Jho Low, Chen Zhi: Two fugitives, two ecosystems

THE region’s headline-grabbing fugitives, Chen Zhi and Jho Low, represent distinct strands of the South-east Asian illicit funds story, but strip away the mind-boggling digits and complex manoeuvres, and the truth remains: opportunity outpaced oversight.

Both men exploited systemic gaps. Both are linked to staggering sums of dirty money and powerful political allies. And now, both are on the run.

China-born Cambodian Chen, 38, grew out of Cambodia’s patronage networks and the underbelly of the region’s digital scam economy. His alleged empire veers into brutal territory, on a business model allegedly built not just on financial fraud, but also on forced labour and modern-day slavery.

His conglomerate, Prince Group, was identified by US authorities as one of “Asia’s largest transnational criminal organisations”.

That facade collapsed in October, when US and UK authorities sanctioned nearly 150 Prince Group entities and accused Chen of running industrial-scale scam centres responsible for billions in laundered funds.

While his money still moved through the banking system – everyone needs plumbing – the engine driving his cash flow, unlike Low’s, was human suffering.

Penang-born Low, 44, could not have shifted billions without politicians giving him the sheen of state purpose and sovereign backing. He wrapped his schemes in talk of mega development projects and Malaysia’s national interest to raise billions of dollars.

The ridiculous spending – the luxury yacht, the private jet, the Champagne fountains, parties with Leonardo Di Caprio – may have also been a show to convince the world he was a legitimate player with vast capital.

Low stress-tested the global financial system. He exploited major international banks, state fund 1Malaysia Development Berhad (1MDB) and other sovereign funds, bond markets and multi-jurisdictional compliance teams. His scheme involved Goldman Sachs, offshore centres and state-backed guarantees, to name a few. The fallout is still playing out a decade later.

It was institutional failure at the highest levels. He exposed how global finance can be manipulated. He pulled off the US$4.5 billion heist involving 1MDB because the very people meant to stop him, failed to do so.

The gaps between jurisdictions helped both men thrive. Financial hubs such as Hong Kong and Singapore make cross-border flows effortless, while regional regulation lags. And when everyone assumes someone else is doing the checking, it is no surprise that people like them slip through.

A decade after the 1MDB scandal imploded, Low, whose deeds toppled a government, remains uncaptured, despite an Interpol Red Notice since 2016.

Chen’s ecosystem has spilt far beyond Cambodia. The sharp rise in American law-enforcement action tracks directly with exploding US losses to South-east Asia-based scams.

Americans are estimated to have lost US$10 billion or more to scams in 2024 alone – a staggering jump in a single year. That is the true scale of the fraud economy built in the shadows of the system that sheltered Chen.

Put the two stories together and the point becomes blunt: Chen and Low are not just two criminals; they signal that the system of financial oversight may be fundamentally flawed. And the fix won’t come from simply piling on more regulations.

Low showed how traditional institutions can be dazzled into opening the door to corruption. Chen showed how the new digital economy can be twisted into a billion-dollar operation built on trafficking.

These are two different paths – with the same result.

The likely conclusion is an uneasy one. Champagne and cigars, Hermes and high-end property, glossy philanthropy and grand promises – in South-east Asia, if one dresses the pitch well enough, both doors stay wide open.