The squatter hunter
Handyman Flash Shelton helps California homeowners boot squatters from their property, said Jack Flemming in the Los Angeles Times. How? By moving in with the trespassers.
ON A WINTER morning in Woodland Hills, the “Squatter Hunter” slowly approaches a posh two-story home dressed in all black, armed with a Glock 26 pistol, stun gun, pepper spray, and baton. His body camera is on. His two-man squad lurks behind him.
They’ve spent four days in surveillance, learning the habits of the man squatting inside. They’ve waited for him to leave, but he never does. So they knock on the front door, and when the occupant opens it, they barge inside.
Their plan: live with the squatter.
Dirty the bathroom. Take the best spot on the couch. Commandeer the TV remote. Blast music. Drink his coffee. Eat his Cheetos. Out-squat him. And film it all for YouTube.
As the body camera footage shows, the team starts installing Ring cameras throughout the home to document every interaction. The Squatter Hunter, Flash Shelton, hands the man a lease with Shelton’s name on it. “You’re an intruder in my house now,” he says.
Shelton explains that the man is there illegally, and the team is not going anywhere until he leaves. The squatter was out before they could even share breakfast together.
For homeowners in Southern California and beyond, run-ins with squatters can be a nightmare both emotionally and financially. For the Squatter Hunter, it’s just another day on the job. What started as a viral YouTube video has grown into a one-of-a-kind vigilante-style service, helping homeowners boot trespassers from their property. His motto: “If they can take a house, I can take a house.”
SHELTON, A CALIFORNIA native, understands what drives some people to squat. He said he grew up practically homeless, “moving every time the rent was due.”
At 16, he started a handyman business, and in 2009 he established the United Handyman Assn., a trade organization that lobbies for handyman rights. Along the way, Shelton, 56, also worked as a bouncer, where he learned how to handle situations that could turn violent. “I took the same de-escalation courses law enforcement would take,” he said.
Shelton’s first experience with a squatter was in 2019. Shelton’s father had died two years prior, and his mother moved in with him while they put her Northern California home on the market. A woman reached out about renting it—offering repairs for free rent, since she had no money—but Shelton declined. But while the home was unoccupied, the woman broke in through the back door and moved in, furniture and all, Shelton said. He started receiving calls from real estate agents planning to show the house to prospective buyers saying they couldn’t access it because people were living inside.
He called the local sheriff’s department, but according to Shelton, they said they couldn’t enter the house since it appeared to be occupied. Hearing nightmares about the lengthy and arduous process of dragging out an eviction in court, Shelton got creative. He had his mom write up a lease making him the official tenant of the home. That way, he could legally enter the property. “If they’re the squatter, they have rights. So, if I become the squatter on a squatter, I should have rights,” he said.
He drove 10 hours from the San Fernando Valley and slept in his Jeep outside the home, waiting for her to leave in the morning. When she did, he went inside and installed Ring cameras throughout the property. When she returned, he explained that he was the new tenant and that she
Shelton started a website where he offers his services, and over the last year he has conducted hundreds of Zoom consultations, talking homeowners through their squatter problems and coaching them on potential strategies. Business is booming. He consults for free but requires clients to donate $150 to a GoFundMe advocating for squatter-law change. So far, he’s raised nearly $9,000.
For clients with bigger problems, Shelton offers to remove the squatter personally, either by himself or with a team he assembles. Over the past few months, he said, he has handled about 10 jobs in California and Nevada. The minimum price for a job is around $5,000. There is no maximum.
Sometimes it takes three to four hours. Sometimes it takes weeks. It can be costly, but Shelton said he’s encountered homeowners who’ve already sunk $100,000 into their efforts to remove a squatter through the legal system and made no progress. “I don’t tell them what I’m doing or how I’m doing it. I just tell them to make me a leaseholder, and I handle the rest,” he said.
Sneeded to move all her stuff out. Since he was now in possession of the property, he said if she returned, he would call the police for trespassing. She left by the end of the day.
Shelton recorded the entire encounter and published a recap on YouTube titled “How I removed squatters in less than a day.” The video went viral, racking up millions of views and thousands of comments. Shelton saw an opportunity. “I just simplified it. There’s so many people asking me why we haven’t been doing this all along,” he said. “I was just fighting for my mom in the beginning, but now I’ve reinvented myself.”
And so, the Squatter Hunter was born.
QUATTERS AREN’T CREATED in a vacuum. More often than not, they’re the product of a brutal California housing market in which rents skyrocket and affordable housing disappears.
In Los Angeles, the median rent is $2,750, well above the national median of $2,045, according to Zillow. Soaring home values, especially since the pandemic, have
contributed to a widening wealth gap in Southern California, leaving many renters in desperate financial situations.
But there’s a big difference between tenants—even ones who stopped paying rent a long time ago—and squatters. A tenant is someone who was invited onto a property with consent, said Mark Martinez, a tenant rights attorney. That consent can be as formal as a written lease or as casual as a verbal agreement. Even if a tenant stops paying rent, they still have protections.
For example, Elizabeth Hirschhorn, the woman who stayed in a luxury Airbnb in Brentwood for 570 days rent-free in a story that made national news, was technically a tenant. Even though she stopped paying rent, she initially had an agreement to move in.
A squatter is essentially a trespasser, Martinez said: someone who goes into a property without permission and stays there. Besides adverse possession, a rarely seen process in which a person can obtain a property after openly living there and paying property taxes for five years, there are no true “squatter’s rights,” Martinez said. Trespassing is illegal, and squatters cannot legally live in a home.
Still, they are innocent until proven guilty, and homeowners can’t simply go in and drag them out of the home, or else they expose themselves to a potential lawsuit for harassment or assault. Shelton said many homeowners he consults with claim that police aren’t able to remove squatters because they have no proof of when exactly the squatter entered the home and how long they’ve been there.
Shelton has to be selective with the cases he takes. First, he deals only with squatters, never tenants, and takes on cases only where nothing has been filed in court so that there’s no proof that the squatter is living in the home. If a judge has already given them tenant rights, his hands are tied on what he’s legally allowed to do.
Then, he visits the local law enforcement office and explains what he’s doing. That way, if there’s a hostile situation, police officers know his specific plans and intentions. After that, he works with the homeowner to write up a lease declaring him the tenant and records himself signing it. If he ever goes to court, he’ll have proof that the home belongs to him.
The fact that he’s doing the work, and not the homeowner, is part of Shelton’s legal calculus. According to Martinez, California law prohibits “self-help evictions,” in which landlords try to remove a squatter themselves.
It’s one of four things he lists on his website for landlords to avoid when trying to evict a tenant: no self-help evictions, no retaliation against the tenant, no discrimination, and no harassment. He adds that a homeowner who hires Shelton might have vicarious liability; they didn’t kick the squatter out themselves, but someone they hired did.
Once the lease is signed, he turns into a private investigator, researching everything he can about the squatter: name, age, background check, criminal history, anything he can use when he finally confronts them. He interviews neighbors to learn the squatter’s habits and stakes out the house for days to see when they leave and when they return.
SHELTON SOMETIMES WORKS solo, and if he does need help, he has a strict screening process for those who want to join an operation. “Most guys I talk to have beer muscles and want to rip a squatter right out of the home. I need someone who can stand there and keep their mouth shut,” he said.
If he brings in someone who whips out a weapon and hurts someone, he could potentially be liable, he said. Although every case is different, there’s generally an easy way and a hard way to remove a squatter.
The easy way: Wait for the squatter to leave the home and secure possession of the property while they’re gone. Change the locks and install security cameras. “Now, they’re fighting to get back in instead of the homeowner fighting to get them out,” he said.
The situations are tense, but he said he stays calm. The de-escalation training helps. “I know these people didn’t wake up with the intention to ruin my day. Squatters aren’t attacking me or my family. They’re just taking advantage of a system,” he said. “The last thing I want to do is aggravate a situation that could be handled civilly, and part of that is being nice.”
The hard way: squatting with the squatter. “If I can’t get them off the property, I’ll move in with them,” he said. “I walk in, sit on the couch, pour a bowl of cereal, and say, ‘Lucy, I’m home!’”
He hands the squatter a copy of the lease and explains that he’s not going anywhere—that he’s there to make their living situation miserable and “turn it into a reality show” with cameras everywhere.
They’re typically out by the end of the day. To help persuade squatters to leave, he offers them a deal: If they go peacefully, he’ll keep their identity a secret. Most squatters accept. For those who don’t, he uploads their picture onto his website and their interaction onto YouTube and Instagram. He’s currently building a database of confirmed squatters so landlords can avoid renting to them in the future.
One YouTube video details a confrontation with Adam Fleischman, the former chief executive of the restaurant chain Umami Burger. In the video, Fleischman claims he had a verbal agreement to live in a Hollywood Hills home, giving him rights as a tenant, but that he didn’t have to pay rent.
In another, Shelton sneaks up on a woman entering a Culver City home through a window. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he asks. She doesn’t take the bait, instead responding with an onslaught of curses.
Shelton, a single father with five kids, two living at home, doesn’t want to hunt squatters forever, but demand has been overwhelming. The endgame is policy change. His GoFundMe advocates for legislation that would expand law enforcement’s ability to remove squatters and also make it easier for judges to order squatters to pay restitution.
“The whole system needs to change,” he said. “I want my name on a bill.”
This story was first published in The Los Angeles Times. Used with permission.