Billion Dollar Whale

by Tom Wright

  Now married to Jesselynn Chuan Teik Ying and with a two-month-old baby boy, Low kept his new family hidden. He forced Chuan to remain for days on the boat or at the apartments, leaving only for shopping trips or endless Chinese meals in malls.

  Low struggled with his pared-down life. He hated being alone in a room, even for a few minutes, and relied on high-end consultants, including London-based Concierge, to provide a full-time staff of more than forty for the boat, many of them Westerners, including a pediatric doctor, nannies, and cooks. Locked out of the global banking system, he depended on Chuan and others to pay.

  There were signs of stress; he slept even less than normal—just a few hours a night—and wore a sleep-apnea mask. On one family outing to Bangkok’s aquarium, he raced through the exhibits in minutes, eager to get back to never-ending business calls.

  He had not hosted a major event since the dinner on the Equanimity off the coast of South Korea in November 2015. But after a miserable period, Low was regaining confidence. He thought himself untouchable. A huge party, attended by big-name U.S. entertainers, would be the perfect way to show he was back in the game.

  As 2016 came to a close, Low had struck a chord of optimism in a New Year message to close friends and family.

  “2016 was the Perfect Storm; but the calmness and resolve of our Captain, led his loyal Sailors whom placed their lives with utmost trust in his leadership weathered the storm,” Low wrote on WeChat, the Chinese messaging app. It was not clear whether Low was referring to himself, or perhaps Prime Minister Najib, but the intention was clear: He was ready for a fight.

  Low’s grandiose message was a rallying call to those closest to him, associates like Seet Li Lin, who was holed up in Hong Kong, and Jasmine Loo and Casey Tang, former 1MDB executives who, like Low, also had been forced into exile from Malaysia. With international authorities closing in, Low had to keep them on his side.

  And what better way to put himself back on the map than with a blowout celebration? With New York and Las Vegas off-limits, he’d have to make the party come to him. In typical fashion, he lined up some notable, if B-list, performers: Nelly, Ne-Yo, Nicole Scherzinger, and others.

  We thought the event would be held on the Equanimity. Singapore had seized Low’s Bombardier jet, and he was keen to ensure the Equanimity didn’t suffer a similar fate. The yacht had sailed down to Australian waters. Every now and again, the captain appeared to switch off the transponder, making the boat virtually impossible to track. Then, in late 2016, the yacht appeared in Phuket, berthed at the luxury Ao Po Grand Marina on the northeastern coast.

  We visited the marina in February 2017, but the Equanimity had left the facility only days earlier. It hadn’t gone far, just down the coast, where it anchored offshore. We thought of ways to get out to the boat to view the party in person. But our tip had been wrong. The party would take place in Bangkok.

  Located on the banks of Bangkok’s Chao Phraya, the AVANI Riverside was a curious choice for Low to throw an event. The hotel was on the far side of the river, almost an hour’s drive from the city center. But Low had a reason for choosing such a demure spot: He wanted the event to go unnoticed.

  One of the party’s planners, April McDaniel, an American who had done work for Tepperberg and Strauss, the U.S. nightclub owners, was clear about the need for secrecy given Low’s very public troubles.

  “With what’s going on, they’ve got to be careful,” McDaniel, who had started her own event-organizing company, told some guests.

  It was clear the musical performers didn’t really care about Low’s track record, despite the U.S. lawsuits and extensive coverage in the Journal and other newspapers. For many of them, it was just another easy paycheck, courtesy of Low.

  Nicole Scherzinger, the former lead singer of the Pussycat Dolls, who was due to perform after a dinner for more than fifty guests, had been picked up by a chauffeured car at the airport. On the drive into Bangkok, where Low still had some clout, he had organized for police to escort Scherzinger’s vehicle through the city’s infamously snarled traffic.

  As the guests were seated for dinner, Low walked in accompanied by Swizz Beatz, the producer who had been by his side for years. Sitting around the room were his family, rich Thais, Chinese business associates, and a few celebrities.

  After dinner, at around 9 p.m., Low grabbed a shot of Patrón tequila from the bar and surveyed his party. It was a pale imitation of his 2012 birthday in Vegas. There was no DiCaprio, no marquee names like Britney Spears. But he could still attract a crowd. And Swizz Beatz, of course, was on hand to help. The producer took a microphone and urged everyone to down their tequila shots, as the DJ turned up the music and guests filed out into an adjoining space-themed room for the after-party.

  The party was ostensibly to celebrate the birthday of Low’s elder brother, Szen, and a famous Chinese singer, Jane Zhang, was on hand to belt out “Happy Birthday.” The whole Low clan gathered around as models brought out a birthday cake. Then, Nicole Scherzinger took to the stage to perform three songs. She was followed by two hour-long sets by singers Nelly and Ne-Yo.

  Around midnight Cyber Japan, a group of female performers from Japan, emerged. As foam from a machine covered the dancers, they removed their clothes to reveal bikinis. Afterward, models who had been paid to attend jumped into the hotel’s pool, inviting guests to join them.

  Low smiled as he looked on, a glass of whisky in his hand.

  For years, corrupt rulers have been looting their states; Prime Minister Najib Razak was just the latest in a line that stretches back decades—to the leaders overthrown in the Arab Spring of 2011, and, even further, to Sani Abacha of Nigeria, Suharto of Indonesia, and Ferdinand Marcos of the Philippines.

  It’s tempting to see this kind of corruption as a disease afflicting poor countries, where kleptocrats live in splendor at the expense of their long-suffering populations. But Jho Low’s crime is a modern take on that old story. The money he took, by and large, was not stolen directly from Malaysia’s treasury or through padded government contracts. Instead, it was cash that 1MDB borrowed on international financial markets with the help of Goldman Sachs.

  In our global financial system, where trillions of dollars move daily and huge institutional funds are looking for the next great investment, sovereign wealth funds can raise inordinate sums at the drop of a hat—in 1MDB’s case, even without a track record or a plausible business plan. Low’s genius was he sensed that the world’s largest banks, its auditors, and its lawyers would not throw up obstacles to his scheme if they smelled profits. It’s easy to sneer at Malaysia as a cesspool of graft, but that misses the point. None of this could have happened without the connivance of scores of senior executives in London, Geneva, New York, Los Angeles, Singapore, Hong Kong, Abu Dhabi, and elsewhere. Low straddled both these worlds—Malaysia and the West—and he knew exactly how to game the system.

  Will Low ever be brought to justice? In 2018 the United States continued to build its criminal case against the Malaysian. As Low waited to see whether the Justice Department would come after him, he drew strength from the life of Marc Rich. It was Rich’s widow, Denise, who had given Low a big philanthropic award in October 2014, and Low had become obsessed with her deceased husband.

  A Belgian-born U.S. citizen, Rich had become a billionaire in the 1970s from his oil-trading business. In 1983, however, Rich was indicted by a U.S. grand jury on more than fifty criminal charges, including tax evasion and trading with Iran despite sanctions. The FBI put Rich on its most-wanted list, yet he lived the remainder of his life in a sumptuous villa on Lake Lucerne, Switzerland. That sounded pretty good to Low. As time passed without action from the Justice Department, Low became less careful. He allowed the Equanimity to sail out of Thai waters down to the Indonesian resort island of Bali. Robert Heuchling, the FBI agent, and his team were watching, and they flew to Indonesia, persuading local authorities to seize the yacht. Low had lost control of his last major asset bought with 1MDB
funds.

  He had one final play to make, and again he looked to his hero, Marc Rich. On his last day in office—January 20, 2001—President Bill Clinton had granted Rich a pardon. It was a controversial move that led to a debate about the nature of white-collar crime and its victims. The story also kindled hope in Low’s mind.

  Low and Najib were looking for ways to lobby the U.S. government over the 1MDB issue. Low cozied up to Elliott Broidy, a venture capitalist, Republican fund-raiser, and close associate of President Donald Trump. Broidy’s wife ran a law firm, and Low, in 2017, negotiated to pay tens of millions of dollars to the company in return for efforts to lobby the Justice Department to drop its probe. There was no sign of that happening, but the prime minister was making headway with America’s new leader.

  On September 12, 2017, President Trump welcomed Prime Minister Najib to the White House. Malaysia’s leader didn’t have a long journey. He was staying with his entourage at the Trump International Hotel, only two blocks away. In the meeting, in the Cabinet Room, just off the Oval Office, it became obvious the prime minister was hoping money, again, would buy him a way out of the situation.

  Under the austere gazes of George Washington and Benjamin Franklin, whose busts fill two alcoves at one end of the room, the prime minister and his large entourage took their seats as journalists filed in for a photo opportunity. Ranged on the other side of the room’s large, elliptical mahogany table sat President Trump and senior U.S. Cabinet members. Turning to Najib, the president mentioned the importance of trade.

  The prime minister saw his opening and began to talk about purchasing Boeing planes and General Electric jet engines from the United States. It was as if he wanted Trump to see what a trusted ally Malaysia could be, if only the Justice Department would stop meddling in the 1MDB affair.

  To make his case, he appropriated the global language of finance.

  “We come here with a very strong value proposition to put on the table,” Najib said as the cameras flashed on the two leaders.

  It sounded like something Jho Low might have said.

  Except that wasn’t the end of the story for Najib—or Low. Just as these pages were being finalized in May 2018, the prime minister suffered a stunning defeat. Now ninety-two years old, Mahathir Mohamad led a coalition of opposition parties to an unexpected, landslide election victory.

  At 2 a.m. on May 10, as the final election tally became apparent, Najib and Rosmah, surrounded by family and a few close associates at their private residence, were in shock. They had underestimated the anger of the Malaysian people.

  Some aides counseled Najib not to give up; perhaps he could use money to entice opposition lawmakers into his fold. There was fear, even within his own family, that Najib might call on the army. In the end, the prime minister’s resounding defeat meant that—finally—he was out of options.

  For the first time in the nation’s history, Malaysia’s opposition was in power.

  Many felt a new era was dawning, but there was a risk of more division and rancor. Mahathir had campaigned on a pledge to reopen the investigations into 1MDB, Jho Low, and Najib—and, in his first remarks, he made a broad threat.

  “Certain people were aiding and abetting a prime minister who the world condemns as a kleptocrat,” he said. “Certain heads must fall.”

  In the days after the election, Najib and his wife attempted to flee to Indonesia on a private jet, but protesters mobbed the airport after immigration officials leaked details of the flight plan. Prime Minister Mahathir blocked the escape. In the ensuing days, Najib, Rosmah, and Riza Aziz were called in for questioning by the anticorruption commission.

  Police raided Kuala Lumpur apartment units owned by Najib’s family and carted out $274 million worth of items, including 12,000 pieces of jewelry, 567 handbags, and 423 watches, as well as $28 million in cash.

  At 2:30 p.m. on July 3, 2018, exactly three years after the Wall Street Journal reported on the $681 million that Najib had received, anticorruption officials arrested the former prime minister from his Kuala Lumpur mansion. The next day, Najib appeared in court to face charges, smiling wanly at a pack of reporters as a group of senior police officers marched him through the doors. It was a remarkable fall from grace for a man who, only eight weeks earlier, had operated outside of the rules set for ordinary Malaysians.

  As a former prime minister, Najib was, however, spared the ignominy of handcuffs and the bright-orange prison garb usually forced onto corruption suspects. Instead, he stood motionless in a dark blue suit and maroon tie as he listened to the judge read out the charges: abuse of power—a reference to Najib’s brutal cover-up in mid-2015—and three counts of criminal breach of trust. Each of the four charges carried prison terms of up to twenty years. He pleaded not guilty and was granted bail of $247,000. The trial was scheduled for February 2019.

  As this book was going to press, Rosmah Mansor and Riza Aziz looked certain to be arrested.

  For Low, even as he maintained an outer serenity, the election defeat was a devastating blow. He had traveled to Thailand for election night and was preparing to pop champagne. Instead, he rushed to a suite in the Marriott hotel in Macau, where he summoned his extended family. They had spent the hours since the election in an increasingly hysterical atmosphere. Surely Low would be hunted?

  The group, including Jesselynn Chuan—who by now had had another baby boy with Low—as well as associates like Fat Eric, and his mother, father, and brother, were panic stricken. Low ordered special precautions, including the use of inconspicuous side doors to exit hotels and apartments.

  He began to plot an escape plan. Singapore announced it had sought a Red Notice from Interpol for Low’s arrest in 2016—an international arrest warrant that Thailand and China had not acted upon. Now, with Malaysia’s new government issuing its own arrest warrant for Low and exerting pressure on Beijing to get him sent back to face justice, Low knew his predicament was dire. Two burly Chinese nationals, who organized Low’s security, took center stage.

  In Macau, the men who greased Low’s movements in China sat tapping on computers while staff organized for Tumi suitcases, stuffed with cash and documents, to move in and out of the hotel suite. As Low’s family members huddled in the rooms, they helped pack up paperwork while aides wiped down countertops with alcohol to avoid fingerprints. The women sat around dressed in Gucci, eating fast food from McDonald’s while checking Instagram.

  After Macau, the family moved to Hong Kong, then to another Marriott in the gritty Chinese city of Shenzhen, before uprooting back to Hong Kong. Suddenly, about two weeks after the election, Low disappeared again, leaving his family behind. In the years since the scandal first broke, he had given up Las Vegas, London, and New York. Now, his only choice was to descend further into anonymity, presumably somewhere in China. Someone so gregarious seemed unsuited to an underground life. Maybe he’d paid adequate bribes to survive a little longer in China. Perhaps Beijing, valuing Low as a bargaining chip, would grant him safe harbor. But just in case, Low looked again to the sea. He pushed Jesselynn Chuan to join the prestigious Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club, acting as his front, while he began negotiations to purchase a 120-foot yacht. It would be no Equanimity. As the dragnet closed, Low, finally, appeared to be running out of options.

  Growing up on the Malaysian island of Penang, Jho Low was a smart student and a smooth talker with a keen awareness of his social status. In 1994, aged 13, Low persuaded his new friends at Chung Ling, a school in Penang, to vote him a class monitor.

  Founded by British colonialists in 1786, Penang’s capital, George Town, came to be dominated by Chinese immigrants, including Low’s grandfather, who arrived in the 1960s from China via Thailand. Low’s father, Larry, made millions through his investment in a garment company, allowing him to send Low and his siblings to private schools overseas. Courtesy of Alex Frangos

  In 1998, Jho Low left Malaysia to study at the prestigious Harrow School in England, where he joined Newlands house. Thi
s expensive education was part of a plan by Larry Low to vault his youngest child into the realm of the world’s wealthiest people. At Harrow, Jho Low’s school friends included the children of Middle Eastern and Asian royal families.

  At the Wharton School, Low befriended some of the richest students, many from important Middle Eastern families, who would prove useful to him later in life. With his father’s money, he also began to host extravagant parties. In November 2001, Low, then a sophomore, threw a party at Shampoo, one of Philadelphia’s top nightclubs, earning the nickname “Asian Great Gatsby.”

  As a student in London, Low got to know Riza Aziz, the stepson of Malaysian Deputy Prime Minister Najib Razak. Hailing from Malaysia’s foremost political dynasty, Najib and his second wife, Rosmah Mansor (Riza’s mother), were extremely powerful. After graduating from Wharton, Low deepened his ties to Najib and Rosmah, using his connections to bring Middle Eastern investment to Malaysia. Getty Images

  Rosmah Mansor was born to a middle-class family but grew up on the grounds of a royal palace and had the taste to match. Low knew that his way to power in Malaysia ran through Rosmah, and he set about procuring jewels and other luxuries for her. Getty Images

  In 2009 Najib became Malaysia’s prime minister. Low soon persuaded him to set up a sovereign wealth fund, known as 1Malaysia Development Berhad. Najib saw 1MDB as the way to modernize Malaysia, and to further bolster the country’s image with allies such as President Barack Obama. Getty Images

  Although Low took no formal role at the 1MDB fund, he made all the major decisions, working through proxies. His most trusted allies included Casey Tang Keng Chee, 1MBD’s executive director, and legal counsel Jasmine Loo Ai Swan. In the wake of allegations of fraud at the fund, Tang and Loo went on the run. Bank Negara Malaysia