemerged. Not under his name, exactly. But in filings. In footnotes. In the ink. He had presided over the loss of hundreds of millions of investor’s money. But he took care of himself. Danny Guy always takes care of himself.
His new firm was called Harrington Global. A hedge fund by form. By function, it was Salida’s twin: the same structure, the same habits, the same shadows. From the most shadowy man. This was not a comeback. This was a reset in secrecy.
Guy survived the crash of his company. He survived scrutiny. He changed firms. Changed borders. Changed names. And somewhere in the filings of a Russian nuclear giant, a Canadian hedge fund is listed. Behind it, the name of a traitor who lost everything—except the one thing that mattered to him. His place in the shadow.
Coming up: In another scam of Danny Guy proportions, he testified this week against Bernhard Fritsch in a criminal case in Los Angeles federal court. We will have more to say about that case.
Frank Parlato is an investigative journalist, media strategist, publisher, and legal consultant.
Please leave a comment: Your opinion is important to us!
Consider this our assessment: your methods are unsustainable. The truth, like a persistent anomaly, will eventually expose the flaws in your operational framework.
“HARK, YE DENIZENS OF THE DEEP! This trench, this charnel house, is our stage, and I, HENRY MORGAN, shall play the lead! A lead of vengeance! They crawl from every shadow, every festering wound in this wretched earth! But we shall rise! We shall explode from this pit of despair! And let no man, woman, or beast utter the profane words toilet paper! For they shall meet the wrath of the sea itself! I demand fire! I demand thunder! And, First Mate! Bring forth the sacred powder! The elixir that shall transform this hellish tableau into a spectacle of glorious mayhem! We shall show these land-bound worms the true meaning of piracy! FIRE! And bring me my revelry! IMMEDIATELY!“
Epstein used Bermuda and other secrecy havens to funnel money, shield assets and run silent operations. His financial firm, J. Epstein & Co., his charities, and his clients moved through layers of offshore entities. These were not exotic accidents, they were structural. And Bermuda was central to that structure. Seems Danny Boy followed the same playbook. When Salida Capital began imploding under the weight of its own tactics—short-selling, dilution, boardroom coup—he rebranded under Harrington Global and relocated to Bermuda to bask in that legal insulation for the ultimate copper tone tan. A place that doesn’t ask questions where money came from as long as you spend it.
Salida was already cracking in public before the transition. On October 3, 2011, a press release announced that Salida’s Wealth Preservation Fund had launched a Normal Course Issuer Bid—buying back up to 10% of its own public float. That’s not “wealth preservation.” That’s market optics manipulation. You don’t buy back your own fund units unless redemptions are imminent and confidence is in free fall. The same day, they insisted this was a “constructive use” of funds. Two days later, it was active. Meanwhile, the public had no idea the floor was about to collapse. That press release was followed by the October 6, 2011 Financial Post, where Salida’s CEO Courtenay Wolfe publicly downplayed fears, saying they didn’t expect “material redemptions.” But she also admitted their returns were “deeply negative.” That’s hedge fund code for: we’re bleeding out. When a CEO makes that kind of statement on the record, it means the panic has already begun behind closed doors. Eyes wide shut.
Then, in the July 11, 2012 edition of the Financial Post, Salida shows up again—this time as the largest institutional shareholder of Longford Energy. They held 40% of the company during a time of boardroom warfare and share dilution. The paper makes it sound like a typical shareholder shuffle. Buy in, cause chaos, trigger lawsuits, replace the board, and bleed the company from the inside out. Eyes wide shut. That was Guy’s method and now you had it documented in real time.
The geopolitical part can’t be ignored. Salida wasn’t just mismanaging funds. It was named in Rosatom’s own filings—a Canadian hedge fund listed as part of the Russian state nuclear structure. In 2012, its foundation received a $3.3M anonymous donation believed to be Rosatom-linked. That same year, it donated nearly $2.65 million to the Clinton Foundation. Months later, the Uranium One sale went through. Russia acquired control of 20% of U.S. uranium. Clinton signed off. Everyone else played dumb.
Danny Guy oversaw a fund listed in Russian filings. The fund received anonymous foreign money. It donated millions to a U.S. political family just before a major national security asset was transferred to a foreign power. Then the fund imploded. And Guy walked, vanishing into Bermuda triangle to reboot under a new name. (Agent S-AKA Sus’) A high-level blueprint on how soft treason works in the financial sector.
It’s a chess game.
But the question was who moved the money? Was it “friends”? A church? A religious group? In the United States, such organizations don’t have to explain their donors. They can take money. And no one can ask who it came from. Was it a dry cleaner?