Candace's friends stood by her through a divorce and cancer diagnosis. Then they found out the truth.

A glamorous mother of two, a million-dollar house, and a loyal social media following. She was a nurse, a CEO, and the founder of a non-profit that claimed to rescue victims of human trafficking.

Her name was Candace Rivera.

To her friends, she was magnetic, funny, unfiltered, and a little outrageous. But as journalist Charlie Webster's new podcast Unicorn Girl exposes, the fairy tale was a lie.

Candace's perfect life had been built on scams, deceit, and millions of dollars stolen from the very people who trusted her most.

And it took years before anyone realised the truth.

Watch: Introducing "Unicorn Girl" Candace Rivera. Post continues after video.

The beginning.

Back in 2005, Candace met Patrick Lierd on the Las Vegas strip. She was 19, he was 25, and within months they were engaged. They married, had two sons, and settled in Utah, United States.

To outsiders, she seemed like a devoted stay-at-home mum who was also studying nursing. While she did graduate, it was later revealed she failed her licensure exam four times, and was never a licensed nurse or nurse practitioner in the United States.

10 years into their marriage, Patrick started noticing financial issues, including Candace pawning her wedding ring without telling him. She had also drained thousands from his retirement account.

Candace had told her book club she needed a "large sum" to cover her nursing school debt. In reality, she was quietly siphoning money from Patrick's 401k, (a workplace retirement plan), funnelling it into their joint account to make it look like she was earning the $75,000 a year she claimed as a nurse (a figure wildly inflated compared with the mere $11,000 her tuition had actually cost).

"I was angry, upset, frustrated, stunned," Patrick told the Unicorn Girl podcast. "It was unreal. That was mind-blowing to me that she was doing that to us, to our family, our savings, 'cause that was really the only savings that we ever had."

The final straw came when Candace opened a credit card in Patrick's business partner's name, racking up debt. Their marriage ended.

During their divorce proceedings, Candace travelled to Ukraine to act as a medical escort for two orphans being adopted. Due to delays, she missed her custody hearing back in Utah, meaning Patrick was awarded full custody of their sons and possession of the marital home.

The Facebook group.

As her marriage was falling apart, Candace found another outlet: a private Facebook group of 500 women who bonded over author Jen Hatmaker's book For the Love.

She quickly became one of its most popular members, oversharing about her marriage, cracking jokes, and sometimes posting about her supposed tragedies.

"She was like the sun, everyone was drawn to her," one member told the podcast.

Image: Facebook.

At their first meet-up in Austin, Texas, she wore that unicorn mask.

It made her even more memorable, more lovable. The nickname stuck, and she officially became 'Unicorn Girl'.

But it wasn't just about making friends. Candace had found a new pool of people to charm, and eventually, to scam.

The Photoshoots.

In Utah, Candace was also active in a Mothers of Preschoolers group (MOPS), joining the leadership team with two women named Lacy and Timber.

But several members later described moments where Candace pushed them far outside their comfort zone.

Lacy recalled how an innocent head-shot session at Candace's house suddenly turned into something else.

"You should get naked. You should take a picture of this naked…" Candace told her.

"At that point, I was like, 'Well, now I feel like I'm so far into this. How do I get out of this?'" Lacy remembered.

Candace would go on to co-founded Exitus, a non-profit anti-trafficking organisation, in 2020. Image: LinkedIn.

Years later, another friend named Kim described an almost identical situation.

"I didn't want to, and I had said no, but she has this way of pushing and pushing and pushing. You don't recognise it as going and crossing boundaries... I honestly don't know how I got from point A to point Z in that situation."

It was part of a larger pattern: Candace could get people to do things they swore they never would.

After she was accused of having inappropriate conversations with members' husbands and withholding fundraiser money, Lacy and Timber complained to the church pastor, and Candace was removed from the leadership team.

The rise of Exitus.

In 2020, Candace co-founded Exitus, a non-profit anti-trafficking organisation, with a physician's assistant named Drew.

Presenting herself as a seasoned anti-trafficking "abolitionist" with a long career in trauma medicine, Candace spoke at galas, held fundraisers, and told stories of rescuing orphans overseas.

At one point, she even claimed she'd been asked by Hillary Clinton, former Secretary of State of the United States, to help with evacuations in Afghanistan.

But the truth was far murkier.

After discovering their bank account held only a few hundred dollars, not the $30,000 Candace had claimed, Drew decided to investigate.

"I remember looking up her licensure in the division of occupational and professional licensing," he said. "She had told me about being a nurse practitioner. She was not a nurse practitioner. There was no licensure."

He resigned in disbelief, leaving Candace in full control.

From there, her lies became bigger, more dangerous.

The Afghanistan "mission".

In 2021, Candace assembled a team of former Black Ops agents, telling them they were flying into Kabul, Afghanistan, to rescue refugees.

In reality, they ended up stranded in Dubai, with no authorisation from any government, and a duffel bag containing a military rifle hidden on board their private jet.

"I've never been in a situation that my literal life flashed before my eyes," Lisa, one of the team members, said on the podcast. "Because we're in Dubai and here we are representing America at a very bad time for America with a rifle and all its components. I thought we were going to prison."

Meanwhile, Anna, a humanitarian worker, had told her Afghan contacts to risk their lives getting to the Kabul airport, believing Candace was on the way.

"And I will forever wonder, are these folks alive? Was any of this worth it?" she said.

Candace, meanwhile, was in Dubai, shopping for Rolexes.

Later, in 2022, Candace organised multiple trips to Ukraine with her team, promising to save 22 orphans. The mission largely failed, but did help rescue two children on separate trips.

By 2023, she had partnered with the Department of Homeland Security for a trafficking sting during the NBA All-Star Weekend. Candace claimed 16 victims were engaged, but volunteers recalled anywhere from one to ten. During one rescue, she slipped away to celebrity parties, leaving volunteers, and even a victim — stranded for hours at DHS offices.

Around this time, a 19-year-old survivor named Camila, living in Candace's basement "safe house," abruptly fled after being warned to "get out of there".

The unravelling.

As Candace's empire grew, and so did the cracks.

She launched more businesses, threw themed galas, and continued to collect money, whether from donations, supposed investments, or friends she convinced to "help the cause".

She bought a Cadillac Escalade with $50,000 in cash and a new million-dollar home she called the "CEO house". She launched CR House & Co., an entrepreneurship course, and a women's initiative called Found Her, bringing in new "besties" Kim and Starly to help.

She even took on a single paying client, a widow named Charlene, charging her $8,000 for marketing services that never materialised.

When Kim asked for a formal contract and salary, Candace suddenly announced she had stomach cancer and was beginning chemotherapy. Despite claiming to have just had surgery, she appeared at Exitus' second gala — a James Bond–themed Casino Royale night.

By 2023, victims started to come forward.

One woman told investigators: "I called Special Agent Pettis, told him my story, and agreed to be the first victim in the Utah Attorney General's criminal investigation of Candace Lierd. I will never recoup the approximately $11,000 she scammed me out of, but I will do everything I can to keep others from being victimised by her."

Dozens more followed.

By the time she went to trial, Candace faced over 30 charges. Judge Christine Johnson estimated her victims had lost around $2 million.

At her sentencing in October 2024, one victim remembered: "When the Sheriff walked to the defence table, pulled out his handcuffs, placed them on Candace's wrists, and had her escorted out of the courtroom, you could have heard a pin drop.

"But once we stepped out of the courtroom, we clapped, hugged, high-fived, and cheered that the judge had seen through Candace's crocodile tears and lies. It was a good day."

The downfall of Unicorn Girl.

Candace is now serving a minimum of three years in a Utah jail.

To those who knew her, the betrayal is still hard to process. She wasn't a stranger; she was their friend, their confidante, the woman in the unicorn mask who made them laugh.

But as private investigator Sam Brower put it: "The way she tried playing me sent up red flags that she was up to something. She was up to no good."

And after years of lies, the Unicorn Girl's mask finally came off.

All episodes of Unicorn Girl are available on Apple TV+ for subscribers. Otherwise, an episode per week is being released for non-subscribers until October 6.

Feature Image: Unicorn Girl/@charliewester