Author: Jesse

The now-former head of a taxpayer-funded nonprofit spent public money on vacations to Hawaii, Florida and Las Vegas for him and his wife, paid for massages and exercise equipment, made prohibited political contributions and channeled nearly $2 million to a for-profit company where he is listed as the president and majority shareholder, the Utah state auditor alleges in a new report.

Auditor Tina Cannon recommended that the matter be referred to the Utah attorney general to potentially recoup the funds and possible legal action against the executive, who resigned from the nonprofit — iMpact Utah — in March, as the audit was beginning.

The alleged misappropriation, which occurred over the course of two years, went undetected because the Office of Economic Opportunity and Utah State University, which administered the taxpayer grants, had no oversight mechanisms in place. An anonymous whistleblower called the auditor’s tipline early this year, alerting them to the problems.

David Adams, a special projects senior auditor in Cannon’s office, said in an interview that, while the program was “well-intentioned … there’s just never been a mechanism there to have any accountability. … Because of that lack of oversight, the president there at iMpact Utah was able to do whatever he wanted with that money, unfortunately, and he chose to do inappropriate things.”

The Tribune is not naming the iMpact executive at this time because he has not had an opportunity to respond to the audit and has not been charged with a crime.

The Manufacturing Extension Partnership, created by the federal government to bolster the nation’s manufacturing sector, receives a mix of state and federal funding. The state funding of about $2.8 million annually was directed by the Legislature to pass through the Governor’s Office of Economic Opportunity (GOEO) to Utah State University, which awarded it to entities, including iMpact Utah, Inc.

The nonprofit offered subsidized training and business services designed to bolster Utah manufacturers. The services generated additional revenue for iMpact Utah.

But state auditors found that in 2023 and 2024, more than $2.1 million of public funds were paid to a private for-profit company, Vereo Impact, Inc. The former director and CEO of iMpact Utah is listed as the president of Vereo, and auditors said he is the majority shareholder.

Of those iMpact funds, $400,000 was used by Vereo, $103,409 was used to pay off a Vereo debt, $26,165 was used to purchase assets for the company and about $50,000 was used for operating expenses, said auditors.

Some of the Vereo employees were doing work for iMpact Utah, Adams said, but there were no invoices to document the work. And from 2022 to 2024, as head of iMpact, the former CEO received “exorbitant” bonuses, totaling $525,000 over a three-year period, auditors said, putting his annual compensation at $518,823 — more than double the average for similarly sized nonprofit executives.

There was no functional board of directors at the time to approve the compensation, said Cannon.

On top of that, the audit said, the iMpact Utah executive put $35,715 on his company credit card to pay for vacations to Hawaii, Las Vegas, Florida and elsewhere for himself and his wife. Charges on the card included airfare, snorkeling trips, luaus and Las Vegas shows.

He also put $2,563 on the card for other personal expenses, including massages, Amazon purchases, a haircut and exercise equipment, according to auditors. He also made nearly $10,000 in political donations to state candidates and one federal candidate, which nonprofits are prohibited from making under IRS regulations.

State campaign disclosure records reveal a portion of the total — $6,563 to Gov. Spencer Cox’s campaign and more than $517 to a challenger, Carson Jorgensen. The federal donation the auditors reported does not appear in federal campaign disclosures, although Cannon said they documented the contribution.

Laurel Price, Cox’s former campaign manager, noted two of the contributions were listed under the name of the executive, which would be allowed — unless the source of the money came from the nonprofit.

“If a donation came from a prohibited source, the Cox campaign’s policy is to return the funds immediately,” Price said.

Cannon’s office recommended that USU and GOEO work with the Utah attorney general’s office to attempt to claw back whatever funds possible and refer the matter to the appropriate law enforcement agencies. Both USU and GOEO agreed with the recommendation in written responses to the audit.

GOEO Director Jefferson Moss said that it has limited authority to oversee legislatively-directed funds once they pass to a sub-recipient — in this case, once they went from USU to iMpact Utah.

USU said in its response to the audit that nothing in the state contract directing the funds to iMpact Utah required monitoring of how the funds were used.

Cannon said that, because of the limited two-year window of the audit, it is possible that other funds were misappropriated before the malfeasance was brought to auditors’ attention.

“The biggest problem with an office with limited resources, is … we have to have a clear time period that we’re looking at,” Cannon said. “Could there be more? Yeah, you bet there could be more.”

It could also point to a larger problem in government, because the Legislature approves “lots” of directed grants — the exact number is unknown — and there is little oversight of those funds. Last year, the Legislature enacted a law requiring entities that disburse more than $25,000 in state funds to nonprofit entities to notify the auditor so there can be proper oversight.

The auditor’s office was not made aware of iMpact Utah’s issues until it received a whistleblower tip.

“I have oversight over government entities, but once it gets funneled to a not-for-profit, then there is less and less restriction and less and less oversight available in those types of situations,” Cannon said.

In a letter to legislators accompanying the audit, Cannon said that lawmakers directing grants to specific entities “contributed to the lack of oversight in this case” and is part of a growing pattern.

She recommended the Legislature apply similar requirements to state matching grants as are used for federal funds: conduct regular reviews of expenditures; track recipients’ compliance with IRS regulations; require recipients to report annually to the auditor’s office; and award funds as reimbursements for services rather than providing a lump sum up front.

Adams said that iMpact Utah is “not long for the world” at this point, with creditors “circling” to reclaim money they paid. Cannon said that the unfortunate part is that there were some good things happening at the nonprofit, but “when there’s a lack of oversight that allows this type of behavior, it will destroy not only his job, but the job of people who were actually doing a good job.”

Correction, 10:20 a.m. • This story has been updated to indicate that Jefferson Moss is the director of the Governor’s Officer of Economic Opportunity and has included a statement from Spencer Cox’s campaign manager.

Any time a football program changes hands, alterations are expected. It’s the norm for new staffs to craft things to their liking, by installing new schemes, bringing in new players and letting old players move on.

That cycle has happened at Utah State a few times in recent years.

When Matt Wells left Utah State for Texas Tech and Gary Andersen took over, the Aggies dramatically shifted their style of play — on offense especially — even with star quarterback Jordan Love still on the roster.

When Blake Anderson took over for Gary Andersen a couple of years laters, the pendulum swung again, and in 2021 USU football hardly resembled what had come before, via new schemes and a rash of transfers added.

So when Bronco Mendenhall was announced as the latest head coach of the Aggies in December, expectations were that things were going to change.

Few probably had an idea of just how much, though.

Over the last seven months, Utah State has added 70 new players to its roster for this upcoming season and has signed 87 new players in total when you count players who have since left home to serve missions for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

In the House settlement era of college football, which caps rosters at 105 players, that means that two thirds of Utah State’s roster for 2025 has never played a game for the Aggies. For as much turnover that happened when Andersen and Anderson took over the program, Mendenhall has taken it another level.

Utah State football is indeed in a new era, an unprecedented one at that. Because of that, Mendenhall is quick to note things are just barely at their beginning for Utah State under its new head coach,

“Really excited for the beginning of a new era that again, is the beginning,” Mendenhall said Tuesday morning at Utah State football media days in Logan. “We’re not midway, we’re not at the end, we’re at the beginning. And so I’m anxious for that, and all that comes with it.

“I’m also super passionate about transitions and taking on hard things and taking on organizations and helping them become better. And I believe that’s happened at each place that I’ve been able to coach, and that’s something that’s really important to both my wife, Holly and I. That not only is the program better, but the community itself, the conduct of our players, the institution itself, the grades, which have already been the best in school history since we’ve arrived (at Utah State).

“Change matters to me. Seeing young people change, seeing institutions change, seeing the community become better because of a football team. Some don’t think that’s possible. I think it’s ideal, and it’s totally worth pursuing. So that’s what you can expect. At least as a starting point.”

With so much change, over such a short period of time, what can really be expected of Utah State this fall?

Realistically, the answer to that question won’t be determined until the games themselves, and wins and losses might not even be a good indication when it is all said and done considering the Aggies’ schedule, which includes two road SEC games, plus road trips to Hawaii, UNLV and Fresno State in conference play.

But, we do know that the Aggies won’t be what they were in 2024 or even in previous years. There are too many different players, many of whom are expected to start after the Aggies returned only four starters from 2024.

“You cannot, in this era (of college football), look at the past and say that that team is going to be the same team as they were a year ago, unless you kept the same players,” defensive coordinator Nick Howell said.

The Aggies believe they’ve thrived as a team despite the roster reconstruction. Or maybe because of it.

“I feel like we became a team very quickly,” returning linebacker John Miller said. “We do a lot of hard things together, and that kind of brings us close together, which I really like. … Everybody on the team melds together greatly. It’s a great team. I love being a part of it. Honestly. It’s a team that I feel like knows how to work hard and we know how to get through tough things. So I’m really excited for us this year. Truly.”

Miller wasn’t alone in his belief.

“I don’t think I’ve seen this many new players come together, but the crazy thing is this is the most meshed well together team I’ve ever been a part of,” wide receiver Braden Pegan, a transfer from UCLA, said. “Which I think is an amazing thing for this program.”

The reason for the surprising camaraderie, Pegan believes, is due to Mendenhall and his approach to football.

“I think it’s his dynamic that he has set up around here,” Pegan said. “I think everybody is bought in. And that’s honestly luck of the draw too, getting all these guys that want to buy in. At a lot of programs you won’t see that.”

Does that mean that the Aggies are going to surprise people in Year 1 under Mendenhall? Will USU be better than anyone could’ve have predicted, and not just simply because any predictions regarding the remade program were nothing better than shots in the dark? Is it possible for Utah State’s previously middling program to turn itself around in a single year?

“I think the speed of it (turning around a program) is dependent upon the people,” Howell said. “And so it will go as fast as we bring in the right players and the right coaches to to have the success that we need to have. Now, do we know? We’re not going to know until we play.”

There sure is a lot of belief and optimism right now in Logan, though. Which hadn’t been the case for awhile.

Utah Gov. Spencer Cox instructed the Utah Homeless Services Board on Tuesday to accelerate their work in response to President Donald Trump’s executive order overturning the federal government’s “housing first” approach to homelessness.

In a letter joined by Utah Senate President Stuart Adams and House Speaker Mike Schultz, Cox charged board members, which include Salt Lake City Mayor Erin Mendenhall and State Homeless Coordinator Wayne Niederhauser, to “fulfill the President’s executive order and uphold public safety.”

“Utah must remain a place where lives can be meaningfully changed, not where chaos and disorder thrive,” the letter said. “President Trump’s executive order reinforces what many of us in Utah have long understood: that effective solutions to homelessness require both accountability and support.”

What is in Trump’s order?

On Thursday, Trump issued an executive order requiring agencies to facilitate the use of state civil commitment to move homeless individuals into long-term institutional care if they pose a risk to themselves or others because of severe mental illness or substance use disorder.

The presidential action mandated departments to prioritize grant money for states that crack down on illicit drug use and urban camping; that require outpatient treatment or civil commitment for high-risk individuals; and that track sex offenders who are homeless.

Agency heads will also be authorized to increase funding for drug courts and mental health courts while halting funds to supervised drug consumption programs and ending support for “housing first” initiatives that don’t promote recovery.

“(C)hronic homelessness is directly tied to mental illness, substance abuse, and the loss of human dignity,” Cox’s letter stated. “The President’s historic directive puts federal agencies in line with Utah’s approach and fosters a renewed national commitment to public safety and order.”

What’s next for the homeless board?

Cox called on board members to accelerate work on the state’s proposed sprawling 30-acre, 1,200-bed “central campus,” with wrap-around homeless services, which has yet to break ground amid struggles to find and purchase land.

The facility, which the letter describes as “a transformative, services-based homeless campus,” would prioritize “recovery, treatment, and long-term outcomes, not just emergency shelter,” by integrating sobriety programs and life-skills classes.

Until a final location is identified, the board has refrained from making large funding requests to the Legislature. But eventually, if the campus is to look like successful models in San Antonio, Texas, and Reno, Nevada, then it could require as much as $25 million in ongoing funds from the state budget.

“We are moving quickly to advance a service-rich homeless campus, streamline reporting, and improve outcomes across the system,” said Niederhauser, the State Homeless Coordinator. “Together, we remain focused on making homelessness in Utah rare, brief, and non-recurring.”

Utah’s top elected leaders also asked the board to identify gaps in the state’s homelessness response, develop policy recommendations for the upcoming legislative session, streamline service provider paperwork and ensure that funding requests clearly align with the president’s executive order.

In a statement to the Deseret News, Randy Shumway, the chair of the Utah Homeless Services Board, said that board members “firmly stand” with Cox, Adams and Schultz “in prioritizing a homelessness system rooted in treatment, accountability, dignity, and long-term recovery.”

“Compassion and accountability are not opposing forces but essential partners,” Shumway said. “We support the state’s call to invest in effective solutions — ones that treat root causes and restore dignity. We can no longer afford half-measures, permissive approaches, or fragmented responses to a crisis this urgent. Utah will lead in delivering a homelessness response that rescues and provides sustained healing for those who are suffering.”

The letter highlighted the work of newly appointed Salt Lake City Police Chief Brian Redd to “restore safety and order in our capital city,” and said law enforcement is an essential piece of the state’s homelessness response system.

The Utah Homeless Services Board must provide recommendations and legislative proposals to the governor and legislative leadership prior to Sept. 30, the letter said.

The now-former head of a taxpayer-funded nonprofit spent public money on vacations to Hawaii, Florida and Las Vegas for him and his wife, paid for massages and exercise equipment, made prohibited political contributions and channeled nearly $2 million to a for-profit company where he is listed as the president and majority shareholder, the Utah state auditor alleges in a new report.

Auditor Tina Cannon recommended that the matter be referred to the Utah attorney general to potentially recoup the funds and possible legal action against the executive, who resigned from the nonprofit — iMpact Utah — in March, as the audit was beginning.

The alleged misappropriation, which occurred over the course of two years, went undetected because the of’s Office of Economic Opportunity and Utah State University, which administered the taxpayer grants, had no oversight mechanisms in place. An anonymous whistleblower called the auditor’s tipline early this year, alerting them to the problems.

David Adams, a special projects senior auditor in Cannon’s office, said in an interview that, while the program was “well-intentioned … there’s just never been a mechanism there to have any accountability. … Because of that lack of oversight, the president there at iMpact Utah was able to do whatever he wanted with that money, unfortunately, and he chose to do inappropriate things.”

The Tribune is not naming the iMpact executive at this time because he has not had an opportunity to respond to the audit and has not been charged with a crime.

The Manufacturing Extension Partnership, created by the federal government to bolster the nation’s manufacturing sector, receives a mix of state and federal funding. The state funding of about $2.8 million annually was directed by the Legislature to pass through the Governor’s Office of Economic Opportunity (GOEO) to Utah State University, which awarded it to entities, including iMpact Utah, Inc.

The nonprofit offered subsidized training and business services designed to bolster Utah manufacturers. The services generated additional revenue for iMpact Utah.

But state auditors found that in 2023 and 2024, more than $2.1 million of public funds were paid to a private for-profit company, Vereo Impact, Inc. The former director and CEO of iMpact Utah is listed as the president of Vereo, and auditors said he is the majority shareholder.

Of those iMpact funds, $400,000 was used by Vereo, $103,409 was used to pay off a Vereo debt, $26,165 was used to purchase assets for the company and about $50,000 was used for operating expenses, said auditors.

Some of the Vereo employees were doing work for iMpact Utah, Adams said, but there were no invoices to document the work. And from 2022 to 2024, as head of iMpact, the former CEO received “exorbitant” bonuses, totaling $525,000 over a three-year period, auditors said, putting his annual compensation at $518,823 — more than double the average for similarly sized nonprofit executives.

There was no functional board of directors at the time to approve the compensation, said Cannon.

On top of that, the audit said, the iMpact Utah executive put $35,715 on his company credit card to pay for vacations to Hawaii, Las Vegas, Florida and elsewhere for himself and his wife. Charges on the card included airfare, snorkeling trips, luaus and Las Vegas shows.

He also put $2,563 on the card for other personal expenses, including massages, Amazon purchases, a haircut and exercise equipment, according to auditors. He also made nearly $10,000 in political donations to state candidates and one federal candidate, which nonprofits are prohibited from making under IRS regulations.

State campaign disclosure records reveal a portion of the total — $6,563 to Gov. Spencer Cox’s campaign and more than $517 to a challenger, Carson Jorgensen. The federal donation the auditors reported does not appear in federal campaign disclosures, although Cannon said they documented the contribution.

Cannon’s office recommended that USU and GOEO work with the Utah attorney general’s office to attempt to claw back whatever funds possible and refer the matter to the appropriate law enforcement agencies. Both USU and GOEO agreed with the recommendation in written responses to the audit.

GOEO Director Jefferson Moss said that it has limited authority to oversee legislatively-directed funds once they pass to a sub-recipient — in this case, once they went from USU to iMpact Utah.

USU said in its response to the audit that nothing in the state contract directing the funds to iMpact Utah required monitoring of how the funds were used.

Cannon said that, because of the limited two-year window of the audit, it is possible that other funds were misappropriated before the malfeasance was brought to auditors’ attention.

“The biggest problem with an office with limited resources, is … we have to have a clear time period that we’re looking at,” Cannon said. “Could there be more? Yeah, you bet there could be more.”

It could also point to a larger problem in government, because the Legislature approves “lots” of directed grants — the exact number is unknown — and there is little oversight of those funds. Last year, the Legislature enacted a law requiring entities that disburse more than $25,000 in state funds to nonprofit entities to notify the auditor so there can be proper oversight.

The auditor’s office was not made aware of iMpact Utah’s issues until it received a whistleblower tip.

“I have oversight over government entities, but once it gets funneled to a not-for-profit, then there is less and less restriction and less and less oversight available in those types of situations,” Cannon said.

In a letter to legislators accompanying the audit, Cannon said that lawmakers directing grants to specific entities “contributed to the lack of oversight in this case” and is part of a growing pattern.

She recommended the Legislature apply similar requirements to state matching grants as are used for federal funds: conduct regular reviews of expenditures; track recipients’ compliance with IRS regulations; require recipients to report annually to the auditor’s office; and award funds as reimbursements for services rather than providing a lump sum up front.

Adams said that iMpact Utah is “not long for the world” at this point, with creditors “circling” to reclaim money they paid. Cannon said that the unfortunate part is that there were some good things happening at the nonprofit, but “when there’s a lack of oversight that allows this type of behavior, it will destroy not only his job, but the job of people who were actually doing a good job.”

Note to readers • This story is breaking and will be updated. This story has been updated to indicate that Jefferson Moss is the director of the Governor’s Officer of Economic Opportunity.

Utah is the third-driest state in the United States. From the parched Colorado Plateau to the even drier Great Basin, it’s almost all desert.

In high school, I rowed with Utah’s only club crew team. Each spring, we drove our boats to the Great Salt Lake—the only place for miles with enough water to row on. The lake’s salty water stank of sulfur, which made everything it touched stink, too. Thousands of brine flies swarmed our docks. They’d carpet my arms so thickly that when I looked down, I’d see more flies than flesh.

But away from shore, I could spot beauty all around. The water would stretch so far in every direction that I couldn’t see the land beyond. Unless the wind picked up, the lake lay flat, gleaming, and blue. Mountains pierced its surface and cloned themselves in the ripples below. They looked like spinning tops—stretching from peaks to flared bases, then winnowing back to sharp points.

I noticed with awe how the lake teemed with life. I’d look down, and what I thought were floating flakes of sediment would begin to swim. They were brine shrimp: crustaceans that carry the Great Salt Lake’s ecosystem on their centimeter-long backs. Waterfowl would fill the sky, diving to dip their beaks and spindly legs into my wake.

The year I left for college, one of my sisters joined the crew team. I hoped we could bond over rowing on the lake. But that November, a former teammate called me. She said our team wasn’t rowing on the Great Salt Lake that next year; that they might never row on it again. Utah was in a water shortage, and the lake had shriveled to its lowest levels on record.

The shoreline had receded so much that our docks became unusable. Most boats had been hauled out of the water as it crept down their bows. The boats that remained lay beached in a dry marina—a ghost town where, just months before, I’d rowed every afternoon.

The Great Salt Lake sits 20 miles northwest of my house in Salt Lake City. You see it whenever you look at the horizon: a streak of silver separating land and sky.

From its perch, the Great Salt Lake sustains all of northern Utah. Moisture evaporates from the lake and falls in the nearby mountains (mostly as snow, giving Utah fabulous skiing). Come spring, this water trickles through Utah’s valleys and returns to the lake. On its way, it hydrates the plants, animals, and people along the nearby Wasatch Front, home to Salt Lake City.

When I first visited the Great Salt Lake on a fifth-grade field trip, it covered 1,700 square miles. Though I didn’t know it yet, this was half of its size 30 years before, when my mom was a fifth-grader. In the 1980s, Great Salt Lake spread over 3,300 square miles—larger than Rhode Island and Delaware combined.

Now, my youngest sisters are in fifth grade. And again, the lake has halved, dropping to 888 square miles in 2022. Without meaningful change, the Great Salt Lake will vanish within my lifetime.

This would spell catastrophe for Utah. The New York Times says the Great Salt Lake’s disappearance would constitute an “environmental nuclear bomb.” Water supplies would dwindle, and ecosystems would perish: from the brine shrimp in the lake to the over 10 million migratory birds that refuel in its marshes each year. Utah’s population may vanish with them.

When Utah industrialized, mines began dumping waste into the lake, polluting it with heavy metals like arsenic. As a terminal lake, the Great Salt Lake has inlets but no outlets other than evaporation. All the metals that have ever been poured into the Great Salt Lake have accumulated in its lakebed over time, with no way out.

Now, retreating water levels are exposing stretches of cracked, arsenic-laden lakebed. Windstorms have begun to blow across the lakebed, picking up clouds of poisonous dust. They carry it into the Wasatch Front, which houses 2.8 million of Utah’s 3.4 million residents.

Even inhaling ordinary dust can be devastating to health. Arsenic-laced dust storms from the Great Salt Lake’s dried lakebed carry an extra hazard. When these storms arrive, the air will turn toxic. Millions of Utahns along the Wasatch Front—including my entire family—will breathe poison.

This dust won’t kill you overnight, but the EPA links it to “asthma, heart attacks, and premature death.” Similar disasters have happened to other lakes, and nearby cities have not fared well. After Owens Lake, a saline lake in California, dried up and toxic dust storms started, cities along its coast emptied. The arid lakebed filled the surrounding air with PM10—tiny particles that have serious health effects if inhaled. Owens Lake became the nation’s largest single PM10 source, spreading pollution across the West. The Great Salt Lake is 15 times larger than Owens Lake ever was. Its collapse would be far more catastrophic.

It terrifies me, thinking of what would happen to my community if the Great Salt Lake vanished. My little siblings all have severe asthma, and two live with just 60 percent of normal lung capacity.

When my brother visited the Great Salt Lake on his own fifth-grade field trip, his rowdy class kicked up dust on the lakeshore, which plunged him into a severe asthma attack. Fortunately, he had his inhaler ready. But what would happen to my siblings if these dust storms invade Salt Lake City? And the air outside his house? Could he survive in a place where he could barely breathe?

If the lake fully dries up, I know my family has the means to leave Utah, and we will.

This is what happened to the cities around Owens Lake. Those who could afford it fled. The less fortunate stayed and dealt with the consequences.

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The next few years will determine the Great Salt Lake’s fate. Utah faces two options. We can respond with apathy and watch as the lake disappears, along with many of Utah’s residents. Or we can wake up to the danger we’re in. Enact substantive legislation, offer water conservation incentives, and appropriate money to save the lake.

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Saving the Great Salt Lake won’t be easy. The University of Utah estimates that 33 percent more water must flow into the lake each year for it to reach healthy water levels by the 2050s. This means Utahns will have to make sacrifices. We must curb municipal water use—by getting rid of water-intensive lawns, for example.

Utah agriculture, the largest consumer of water from the lake, must also reduce its water intake. It likely won’t do this on its own, so Utah’s legislature must take action. Utah’s government must tighten water use regulations around thirsty crops like alfalfa, and invest state funds to lease water rights back from agricultural groups so more water can flow to the lake.

These actions will be politically charged and economically costly in the short term. But they will ensure that Utah, its people, and its industries last far into the future.

I worry that my siblings may never know the Utah I know. My littlest sisters are 10 years younger than me, and a lot can change in a decade. Will they ever ski through lake-effect snow, or find themselves enveloped in the brilliant sunsets you only see rowing on the Great Salt Lake?

I pray they will. But more than that, I count on myself and other Utahns to take action.

Adelaide Parker

Adelaide Parker is a 2025 Puffin student writing fellow focusing on education for The Nation. She is a writer and student at Harvard College from Salt Lake City, Utah, majoring in social studies and philosophy. She works as a co-op for The Boston Globe.

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Former University of Utah basketball standouts Gabe Madsen and Lawson Lovering will reportedly be in an NBA training camp this fall.

Madsen has agreed to an Exhibit 10 contract with the Miami Heat while Lovering has done the same with the Memphis Grizzlies, according to Draft Express director of scouting Jon Kepchevich.

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Both players went undrafted this offseason before finding opportunities to showcase their talents in NBA Summer League action.

Madsen, the Utes’ all-time 3-point makes leader, played for the Golden State Warriors Summer League team in both Salt Lake City and Las Vegas earlier this month.

In six games, he averaged 9.2 points, 1.8 rebounds, 1.8 assists and 1.0 steals per game while shooting 50% from the floor and 51.8% from 3-point range.

That included a 22-point effort in a win over the Utah Jazz Summer League team. Madsen made six 3-pointers in that matchup.

Lovering, meanwhile, averaged 3.4 points, 3.1 rebounds, 1.3 offensive rebounds and 0.6 blocks in seven games played for the Grizzlies in Summer League. He shot 62.5% from the floor.

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The 7-foot center had his best effort in a 10-point, six-rebound, one-block game in a victory over the Portland Trail Blazers.

An NBA Exhibit 10 contract is a non-guaranteed, one-year deal that essentially is a training camp invite, allowing teams to get a closer look at a player and giving the player the opportunity to earn either a roster spot or two-way contract.

An Exhibit 10 contract, which is often for the league minimum salary, can be converted to a two-way deal before the start of the NBA regular season.