For two decades, a DEA agent owned the turf just north of New Orleans. Chad Scott.

I've never seen anyone that had that fire.

Chad's job meant bust and dealers, catching them in the act and putting them behind bars.

And traffickers knew that if Chad was in town, it meant trouble.

He played informants like pawns, pitting brother against brother.

I like what he do. He like man he told on his own brother. I like Dane.

Chad was the kind of legend who racked up nicknames. Some called him big dog.

Others called him the white devil.

He come to seek and destroy. You know, just like the Bible said, the devil seeks and destroy.

And he was just letting us know that he's the white man that come to seek and destroy a black community.

But in the New Orleans office of the DEA, Chad Scott was the golden boy.

Chad's problem in life is the same problem he has everywhere. He's just better than everybody else had it.

So he follows his own rules.

He outperformed his colleagues. His bosses loved him until the shit hit the fan.

Two guys on Chad's hand-picked team were caught selling drugs and stealing money.

And Chad found himself the target of a federal investigation.

The DEA is notoriously secretive. They wouldn't tell us anything about his case.

So instead, we met with drug cops.

I started hearing things about the way he would do his cases.

Chad's group never did wiretiles, but yet they seized huge amounts of narcotics.

The story of Chad Scott says a hell of a lot about the DEA.

You look at his career and you might see the greatest agent in the South, or you might see a criminal.

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