On November 12, 2025, Bruna Caroline Ferreira, a Brazilian national and the mother of White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt’s nephew, was arrested by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) while driving to pick up her son. The story, which at first glance appeared to be a standard immigration enforcement action, has since unraveled into a complex web of family dynamics, legal maneuvering, and political proximity—one that raises questions about the intersection of federal power and private custody battles.
Ferreira’s attorney, Todd Pomerleau, confirmed to Newsweek that she was intercepted by ICE en route to a custody exchange with her son, Michael Jr. This detail, seemingly minor, is pivotal. According to multiple immigration attorneys cited in local reporting, ICE rarely conducts such targeted arrests at private custody exchanges unless tipped off by someone with intimate knowledge of the family’s schedule. In this case, that insider knowledge was limited to Ferreira, her attorney, and the Leavitt family.
Michael Leavitt, Karoline’s brother, has held full physical custody of the couple’s son for years. Michael now lives with his wife, who has taken on a primary maternal role. Ferreira, his former fiancée, has remained in the U.S. without finalized legal status—a vulnerability that has limited her ability to contest custody or seek financial support. Yet, as her attorney explained, Ferreira was in the process of stabilizing her immigration status through established channels, including prior DACA protections, and was preparing for a long-delayed adjustment of status. "You can adjust status to that of a lawful permanent resident, which is what a green card holder is. That's the process right now that Bruna is going through, which has taken years. It's not her fault. It's just this complicated immigration process with so much delay. She started it before the pandemic, and it's still dragging," Pomerleau told Newsweek.
Ferreira’s DACA status, which requires a clean criminal record, had lapsed amid years of litigation after the Trump administration’s attempts to end the program. During this period, renewal applications were often left unprocessed, leaving many recipients—including Ferreira—in legal limbo. As her DACA expired, she began the lengthy process of applying for a green card, a journey complicated by shifting immigration policies and bureaucratic delays.
When ICE announced Ferreira’s detention, Department of Homeland Security (DHS) officials described her as a "criminal illegal alien" with a prior battery arrest. Yet, her lawyer disputes this characterization. "We can't find any proof of it anywhere. And I said, Show me the proof. The client disputes it, and the family disputes it. They said she's never been arrested once in her life, except for two weeks ago when she was on route to pick up Michael Jr. after school, and he was left wondering where his mom was," Pomerleau told Newsweek. There is no public record of a battery conviction, and no evidence of any criminal adjudication—a contradiction that matters deeply in the context of a custody battle, where even disputed or unproven allegations can create a paper trail used to influence both immigration and family court outcomes.
Ferreira’s attorney also painted a picture of ongoing family contact and positive relations, a sharp contrast to the White House’s portrayal of estrangement. "Karoline's dad was with my client a few weeks before her detention at an event at Michael Jr's school. I think it was a football game they were there together," Pomerleau said. He added, "She was engaged to one of them, and it didn't work out like countless other relationships in the world. They were two young people. They loved each other. They had a child together. They were engaged, and then their relationship just ended like so many others." Ferreira had even chosen Karoline Leavitt as her son’s godmother and spoke highly of Michael Sr.’s wife, calling her "basically like a stepmom."
Yet the circumstances of Ferreira’s arrest—timed precisely as she was about to gain legal standing to challenge custody—suggest that the Leavitt family may have benefited from her removal. In New Hampshire, shared custody is the standard unless a parent poses a danger, and no such record exists in Ferreira’s case. Had her legal status been finalized, she would have gained the right to petition for shared custody, request child support, and reopen prior orders that may have been influenced by her immigration risk. Instead, her detention eliminated every legal and financial threat Michael faced: Ferreira cannot petition for shared custody, cannot request back child support, and cannot appear in family court without ICE escort. The child remains in Michael’s full-time care, with his wife retaining uncontested parental influence.
Karoline Leavitt’s unique position as White House Press Secretary adds another layer to the story. She works daily with DHS, CBP, and ICE leadership, giving her family a level of access and influence that ordinary families simply do not have. ICE officials have privately acknowledged that "tips from custodial parents" are among the most common triggers for targeted detentions, but such tips rarely result in action unless the subject is elevated by someone with institutional reach. The timing and manner of Ferreira’s arrest—at a private custody exchange—raise legitimate questions about whether her removal was simply a matter of enforcement or a strategic move by a politically connected family.
Despite this proximity to power, the Leavitts did not intervene to stop Ferreira’s removal. In an administration known for bending rules for loyalists and intervening in federal processes for personal benefit, their silence is telling. As one observer put it, in a White House where loyalty equals protection, the lack of intervention suggests a deliberate choice. If the Leavitts had wanted Ferreira to stay, they had the most powerful lifeline in the country sitting in their own family. That lifeline was never used.
Meanwhile, Ferreira remains detained at the South Louisiana ICE Processing Center, facing removal proceedings. Her sister, Graziela Dos Santos Rodrigues, has launched a GoFundMe campaign to help cover legal expenses as the family fights to keep her in the United States. "Anyone who knows Bruna knows the kind of person she is. She is hardworking, kind, and always the first to offer help when someone needs it," Rodrigues wrote in a fundraising post.
The broader context is impossible to ignore. The Trump administration has ramped up immigration enforcement, pulling resources from several agencies to fulfill the president’s pledge of mass deportation. Nonviolent migrants without legal status, DACA recipients, and even green card holders have been swept up in the crackdown. Karoline Leavitt herself has publicly stated that anyone living in the country illegally is considered a "criminal," echoing the administration’s hardline stance.
For Ferreira, the personal and political have collided with devastating effect. A mother on the verge of gaining legal status—and with it, the power to challenge the status quo—was removed at the one moment that ensured her absence would benefit those with the most to gain. The outcome leaves a child permanently in the care of his father, a mother in detention, and a powerful family insulated from a potentially awkward public narrative.
This story, overlooked by much of the national media, is more than a routine immigration case. It is a window into how family law, federal power, and political access can intersect in ways that shape the lives of ordinary people—and, sometimes, those closest to the halls of power themselves.