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The Instagram and TikTok Murder Plot: Ashley Grayson

In September 2022, a five-minute FaceTime call captured something extraordinary: a social media influencer asking her friend to commit murder. This is the story of how influence became obsession, gratitude became leverage, and one woman’s decision to press record saved three lives.

Episode Summary

Ashley Grayson built an empire teaching financial freedom online. She cultivated a five-year friendship with Olivia Johnson and gifted Olivia’s mother a house—creating a debt Olivia thought she could never repay. When Ashley asked her to kill three people who’d criticized her online, Olivia faced an impossible choice: loyalty or survival. She chose to press record. This episode examines how a Memphis woman’s decision to document a crime saved three lives—including her own—and exposed a murder-for-hire plot born entirely on social media.

Quick Facts

• Defendant: Ashley Grayson
• Charge: Conspiracy to use interstate commerce facilities in commission of murder-for-hire (18 U.S.C. §1958)
• Verdict: Guilty (March 29, 2024)
• Sentence: 120 months (10 years) in federal prison
• Location: Memphis, Tennessee (Western District)
• Key Evidence: Five-minute FaceTime recording, $10,000 cash payment captured on surveillance
• Intended Victims: Sherell Hodge (TikTok critic), Patrick Tate (ex-boyfriend), Derricka Harwell (business rival)
• Co-Defendant: Joshua Grayson (acquitted)

The Story

The Facebook Message

Memphis, 2017. It’s late evening when Olivia Johnson’s phone lights up with a message from a stranger. Ashley Grayson—someone Olivia doesn’t know but feels she should—offers to fix her credit for free in exchange for posting about the results.

According to court documents, that simple Facebook message began a relationship that would change both their lives. Over the next few days, Ashley taught Olivia how to dispute charges, remove late payments, and challenge errors. It worked. Olivia’s credit score climbed, and soon she was posting success stories, tagging Ashley Grayson in every one.

The messages between them shifted from business to friendship. They talked about faith, family, and making a way out of nothing. Ashley called her “sis.” According to court records, Olivia told investigators that Ashley made her feel seen. “She talked to me like I mattered,” Olivia said. “Like she really wanted to help people.”

By 2022, Ashley Grayson had transformed that same pitch into an empire—teaching thousands of followers how to believe they could earn financial freedom. Her social media shimmered with success: a white BMW, a house with gold fixtures, and captions about prayer and prosperity. Her followers called her Coach Ash. She called them family.

But under the surface, cracks had already begun to show. Former clients posted about refunds that never came. TikTok creators accused her of exaggerating her income. One critic—Sherell Hodge—claimed she’d been scammed out of two thousand dollars and blocked for asking questions.

Before the Empire

Before Ashley Grayson became Coach Ash, before the luxury cars and viral videos, she was Ashley Massengill—a woman working an assembly line. According to a 2022 video interview with Patrick Tate, Ashley’s ex-boyfriend, the accident happened at a manufacturing facility, possibly an olive oil production plant.

She was on the line. Routine work. One moment of distraction. Patrick later described what happened: “Her hand went in the machine, and it snatched her pinky and made it ground meat.”

The machine didn’t just take her finger—it took her future as a factory worker. According to media reports, Ashley received a workers’ compensation settlement. The amount was never officially confirmed in court documents, but it became the foundation of everything that followed. The money that was supposed to compensate for loss became the seed capital for an empire built on image.

She left the factory floor and entered the digital arena—where missing fingers didn’t matter, but missing authenticity would eventually destroy her.

The Gift That Wasn’t

June 2022. Memphis. But the story of that gift didn’t start in June—it started five years earlier.

According to a June 2022 FOX13 Memphis interview, Olivia Johnson first met Ashley Grayson on Facebook around 2017. Olivia described the moment: “She hit me up on the inbox. She asked if I could do promo for her, and she could fix my credit, and I was like, ‘yeah, cool.'”

Five years. Not five weeks. Not five months. Five years of messages, of credit advice, of building trust. Of Ashley making herself indispensable.

By June 2022, Ashley Grayson had become more than a business contact. She’d become family. According to trial exhibits, Ashley texted Olivia with an idea: she wanted to buy a house for a single mother who really needed help. “Pick someone who really deserves it,” Ashley said.

Olivia thought of her mother immediately. There was context Ashley didn’t know—or maybe she did. According to FOX13 Memphis reporting, four months earlier, in February 2022, Olivia’s seven-year-old nephew had been shot in his grandmother’s home in South Memphis. The boy survived, but his grandmother’s house had been a target of violence for years. Olivia told FOX13: “My mama’s house been shot up like five times just her living there for these two years.”

When Olivia submitted her mother’s name, she included that detail—the shootings, the fear, the fact that a child had been hurt. Ashley responded immediately: “I’m going to pick the momma, my Godmomma. This house gonna make it to your family one way or another.”

The day of the reveal, the air was thick with Memphis summer heat. Olivia stood in a driveway with her phone camera pointed at her mother. Her mother’s hands covered her face. She was crying—the good kind of crying. On Facebook Live, Ashley narrated the moment: “We’re blessing a family today!”

The video went viral. Thousands of shares. Comments flooded in—hearts, fire emojis, praise. And in that moment, Olivia said something that would echo in a courtroom two years later. According to FOX13 Memphis, Olivia looked at the camera and said: “Ashley’s everything to us. This is everything. I’m forever indebted to her.”

Forever indebted. Two words that sounded like gratitude but felt like chains.

The house was real. The gratitude was real. But according to court documents, what Olivia didn’t know then was that the deed stayed in Ashley Grayson’s name. Her mother lived there rent-free, but legally owned nothing. What looked like a gift was leverage dressed in generosity.

And three months later—just three months after that Facebook Live video—Ashley would call Olivia with a different kind of request. Not a gift this time. A debt to be paid.

The “Business Opportunity”

Early September 2022. According to court documents, Olivia Johnson and her husband Brandon Thomas boarded a flight from Memphis to Dallas. Ashley Grayson had paid for everything—airfare, hotel, meals—a “business opportunity,” she called it.

When they landed, the Texas heat hit like a wave. Ashley pulled up in a white SUV. According to testimony, Olivia climbed into the front passenger seat while Brandon rode with Ashley’s husband, Joshua, in another car. The road from Fort Worth to Dallas stretched straight through fields and half-built subdivisions.

Olivia later told jurors that the ride began friendly—catching up, talking about the house, family, faith. Then the tone changed. Ashley gripped the steering wheel tighter. Her voice dropped. “People are trying to destroy everything I built, Liv,” she said. “Jealous women. People on TikTok making videos, calling me a scammer.”

She paused. Looked at Olivia. “You think people like that deserve to keep running their mouths?”

According to trial testimony, Olivia didn’t answer right away. Ashley stared at the road. “I need them gone,” she said quietly. “Three of them.”

Olivia’s pulse quickened. She later told the court, “That’s when I knew this wasn’t business.”

Ashley listed names—Sherell Hodge, the TikTok critic. Patrick Tate, her ex-boyfriend. Derricka Harwell, her business rival in Mississippi. According to prosecutors, Ashley offered $20,000 each—and $5,000 extra if Derricka could be eliminated quickly.

Olivia stared out the window. Dallas skyline ahead. The sun was going down, light glinting off glass. She forced a calm voice. “We can talk about it later,” she said. Then she looked over, trying to sound helpful. “You know, FaceTime’s better for that kind of talk. It’s not traceable.”

Ashley nodded. “That’s smart,” she said. “FaceTime can’t be traced.”

According to court filings, that single sentence—that lie—became the cornerstone of the case. Olivia was already planning to record it. She just needed to get home first.

The Five-Minute Call That Changed Everything

September 10, 2022. Memphis. According to court documents, Olivia Johnson sat on the edge of her couch, two phones on the coffee table. One to make the call. One to record it.

Brandon Thomas stood behind her, watching the seconds tick on the clock above the kitchen doorway. Ashley Grayson’s face appeared on the screen. Perfect lighting, calm smile. According to trial transcripts, Ashley believed FaceTime calls couldn’t be traced. Olivia let her believe it.

“So… you went to the house?” Ashley asked.

“Yeah. We drove by. Real easy to get her,” Olivia replied. “You still want it done?”

“I need it done as soon as possible.”

According to the recording entered as Exhibit 7, the call lasted five minutes. They talked about money. Targets. Timing. At one point, Ashley asked if Olivia had a gun. Olivia told her she did. Ashley laughed. “Good,” she said. “Handle it.”

Olivia’s hands shook. When the call ended, she stared at the phone screen for a long moment—then forwarded the video to herself. According to FBI analysis, the transfer split the file in two, losing twenty-six seconds of footage. Two clips remained—both admissible. Both damning.

The Unraveling

The next day, Ashley waited for news. Olivia texted her that “the job’s done.” That night, Olivia and Brandon staged their scene—they found a location with blue lights flashing in the background, wind against the phone mic. According to prosecutors, they FaceTimed Ashley again, pretending they’d “shot up” Derricka Harwell’s house. Ashley believed them. She promised ten thousand dollars on delivery.

The next morning, surveillance footage—Exhibit 12—captured Ashley Grayson in a Dallas lobby, handing Olivia Johnson a bag filled with cash. Ten thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills. According to court documents, Ashley and her husband Joshua met with Olivia and Brandon to complete the transaction. The payment was made. The deal was done. Or so Ashley thought.

Not long after that cash changed hands, the relationship between Olivia Johnson and Ashley Grayson began to unravel. According to court records, the exact nature of their falling out isn’t fully detailed in the trial transcripts. What we do know is this: Olivia sent Ashley a clip of the recorded FaceTime call—the one where Ashley had discussed wanting Derricka Harwell “gone.”

Ashley’s response was to accuse Olivia of trying to extort her. Think about that for a moment. Ashley had solicited murder. She had paid ten thousand dollars for what she believed was an attempted hit. She had the smoking gun evidence of her own crime delivered right to her phone. And her first instinct wasn’t remorse. It wasn’t panic about getting caught for conspiracy to commit murder. It was to go on offense.

According to trial testimony, Ashley contacted the FBI herself. Not to confess. Not to come clean about the murder-for-hire plot. But to report Olivia Johnson for extortion. It was a calculated gambit—an attempt to flip the narrative entirely.

Court documents show that Ashley went even further. She sent Olivia a voicemail—a message from an FBI agent who was following up on Ashley’s complaint. The message was clear: I’ve already talked to the FBI. They’re on my side. Back off.

But Olivia Johnson didn’t scare easily. Instead of backing down, according to court records, Olivia consulted with an attorney. And that attorney gave her advice that would ultimately unravel Ashley’s entire scheme: cooperate fully with federal investigators.

Olivia provided the FBI with the complete FaceTime recording—all five minutes of it, split into two clips with that missing twenty-six seconds in between. She handed over the text messages between her and Ashley. She laid out the entire sequence of events: the initial murder-for-hire solicitation, the September 10 recording, the fake crime scene performance, the ten-thousand-dollar payment in Dallas.

The evidence was devastating. What Ashley had tried to weaponize—law enforcement itself—now became the very instrument of her undoing. She had invited federal investigators into this mess, thinking she could control the narrative. Instead, she had opened the door to a full-scale FBI investigation into her own murder-for-hire conspiracy.

According to court filings, prosecutors built their case with a cascade of evidence: the FaceTime recording, surveillance footage from the Dallas cash handoff, flight records from Memphis to Dallas, Cash App transactions showing the $1,600 travel payment, and the FBI CD of Ashley’s own call reporting Olivia for extortion. Every piece aligned. A map of intent.

Ashley’s own call to the FBI—the one she thought would save her—became Exhibit 24 in the case that destroyed her.

The Three Targets

According to court documents, there were three names on Ashley Grayson’s list. Three people living ordinary lives—until the FBI told them they had almost been killed.

Sherell Hodge was the first. She lived in North Carolina—a TikTok creator, single mom, and former client of Ashley’s online course. According to media reports, Sherell made short, confident videos about financial literacy. Then one day, she uploaded a warning video: “Be careful who you send money to,” she told her followers. “Not everyone who calls themselves a coach wants to see you win.”

The video went viral. Within days, according to prosecutors, Ashley Grayson told Olivia Johnson she wanted Sherell “gone.” When the FBI knocked on Sherell’s door months later, she thought it was a mistake. Then an agent said her name had appeared in a murder-for-hire plot. Sherell Hodge sank into a kitchen chair and whispered, “I just make videos.”

Patrick Tate was next. Ashley’s ex-boyfriend. According to court documents, they had broken up years earlier, but she believed he was threatening to release personal information about her. In December 2022—months after the murder plot but before the indictment—Patrick gave a tell-all interview. The interview went viral. Patrick described the business relationship that soured, the threats, the fear.

He ran a small auto-detailing business outside Dallas. The day agents officially visited, he was polishing a car in the driveway. They told him he’d been named as a target in a federal case. He looked at the agents, then at his wife standing behind them, and said, “Over what? Words?”

Derricka Harwell was the rival who never should have been a rival at all. According to court filings, Derricka lived in Southaven, Mississippi. She ran a digital coaching and credit repair business, just like Ashley. But here’s what makes this story different: they never met in person. Not once.

According to a 2022 interview, Derricka reached out to Ashley first. She’d noticed a pattern: any time someone praised Derricka’s work online, they’d get blocked by Ashley. So Derricka did what she thought was professional. She sent a message: “Hey, I’m actually pretty dope if you got to know me.”

The response was immediate. A three-hour phone call followed. They bonded over everything. Both had reconnected with their fathers after decades. Both had complicated relationships with their mothers. Both loved the color red. Both had miscarried. Both were building empires in the same space.

Derricka told the interviewer: “I thought it was so great. And now that I look back, knowing she’d already looked me up… it was extremely eerie.” Because Ashley hadn’t just stumbled across Derricka recently. According to Derricka’s account, she later found Ashley commenting on her Facebook posts from 2016—years before they ever spoke. Ashley had been watching. Studying. Building a narrative in her own mind.

And then came the gifts. According to Derricka’s interview, whenever tension arose—whenever Ashley threw shade or made a passive-aggressive comment—a gift would arrive. Tiffany diamonds. Designer shoes. Flowers. Derricka called it “the kiss of death pattern.” Every gift came with an unspoken message: I’m sorry. We’re good. Don’t leave.

But Derricka’s instincts told her something was wrong. So she did what she does with everything: she cut it off cleanly. No argument. No explanation. Just done.

Ashley didn’t take it well. According to court filings, Derricka went to local police in 2021—a full year before the murder plot—warning them that Ashley Grayson was escalating. The officers told her: “That’s just a social media thing.” The law, she said, “refused to hear me when I said she’s escalating.”

Then, in September 2022, the FBI knocked on her door. According to prosecutors, agents informed Derricka that Ashley Grayson had attempted to hire someone to kill her—not discreetly, not quickly, but at home. In front of her seven children. Maybe during Christmas dinner.

In her interview, Derricka said: “This speaks to who that person is. If you wanted someone unalived, you didn’t even have the common decency to say make it clean, fast, no pain. You said at home. In front of your kids. Christmas dinner.”

The FBI placed Derricka under protective custody. She left her home. Left her business. Pulled her children from gymnastics, from taekwondo, from horseback riding. Her 13-year-old daughter—who’d fought for two years to make the special teams—missed practice for two months. Disqualified from competition.

According to Derricka’s account, she sat on the couch crying with her daughter, who asked: “Mama, this doesn’t have anything to do with me. We didn’t do anything to her. Why am I missing out? It’s not fair.” Derricka told the interviewer: “Nothing about this lifestyle is normal. My son was supposed to be a black belt by Christmas. He hasn’t been to practice since this started.”

The woman who reached out to prevent drama, who sent Tiffany diamonds to build a bridge, who never even met Ashley in person—became the target of the most specific, most cruel murder plan in the entire case.

The Trial

March 25, 2024. Memphis, Tennessee. The courtroom was still when Judge Thomas L. Parker took his seat. Ashley Grayson sat between her attorneys, hands folded over her stomach. She was visibly pregnant.

According to court transcripts, prosecutors opened with the five-minute FaceTime video—the same call that began in a Memphis living room eighteen months earlier. When the video started, you could hear Ashley’s voice through the speakers: “So… you went to the house?” “Yeah,” Olivia said. “We drove by. Real easy to get her.” “I need it done as soon as possible.”

No one moved. No one coughed. The jurors’ eyes stayed on the screen. According to the transcript, Judge Parker watched in silence too. When the clip ended, the prosecutor simply said, “Exhibit 7, Your Honor.”

The defense argued that twenty-six seconds of missing footage made the recording unreliable. Judge Parker instructed the jury that the missing time went to weight, not admissibility. “A recording doesn’t have to be perfect,” he said. “It just has to be what it claims to be.”

According to trial records, FBI agents followed with evidence: the flight records, the Cash App transactions, the surveillance video from Dallas. Each exhibit aligned with the timeline.

When Olivia Johnson took the stand, she carried weight that wasn’t in the evidence log. This was the woman who, according to FOX13 Memphis reporting from June 2022, had told cameras: “Ashley’s everything to us. This is everything. I’m forever indebted to her.” The jury had seen that clip. That gratitude. That trust.

And now, according to court transcripts, Olivia sat in the witness chair and testified about the moment that gratitude became fear—when the woman who gave her mother a house asked her to take three lives. She admitted her motives—fear, leverage, even curiosity about selling the video. But her honesty, prosecutors said, made her believable.

Then came Derricka Harwell. According to court transcripts, the woman Ashley Grayson had wanted dead walked into that courtroom and sat in the witness chair. Later, in a social media post dated March 29, 2024, Derricka wrote: “Taking the stand yesterday was one of the most difficult things I had to do. I endured so much privately & a good 50% of it was about to be on display.”

The jury watched in silence as she testified about the harassment, the threats, the moment FBI agents told her someone had paid to have her killed.

After cross-examination, the government rested. The defense called no witnesses. The next morning, closing arguments began. The prosecutor stood before the jury and said, “Five minutes. That’s all it took.” He played the video again. Ashley Grayson’s voice filled the room: “I need it done as soon as possible.”

When the sound faded, the prosecutor looked at the jury and said, “Intent doesn’t need an ending. It just needs a beginning.”

According to court documents, the jury deliberated for three hours. At 4:17 p.m., they returned. The clerk read the verdict: “We, the jury, find the defendant, Ashley Grayson, guilty.”

Joshua Grayson—tried alongside her—was found not guilty.

The Sentence

October 31, 2024. Memphis, Tennessee. According to court transcripts, Ashley Grayson entered the federal courthouse just before ten a.m. She was four weeks from giving birth. Her wrists were free. Her steps were slow.

She sat down beside her attorney. The judge entered. Everyone rose. Judge Thomas L. Parker called the case number—United States v. Ashley Grayson. Then, for a moment, he just looked at her.

According to court records, the prosecutor spoke first. He said Ashley’s crime was “a twenty-first century tragedy of ego and illusion.” He read from the victim-impact statements. One line filled the air: “Every day I wake up grateful I’m still here.” The prosecutor paused, then added, “They are alive because Ms. Grayson failed.”

The defense argued for leniency. They pointed to her pregnancy, her children, her lack of prior record. They said, “No one was hurt.”

But when Judge Parker spoke, the courtroom stilled. “You weaponized relationships of trust,” he said. “You took loyalty—friendship—and turned it into leverage. This sentence isn’t revenge. It’s reaffirmation. Human life has value. And intent to destroy it cannot go unanswered.”

Then he imposed the maximum: “One hundred and twenty months in federal prison. Three years of supervised release.”

Ten years.

Ashley Grayson didn’t cry. Her lawyer placed a hand on her shoulder. She nodded once. Joshua Grayson sat behind her, head bowed, his hands folded tight.

Outside, reporters waited. A light drizzle darkened the courthouse steps. Joshua spoke briefly: “She’s innocent. God knows.” Online, the reaction split again. Some said the sentence was justice. Others said it was cruel—that no one had died.

Inside, Judge Parker closed the hearing with one final sentence: “The story you built online is over. The one you live from here—is real.”

Ashley Grayson was ordered to surrender to federal custody after giving birth. On December 19, 2024, at 2:00 p.m., she surrendered to the Federal Correctional Institution in Fort Worth, Texas. Her earliest release date, assuming good behavior, will be sometime in 2033.

The Aftermath

According to Bureau of Prisons records, Ashley Grayson is serving her ten-year sentence at the Federal Correctional Institution in Fort Worth, Texas. Her social media accounts are silent. Her empire erased.

Joshua Grayson, acquitted and free, raises their children alone. He doesn’t post much anymore. The last message pinned to his page reads, “The truth will come out.”

Olivia Johnson and Brandon Thomas—the couple who recorded the plot—have vanished from public view. According to court documents, they fulfilled every cooperation agreement with the FBI. After the trial, they moved quietly out of Memphis.

And the three people Ashley Grayson wanted dead—Sherell Hodge, Patrick Tate, and Derricka Harwell—are still alive. Still rebuilding. Still looking over their shoulders sometimes, according to prosecutors who stayed in touch.

According to court filings, a civil lawsuit titled Phillips v. Grayson remains pending in the Middle District of Florida. The plaintiffs—Whitney and Ian Phillips—allege that Ashley Grayson publicly disclosed Whitney’s tax information online in August 2023, one month after her federal indictment. As of this recording, those allegations remain unproven. No trial date has been set. Ashley Grayson has not been found liable for any of the claims.

📄 Download Official Case Files

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Sources: All information in this episode comes from court documents, trial transcripts, FBI affidavits, Department of Justice press releases, public court filings, and verified media reports from FOX13 Memphis and other credible news sources.

Legal Note: Ashley Grayson was convicted in federal court on March 29, 2024, and sentenced to 120 months in federal prison on October 31, 2024. Her conviction was upheld on appeal by the Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals on August 14, 2025 (Case No. 24-5988).

Disclaimer: Dr. Patricia Wells is a fictional character created for this podcast to help explore the psychology and criminology behind true crime cases. All factual information comes from official court records and verified sources.