ALBANY — It took less than two months in a federal courtroom in Brooklyn to strip away everything that had transformed Keith Raniere into the spiritual guru known as “Vanguard.” By the time his fate was put in the hands of a jury — one that took less than five hours to reach its verdict — the man at the defense table had been revealed as a grifter, an extortionist and a sexual predator.

Some of Raniere’s top disciples in the cult-like organization NXIVM had betrayed him to federal prosecutors. Others had pleaded guilty and now face prison terms of their own. A handful of members of the group fall into both categories.

Raniere’s personal growth company, based in Colonie and deeply rooted in the Knox Woods townhouse development in Halfmoon, is at once nationally known — the subject of several books and documentaries, even a Lifetime dramatic film — and barely alive.

And the hits will keep coming in 2020: On Jan. 17, the 59-year-old Raniere is scheduled to be sentenced in U.S. District Court for his conviction on sex trafficking, forced labor and racketeering charges that include underlying acts such as possession of child pornography, forced labor, money laundering, identity theft, obstruction of justice, visa fraud and more.

It's hard to imagine prosecutors asking for a lesser sentence than life in prison.

Clare Bronfman, NXIVM’s former director of operations, faces at least 21 to 27 months in prison. The Seagram's heiress successfully argued to move her sentencing date from Jan. 8 to Feb. 14. That’s about her only legal victory: Federal prosecutors in Brooklyn recently asked a judge to reverse her previous decision and release privileged documents from Bronfman’s email account.

The reason they gave was that NXIVM’s own attorneys said the company was no longer in operation, which would mean NXIVM could no longer assert attorney-client privileges to keep Bronfman’s documents from being disclosed.

NXIVM president Nancy Salzman, who was known within the organization as "Prefect," and her daughter Lauren Salzman, a high-ranking member, pleaded guilty and await sentencing alongside actress and NXIVM official Allison Mack and Kathy Russell, a longtime bookkeeper for the group.

Its executives and teachers billed the program as a means to help people improve their lives. Mark Vicente, a filmmaker and onetime Knox Woods resident who was once considered a possible heir apparent to Raniere, testified in May that the organization's very mission statement was a fraud and a lie.

"This thing's evil," Vicente told the courtroom as Raniere watched intently.

Lauren Salzman, perhaps the star prosecution witness, broke down as she gave devastating testimony against Raniere, whom she described as controlling and at times cruel. She said Raniere dangled the prospect of fathering their child — something she wanted badly — only to reject her because she briefly roughhoused with another man during a volleyball game.

Her final memory of Raniere revealed his cowardice: In March 2018, when Mexican authorities stormed their bungalow in a fishing village near Puerto Vallarta to arrest him, she stayed in plain site as officers in bulletproof vests kicked open their bedroom door and aimed four machine guns at her head. Raniere hid in a walk-in closet.

"It never occurred to me that I would choose Keith — and Keith would choose Keith," Salzman, now 43, testified.

Another witness, a Mexican woman who as a teenager became involved with NXIVM, testified that she was forced to stay in a room in her family's townhouse on Wilton Court in Knox Woods for nearly two years because Raniere was furious she had kissed another man. Raniere, meanwhile, had slept with more than 20 other women, including the woman's two sisters — one beginning when the girl was just 15.

One of the most devastating pieces of evidence against Raniere were his own words on a video recording in which he claimed some children are "perfectly happy" having sex with adults.

"What's abuse in one area is not abuse in another. And what is it, really?" Raniere asked. "Is the person a child or is the person adult-like? Does the person have a certain type of cognition, morality to make such a choice?

It has been a remarkable plummet for the leader of an organization that less than three years ago was flourishing with outposts in Mexico, Canada, Los Angeles and elsewhere.

For several years NXIVM seemed impervious: In 2012, the Times Union' published "Secrets of NXIVM," a series that revealed Raniere's sketchy history as a multi-level marketing businessman, his sexual manipulation of women and young girls. and the group's ruthless use of endless litigation to attack its enemies — especially a significant number of what might be described as NXIVM apostates.

None of the allegations, however, led state or local officials to move against NXIVM — instead, the company pressured law enforcement to go after its critics. The organization continued to attract members and operate in the region, and celebrated Raniere's birthday each year with a week-long August retreat at the Silver Bay YMCA Conference and Family Retreat Center on Lake George.

Raniere and NXIVM became even more bold, hiring investigators to obtain the financial records if its enemies, a mix of people who included Seagram's tycoon Edgar Bronfman — the father of Clare and Sara Bronfman — as well as Times Union reporters and executives, prominent politicians and Rick Ross, an expert on cults.

"Keith Raniere’s 'terrorism by litigation' was only possible with the support of his NXIVM 'inner circle,'" Toni Natalie, a former girlfriend of Raniere who became a whistleblower, told the Times Union. "The people that gave him credibility, by covering his years of lies, did his political and legal bidding and financed this criminal enterprise. ... This gave Keith Raniere the ability to use the legal system to harass me, and anyone else he perceived as an enemy. Money was no object."

Natalie and former Metroland writer Chet Hardin, who also became a target of the group, co-authored "The Program: Inside the Mind of Keith Raniere and the Rise and Fall of NXIVM." She hopes Raniere, Clare Bronfman and Nancy Salzman each receive 20 years to life in prison.

Raniere's hubris eventually led to the 2015 creation of a secret subgroup within NXIVM, a "master/slave" club known as Dominus Obsequious Sororium — Latin for "Lord/Master of the Obedient Female Companions.

Women in DOS were required to produce damaging information to ensure their loyalty. At Raniere's instruction, they subsisted on 500-calorie-a-day diets. They were required to respond to Raniere-ordered text messages from other DOS members at all hours of the night in drills for "readiness." They were ordered to obey their "masters," which included assignments to seduce Raniere. In one case, a young woman was blindfolded, brought to a location in Halfmoon where another woman in the room was secretly waiting to subject her to sexual contact.

Members of DOS were branded with Raniere's initials on their pelvic area. His role as the DOS "grand master" was not revealed immediately to them.

in 2017, Buffalo's Frank Parlato — a former publicist for NXIVM — revealed the existence of DOS, leading to coverage in the New York Times, the Times Union and other outlets. Raniere and his top followers relocated from the Capital Region to Mexico, where Raniere was taken into custody.

Less than two years after his arrest, NXIVM's very existence as an entity is in dispute. Its nominal attorney, former Massachusetts U.S. Attorney Michael J. Sullivan, would not respond to questions about the organization's status; Raniere's attorney Marc Agnifilo did not respond to a request for comment.

Robert Crockett and Brian English, two attorneys hired by NXIVM in a civil suit — it owes $1.3 million to Interfor, an investigative firm hired to dig up dirt on Ross — recently asked a judge to be released from the case.

"How can I possibly relieve you?" U.S. Magistrate Judge Cathy Waldor asked the lawyers.

"Well, Your Honor, I mean, because we don't have clients. That's why. The clients are gone," English said. "There's no instructions from anybody. Nobody's responding to us. We don't have anybody to deal with. And beyond that, my firm's owed a lot of money. ... People have gotten out for far less."

The judge was not sympathetic: "Gee, Mr. Crockett, you fought to get in the case. Now you're fighting to get out," Waldor said.

"Yes, at the time, NXIVM was a viable corporation with lots of what they call coaches working for them. And it's a big organization. And my bills were getting paid," Crockett said.

"And since then, as I think everybody knows ... there's been a criminal trial."