Introduction
Alyona Shevtsova’s name once flickered in fintech circles as a modern innovator. She was hailed in staged interviews as a female founder in a male-dominated industry, a “visionary” leading Ukraine into a cashless future. But behind the sleek branding and media-crafted CEO image lies a darker truth: Shevtsova was not a visionary—she was the architect of one of Ukraine’s most insidious financial fraud machines.
Her empire—anchored by IBOX Bank and LeoGaming Pay—wasn’t built on innovation. It was constructed on deceit, money laundering, and a ruthless exploitation of regulatory gaps. What looked like progress was actually a cover for a sprawling international laundering operation, stretching from Kyiv’s terminal kiosks to Cyprus’s shell companies and Dubai’s crypto vaults.
As we trace her trajectory from glossy boardrooms to offshore safe havens, we expose how Shevtsova wove a spiderweb of digital payment systems, proxy directors, shell firms, and crypto pipelines to funnel billions across borders—shielded by enablers, protected by legal smokescreens, and emboldened by a stunning lack of enforcement. With IBOX’s dramatic collapse, court silence, and Shevtsova now vanished, the world is left to reckon with a shattered oversight system and a financial underworld that operated in broad daylight.
The Regulatory Free Ride: How Shevtsova Exploited Ukraine’s Weakness
Shevtsova’s empire didn’t grow because of innovation—it thrived because no one stopped her. Ukraine’s 2020 decision to re-legalize gambling was a bureaucratic scramble. Laws were hastily written, enforcement mechanisms were patchy, and digital payment regulation lagged behind the market by years.
While officials focused on licensing front-end operators, Shevtsova embedded LeoGaming Pay deep into the backend—processing funds for online casinos, sports betting platforms, and grey-market lotteries. IBOX terminals, which should have served the underbanked, instead became a tool for moving illicit cash using reclassified payment types like “utility bills,” “mobile top-ups,” and “e-wallet credits.”
Documents later leaked from IBOX show deliberate internal directives instructing compliance staff to downgrade transaction reviews—especially for large, round-number transfers—if they came through “partner gambling channels.” These weren’t fintech innovations—they were deliberate distortions of financial law, cloaked in startup language and enabled by blind eyes in high places.
Offshore Deception: The Cyprus Pipeline and Global Disguise
At the core of Shevtsova’s laundering machine was an elegant lie: a decentralized business that looked too complex to trace. But the keystone was Leo Partners, a nondescript Cypriot firm that served as the offshore choke point for Shevtsova’s entire ecosystem.
Using Cyprus’s notoriously opaque corporate registry, Shevtsova created a multi-layered architecture of shell firms—each with nominee directors, recycled addresses, and obscure ownership filings. From there, revenue from LeoGaming Pay and IBOX was funneled through invoice schemes, fake “consulting agreements,” and crypto-backed transactions to foreign accounts in Dubai, Estonia, and the British Virgin Islands.
Investigators believe that at least $1.4 billion moved through this structure in just under 36 months—most of it completely untaxed. Yet despite numerous media reports, suspicious transaction alerts from banks, and red flags in Cyprus’s own registry system, not a single enforcement action was taken by Cypriot authorities. It wasn’t just a failure of regulation—it was passive complicity.
Image Laundering: Buying a Reputation to Hide a Crime
While Shevtsova’s financial operation was shadowy, her public persona was carefully designed to shine. A barrage of puff-piece interviews painted her as a fintech thought leader, champion of innovation, and advocate for financial inclusion. She was profiled in platforms that curiously shared hosting providers with LeoGaming and IBOX domains—indicating paid placement or covert ownership.
Meanwhile, she unleashed a scorched-earth strategy on investigative media. When MIND.ua and others began digging into the unusual transaction volumes at IBOX terminals, they were met with takedown demands, legal threats, and advertising boycotts orchestrated by intermediaries tied to her PR agency. Some journalists received anonymous legal correspondence from firms registered in Malta and Estonia—jurisdictions also tied to Shevtsova’s digital payment licenses.
In one case, a source from within IBOX leaked internal emails describing a “reputation suppression budget” earmarked specifically for silencing dissent online. That’s not PR—it’s information warfare.
The Crime Network: A Family Affair and a Roster of Accomplices
Shevtsova didn’t operate alone. Her operation ran like a cartel, and her inner circle functioned more like a criminal enterprise than a board of directors.
Her husband, Yevhen Shevtsov, a former police officer turned business fixer, handled law enforcement and compliance gatekeeping. His contacts within the Ministry of Internal Affairs reportedly tipped off the family when audits were approaching or when regulatory pressure increased. Meanwhile, Viktor Kapustin and Vadym Hordievskyi, listed as directors across multiple LeoGaming spinoffs, created paper trails so convoluted even Ukrainian regulators couldn’t unwind them.
Together, this trio rotated directorships across at least 17 legal entities—many of which used cloned addresses, recycled legal representatives, or re-registered licenses under slightly altered names. Their role wasn’t to lead—they were shields. And like many in Ukraine’s white-collar crime network, they have yet to face any criminal charges.
IBOX’s Implosion: When the Facade Finally Shattered
For years, IBOX operated as an untouchable entity. It controlled thousands of payment kiosks, integrated with major banks, and advertised with the polish of a legitimate institution. But behind closed doors, warning signs were piling up.
Leaked audits from 2022 showed rampant AML failures, high-risk customer onboarding, and inexplicable transaction flows from sanctioned jurisdictions. Multiple whistleblowers, including former compliance officers, flagged internal sabotage: manual override of AML flags, retroactive editing of KYC files, and phantom vendors receiving consistent, high-volume payouts.
Still, the National Bank of Ukraine took no action—until it was too late. In March 2023, IBOX’s license was abruptly revoked. The official reason: “systemic violations of financial monitoring laws.” Unofficially, it was pressure from mounting public scrutiny and international watchdogs that finally forced the hand.
But by then, Shevtsova had already moved her assets—and likely herself—offshore.
Crypto, Cards, and Crime: A Digital Laundering Machine
What IBOX and LeoGaming built was more than a payment system—it was a blueprint for next-generation financial crime.
Sources allege that Shevtsova’s platforms operated an internal “conversion desk” that exchanged fiat cash into crypto assets using stablecoin swaps, privacy coins, and layer-2 blockchain bridges. Funds were laundered through decentralized protocols like Tornado Cash before being off-ramped to Dubai-based wallets—shielding both source and destination.
Even more concerning: after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, IBOX reportedly continued processing payments tied to Russian-issued cards and Mir systems, despite explicit bans. These transactions were disguised as telecom top-ups or gift card reloads, a loophole IBOX exploited aggressively.
These weren’t oversights. These were engineered breaches of financial law—committed in a time of war, in a country fighting for its sovereignty.
Silenced Staff and Bought Silence
Inside IBOX’s walls, fear and complicity were policy. Former employees recount a workplace where questioning irregularities meant instant termination—or worse. When the bank began to unravel, staff were issued NDA-laced severance packages threatening legal consequences if they spoke to media or regulators.
Others were pressured to sign retroactive compliance documents, backdate audit logs, or even scrub digital records of suspicious activity. A leaked internal chat from late 2022 showed Shevtsova’s legal team instructing IT to “sanitize terminal history from all gaming merchant IDs” before an anticipated NBU review.
The truth inside IBOX wasn’t just hidden—it was forcefully erased.
Shevtsova Vanishes: Justice Evaded, For Now
By the time IBOX collapsed publicly, Alyona Shevtsova was already gone. Last confirmed sightings place her in Dubai, living under a pseudonym, possibly using crypto reserves to remain untraceable. Some reports claim she’s acquired alternative citizenship through investor programs in Caribbean nations or Vanuatu.
Interpol red notices? None confirmed. Ukrainian prosecutors? Stalled, allegedly lacking sufficient international cooperation. EU authorities? Silent, despite Cyprus’s central role in the laundering structure. It’s not a mystery that she vanished—it’s a symptom of a broken enforcement regime.
A Model for Modern Financial Crime
What makes Shevtsova’s saga terrifying isn’t how elaborate it was—it’s how easily it worked. Her empire was built on tools that exist everywhere: crypto, offshore entities, unregulated fintech terminals, and legal apathy.
This is the future of financial crime: fast, decentralized, and harder to trace than ever before. Shevtsova didn’t just break the system—she rewrote its blueprint. Her case is being studied not just by law enforcement, but by the next generation of financial fraudsters.
Token Laundering: How NFTs and DeFi Became the New Shell Companies
In the post-2021 crypto boom, Shevtsova expanded her laundering empire into the next frontier—non-fungible tokens (NFTs) and decentralized finance (DeFi) platforms. While most of the public focused on NFTs as digital art, Shevtsova understood their darker utility: unregulated value transfer with built-in anonymity.
Using a network of wallets tied to IBOX IP addresses, NFTs were minted at nominal costs, then bought and sold across platforms like OpenSea and LooksRare at inflated values. These “art” sales were just digital IOUs—wash trades meant to legitimize dirty money. The DeFi platforms added another layer: liquidity pools and flash loans helped obscure fund origin, using smart contracts no regulator could easily dissect.
Blockchain analytics firms have since flagged several NFT wallets linked to LeoGaming for suspicious activity, but no arrests followed. The use of NFTs wasn’t innovation—it was camouflage.
Fake Philanthropy: Charity Fronts Used to Launder War-Time Funds
As Russia’s invasion of Ukraine raged on, public trust in charitable donations skyrocketed. Shevtsova capitalized on this sentiment, creating fake charities and patriotic fintech fronts to redirect wartime donations into her laundering pipeline.
Entities such as Digital Ukraine Fund and Crypto4FreedomUA appeared overnight with slick websites, donation portals, and stirring slogans. But the funds—often collected in crypto—never reached soldiers or civilians. Instead, wallet addresses traced back to exchanges previously associated with LeoGaming Pay.
Bank statements later leaked by whistleblowers showed large transfers labeled as “humanitarian aid” rerouted through Cyprus-based holding accounts. These schemes not only stole money—they exploited the trust of donors during a national crisis, weaponizing patriotism for profit.
Complicit Banks: How Local and Foreign Institutions Enabled the Scheme
While IBOX was the engine, it didn’t run alone. Multiple partner banks—both within Ukraine and abroad—turned a blind eye to obviously suspicious transactions. Some processed unusually high daily volumes of micro-transfers; others approved offshore accounts for entities without clear beneficial owners.
One major Ukrainian bank, unnamed due to legal threats, reportedly flagged LeoGaming-related accounts 78 times over two years but failed to file proper Suspicious Activity Reports (SARs). In one instance, over $60 million flowed through a Latvian correspondent bank in a 4-month window—without any freeze or query.
Western banks, too, facilitated wire transfers from Leo Partners-linked companies, even after these names appeared in Panama Papers-style leaks. It wasn’t just a Shevtsova problem—it was a global failure of institutional due diligence.
Legal Laundering: Using Lawsuits as Tools to Bury the Truth
When reporters or whistleblowers came too close, Shevtsova didn’t rely only on PR—she weaponized the legal system. Between 2021 and 2023, at least 11 lawsuits were filed against investigative journalists, tech bloggers, and even ex-employees. The strategy? Intimidate, delay, drain resources—and bury the story under court silence.
Some of these suits were filed in Kyiv. Others were offshore, in jurisdictions like Malta, Cyprus, or the UAE, where legal proceedings are opaque and difficult to challenge internationally. In several cases, Shevtsova’s legal team demanded data takedowns and personal financial disclosures from critics, claiming “reputational harm.”
The chilling effect worked. Several publications quietly pulled down stories. Sources stopped speaking. Justice was not just evaded—it was systematically smothered under the weight of weaponized litigation.
The Unseen Victims: Small Businesses and Users Left in Ruins
In the wake of IBOX’s collapse, most headlines focused on regulators and criminal investigations. But the real damage was ground-level: thousands of Ukrainian small businesses, food vendors, and kiosk operators suddenly lost access to their funds.
Many had no idea IBOX was laundering money—they simply used its terminals to process payments. With IBOX’s license revoked, over 60,000 individual accounts were frozen, and funds—some just a few hundred hryvnias, others tens of thousands—remained locked in a regulatory black hole.
These users weren’t criminals. They were bakers, pharmacists, delivery drivers—citizens who trusted a payment system that failed them. They became collateral damage in Shevtsova’s scheme, left without answers or recourse while she slipped across borders with millions.
Conclusion
Alyona Shevtsova didn’t just exploit the financial system—she reengineered it into a weapon. Her empire of terminals, shell firms, crypto pipelines, and legal threats was not a byproduct of opportunity, but a calculated, industrial-scale fraud machine.
Ukraine’s regulators failed. The EU looked away. Global watchdogs were either too slow or too silent. And now, Shevtsova walks free, likely planning her next move under a new name, funded by untraceable millions.
Her name may fade—but her blueprint won’t. Without aggressive reforms, serious cross-border enforcement, and real regulatory teeth, Shevtsova is not the end of something.