Billion Dollar Whale - Book Summary

Take a dive into the captivating saga of a Malaysian swindler.

Imagine this: a young, seemingly harmless lad, from far-off Malaysia, styles himself as an Asian prince and walks into the prestigious corridors of Wharton, America's eldest business school. He's not there to soak in the nitty-gritty of capitalism for an annual fee that runs into $50,000 — he's there to rub shoulders with the world's most affluent dynasties.

Jho Low, as he was named, succeeded in his mission. The relationships he developed in those hallowed halls of the Pennsylvanian establishment ushered him into a clandestine realm characterized by oil money, unregulated state investment funds, and nerve-racking financial transactions. Leveraging his network of political heavyweights, influencers, and the wealthy sheikhs, he slipped right into the heart of a cash-loaded venture. The mission was seemingly simple — enrich the common Malaysian folks.

The rest of the story, as they say, is history. As 2009 rolled in, one year post the crippling financial crash of 2008, a 28-year-old who was devoid of any substantive business experience orchestrated the greatest heist of the century. The heist's cost? A staggering billions! In our story, we'll unfold how he pulled off this brazen act, his motivations, and how his scheme was eventually foiled.

As you journey with us, you'll uncover

— how Jho Low masterfully developed his deceptive skills in his formative years;

— why the allure of Low's financial backing for his film was too enticing for Leonardo DiCaprio to resist; and

— the way Low's audacious act of theft led to the downfall of one of Asia's longest-standing ruling parties.

The tale of Jho Low's early years: where deception met aspiration.

Our narrative today isn't about Wall Street's cutthroat deals, as one might expect. Instead, we are taking you back to a tranquil borough in the northwest of London. It was 1998, and a timid, stout 17-year-old Malaysian lad named Jho Low embarked on his academic journey at one of England's renowned private institutions.

Established in 1572, Harrow School has been the educational abode for the children of global elites, costing nearly $16,000 per term. Among its distinguished alumni are seven British Prime Ministers, an Indian Prime Minister, and six Middle Eastern Monarchs. As Low commenced his studies, he found himself in the esteemed company of successors to the thrones of Brunei and Kuwait.

Mind you, Low was not just an ordinary lad. He was the offspring of a Chinese-Malaysian businessman who amassed his wealth in the garment industry during the 1990s. His family had a net worth of around $15 million and resided in a contemporary mansion nestled amidst palm trees in Penang, Malaysia. Yet, amidst the grandeur of Harrow, Low's wealth seemed minuscule. To cope with this disparity, he resorted to pretense.

In 1999, Low enticed his school buddies to visit him in Penang. But instead of hosting them at his home, he rented out a local billionaire's vacation estate and yacht. He replaced the owner's family portraits with images of his own family. His deception was a success — his friends started referring to him as the "prince of Malaysia," a title he never denied despite lacking any royal lineage.

But this prince was ambitious. In his final year, he daringly posed as a diplomat from the Brunei embassy to gain entry into an upscale London nightclub. He spent the night reveling with Premier League footballers and supermodels.

However, these daring escapades were not just spontaneous acts. They stemmed from a moral worldview that he adopted from his affluent schoolmates. One such friend, Riza Aziz, was the stepson of Malaysia's notoriously corrupt Defense Minister, Najib Razak.

Low was intrigued by Riza's accounts of Najib's corrupt practices. If everyone else was lining their pockets through corruption, why shouldn't he? He understood that the veneer of power and prestige, no matter how false, offered numerous opportunities. Following his graduation in 2000, Low set sail for the United States, in search of his own golden chance.

The rise of 'Asian Great Gatsby': Low's calculated social maneuvering opens doors in Abu Dhabi and the Gulf States.

Fast-forward to 2001, Jho Low found himself at the Wharton School in Philadelphia, an institution known for its business-centric curriculum. Despite being intelligent, he was nonchalant about academics, focusing instead on social networking. His extravagantly posh parties — fueled by champagne, complete with sushi served on the bodies of dancers clad only in lettuce-leaf bikinis — earned him the nickname "Asian Great Gatsby."

While other party-goers reveled in dance and high-end spirits, Low was content sipping on his Corona, attempting to hold awkward conversations. Partying wasn't for his pleasure; rather, it was a calculated move, supported by his father, Larry. Larry Low, himself a social striver, appreciated the worth of influential connections.

Much like Harrow, Wharton served as a gateway to mingle with the progenies of the most powerful dynasties globally. Larry ensured Jho had the funds needed to maintain this network, regularly wiring him money. These funds were used by Jho to hire lavish limos for weekend gambling escapades, accompanied by carefully chosen peers with deep pockets and advantageous connections.

Playing his role perfectly, Low would effortlessly spend hundreds of thousands of dollars at the roulette table, creating an impression of excessive wealth.

A prime figure in Low's social network was Hamad al-Wazzan, a Kuwaiti construction tycoon's son. Low perceived Wazzan as his passport to an influential circle of affluent Middle Eastern families.

In 2003, Low accompanied Wazzan on a trip across the Gulf States. By autumn, he found himself in the United Arab Emirates, or UAE. As he dined in a posh fish restaurant in Abu Dhabi, near the opulent Emirates Palace — a $3 billion emblem of the city's future glamour — he was orchestrating his entry into the city's power circle.

Low convinced Wazzan to arrange a meeting with Yousef al-Otaiba, an influential policy advisor whose clientele included Mohammed Bin Zayed al-Nahyan, the UAE's Crown Prince. Otaiba, like Low, hobnobbed with the rich and influential, despite having limited personal wealth. He traded in 'wasta', an Arabic term denoting "connections."

The meeting was a success — both Otaiba and Low, ambitious yet lacking substantial business experience, connected instantly. As they conversed that afternoon, the wheels were set in motion for an audacious plan, culminating in one of the most stunning heists of the century.

Low navigates the world of Gulf elites and Malaysian politicos to establish himself as a global dealmaker.

If you were to compile a list of influential figures in the Emirates in the early 2000s, Khaldoon Khalifa al-Mubarak would undeniably rank at the top. Mubarak, a close ally of the royal family, held an invaluable card — access to a vast fortune. As the director of Mubadala — a sovereign wealth fund set up in 2002 — he controlled $3.5 billion when Low crossed his path. The fund's strategy was straightforward: borrow against the UAE’s future oil revenues to diversify the economy by investing in burgeoning sectors like technology and real estate.

Having Mubarak on his contact list was Low's first golden opportunity. But let's take a step back to the time shortly after Low graduated from Wharton in 2005.

Low laid the foundation of his own venture, Wynton. It was conceived as a conduit for Middle Easterners to make investments in Malaysia. Based in the prestigious Petronas Towers — the prime address in Kuala Lumpur, the business, however, was sluggish. Low's attempts at winning over potential partners were ineffective, and his debts were escalating.

The tide turned in 2007 when Khazanah Nasional, the Malaysian sovereign wealth fund, was searching for investment partners for Iskandar, a "special economic zone" near the Malaysian-Singaporean border aimed to lure investments. Low reached out to his Gulf ally, Otaiba, who then contacted Mubarak. Shortly afterward, Low approached Khazanah with a $500 million investment offer, courtesy of Mubadala.

While the Iskandar deal materialized, the credit did not go to Low. Instead, he cleverly let Najib Razak — the Malaysian politician and stepfather to Low's friend from London — claim the accolade. With his eye on the prime minister's post, Najib couldn't pass up the chance to enhance his popularity among voters.

Low's strategy was a brilliant play — not only did he cement his stature as an international dealmaker with a track record of significant transactions, but he also secured a potent ally in Malaysia.

One hiccup in the deal was Khazanah's refusal to remunerate Low for orchestrating the deal. Incensed, Low vowed not to allow himself to be sidelined again. His subsequent endeavors would ensure his involvement — and compensation — were explicitly recognized.

Low leverages political shifts in 2008 to gain the Malaysian prime minister's trust, and an opportunity arises.

Following the 2007 Iskandar deal, Low found himself financially stretched, but with a strategic political alliance — courtesy of Najib Razak, an ascending star in Malaysian politics. However, this looked more like a long-term investment. While Najib's political power remained limited, Low needed an initiative of his own.

Influenced by Khaldoon al-Mubarak, Low considered launching a sovereign wealth fund, with himself at the helm. This ambitious plan required funding. The question was, where to find it?

The answer came in the form of Sultan Mizan Zainal Abidin, the monarch of Terengganu — one of Malaysia's 13 semi-autonomous regions. Nestled in the northeastern part of the country, close to the Thai border, the state was rich in oil and managed its own finances. A promising prospect was that Low had an established connection with Mizan — his sister was on the board of one of the construction companies involved in the Iskandar project.

Initially, Mizan was doubtful about Low's proposition to establish a fund borrowing money from international markets against Terengganu's anticipated oil revenues. Low won him over by enlisting Tim Leissner, a charismatic German-born banker and a celebrated dealmaker for Goldman Sachs in Asia. Together, they persuaded Mizan to allow Low to control $1.4 billion in bonds, underwritten by the state's future oil revenues.

Low was inching closer to his ambition — amassing wealth, power, and prestige. Unexpectedly, Mizan developed second thoughts and withdrew at the eleventh hour.

Fortuitously, destiny had other plans for Low.

In March 2008, Malaysia went to the polls. The United Malays National Organization (UMNO) — the party that had ruled the country since its independence in 1963 — anticipated a comfortable victory. They were in for a shock. Ethnic Indian and Chinese voters, weary of perceived second-class treatment, showed up in large numbers to support the center-left People's Justice Party.

Although UMNO narrowly evaded defeat, the party's top brass was unnerved. In a desperate attempt to maintain their grip on power, they initiated a reformation project. In March 2009, Prime Minister Abdullah Ahmad Badawi stepped aside, making way for an ambitious, proven leader — Najib Razak.

The dynamics had dramatically shifted in Low's favor. Najib needed funds to revive UMNO's declining popularity, and Low was ideally positioned to provide them. In return, all Low asked was control over his very own investment fund...

Low swiftly plots to exploit Malaysia's new sovereign wealth fund.

When Najib Razak ascended to the position of Malaysia's prime minister in 2009, he had two primary objectives. Firstly, he aspired to restore the credibility of UMNO. Secondly, he aimed to modernize Malaysia to keep pace with the "Asian Tigers" — nations like Singapore and Taiwan that experienced economic booms from the 1960s to the 1990s. Both projects called for significant funding.

Low managed to persuade Najib that the Middle East was the only credible source of investment, and he was the only man capable of facilitating it. Just a few months into his role as Prime Minister, Najib unveiled the creation of a new sovereign wealth fund — the 1Malaysia Development Berhad, or 1MDB, with a $1.4 billion bond issue to its name. Although Najib was the official chair, it was Low — conspicuously absent from the official documentation — who was the puppet master.

1MDB's stated purpose was to secure funds in the Gulf and divert them into ventures that would promote green energy, stimulate Malaysia's tourism industry, and create quality job opportunities for Malaysians from all ethnic backgrounds — hence, the slogan "1Malaysia." Its covert agenda was to serve as a piggy bank for UMNO, funding scholarships, affordable housing, and other projects in areas where the party required votes.

From Najib's perspective, it seemed like a perfect arrangement. However, as with anything that seems too good to be true, there was a catch — the establishment of 1MDB was the opening act in Low's audacious scheme.

In August 2009, Low played an old card — he hired a luxury yacht, altered the images on the sideboards, and played off the yacht as someone else's property. This time, however, the yacht was purported to belong to a significant Saudi royal, Prince Turki Bin Abdullah.

Low and Turki invited Najib for a voyage to the French Riviera. It was during this trip that Turki introduced Najib to his company, PetroSaudi International. Launched in the early 2000s, PetroSaudi International claimed to specialize in oil drilling. In reality, it was a facade enabling Turki, a lesser-known royal with little real influence, to capitalize on his family name's prestige.

Turki and Low proposed a potential partnership between PetroSaudi and 1MDB to Najib. PetroSaudi would offer the rights to oil deposits in Argentina and Turkmenistan, valued at $2.5 billion, while 1MDB would commit $1 billion in cash. Najib accepted the proposal.

Low had struck gold.

Low exploits a complacent banking system and malleable experts to execute his scheme.

Utilizing his unofficial position at the helm of 1MDB, Low populated the venture with his allies and collaborators. Installing them was a crucial step in his plan to mine this Malaysian goldmine.

In early September 2009, Low established a joint venture account with BSI, the Swiss private bank managing PetroSaudi's accounts. But there was a complication. When Low visited Geneva to discuss with BSI's account managers that he'd be receiving a slice of the $1 billion payment soon to be sent from Malaysia, they were taken aback.

That's understandable — to the bank, Low was not officially associated with the deal. A financial system with tighter regulations might have halted Low's plot. However, real-world banking is largely self-regulated. If a bank declines your dubious transactions, all you need to do is search for one that's willing. In Low's case, that accommodating bank was JP Morgan Suisse.

The next task was to locate a cooperative expert who would validate PetroSaudi’s oil assets. Low recruited Edward Morse, an independent energy analyst whose tenure at the US State Department added an aura of credibility. In exchange for $100,000, Morse confirmed that PetroSaudi held oil concessions in Argentina and Turkmenistan — contracts entitling it to extract oil worth $2.5 billion. What Morse conveniently omitted was that the majority of that oil was beneath the Caspian Sea and that Turkmenistan’s claim to it was contested by Azerbaijan.

As Low couldn't take a cut directly, he organized a strange payment of $700 million from 1MDB to another Swiss account purportedly owned by PetroSaudi. This transaction was labeled as a loan repayment, but nobody bothered to verify if such a loan existed. Had they done so, they would have discovered that the "loan" existed before the inception of the 1MDB and PetroSaudi joint venture!

On September 26, 1MDB's freshly established board authorized the transfer of $1 billion to the joint venture. A billion-dollar deal, which would typically take a year or more to finalize, was completed in less than a month. As one 1MDB employee observed, it was akin to consuming all of Shakespeare's works in an hour — many details had been conveniently omitted.

The process may have been dubious, but the outcome was indisputably clear: Low had redirected $700 million into his personal bank accounts. He and his co-conspirator had hit the jackpot.

Low splurges millions as he embarks on creating a sphere of influence in the United States.

Low's elaborate robbery wasn't a meticulously crafted Ponzi scheme or a feat of financial sorcery — it was a brazen theft. He simply moved millions of dollars from one account to another, which happened to be his. Neither the government, which provided the funds, nor the banks, which facilitated their transfer, tried to intervene.

So, what was his game plan — after all, someone was bound to notice a $700-million deficit in 1MDB's accounts, right? The truth is, Low didn't have a concrete plan. Things had progressed rapidly since the inception of 1MDB, and he had grown accustomed to thinking on his feet. He had faith in his ability to improvise his way out of any predicament that might come his way.

Moreover, he didn't think it was a time for careful planning — it was time to rejoice! What's the use of wealth if you can't show it off? It was this thought that propelled him back to the United States, the place where he had first mastered the art of the con.

Low quickly became one of the country’s most lavish high rollers — the term employed by casinos and clubs for their most extravagant spenders. Between October 2009 and 2010, Low squandered $85 million on alcohol, Playboy models, private jet trips to Vegas — you name it, he purchased it. When Low spotted the actress Lindsay Lohan in a Manhattan bar, he dispatched 23 bottles of Cristal champagne to her table. On another occasion, he amassed a $160,000 bill at a single Chelsea nightclub.

Did Low enjoy spending all this money? That’s hard to say, and frankly, it wasn't the primary point. During his university days, partying was a strategy for networking with individuals who could make him affluent. Now that he was wealthy, he was seeking something different — he aspired to govern a realm of influence.

This was the period when Low began to court celebrities. As whispers of his excessive spending spread, Hollywood stars and renowned musicians found themselves drawn into Low's gravitational pull. By the time of his November 2010 birthday party, an opulent poolside bash in Las Vegas complete with caged lions and tigers, Low was rubbing shoulders with the likes of Leonardo DiCaprio, Jamie Foxx, Usher, and OT Genasis.

What were their conversations about? Well, business — or more accurately, show business. Low had cooked up yet another ingenious idea.

Low makes a dramatic entry into showbiz by financing The Wolf of Wall Street.

Leonardo DiCaprio was already a Hollywood icon when he first crossed paths with Low in late 2010. The leading man in numerous blockbusters, including the mega-hit Titanic, DiCaprio was accustomed to the attention of admirers. Wherever he went, people offered him favors, which he saw as an entitlement rather than a luxury. But Low wasn't just another starstruck fan.

Sure, DiCaprio had amassed considerable wealth, but there was one thing he couldn't buy — independence from Hollywood’s studio machinery. That's exactly what Low presented him with.

In 2007, DiCaprio had outbid Brad Pitt for the rights to The Wolf of Wall Street, a memoir by the infamous swindler Jordan Belfort. In his book, Belfort vividly portrayed his exploits in the 1980s and 1990s, where he manipulated the stock market, embezzled millions, and indulged in narcotics with escorts. It was a wild tale of avarice and decadence ripe for a cinematic adaptation.

Hollywood had a history of cashing in on narratives of Wall Street debauchery, with films like American Psycho and Boiler Room turning in healthy box office returns. However, DiCaprio’s chosen scriptwriter, Terence Winter, had crafted a screenplay that seemingly glamorized Belfort’s exploits. Director Martin Scorsese was smitten by it, but none of Hollywood's stakeholders were prepared to put up $100 million for a graphic, R-rated film glorifying a criminal's life of excess.

Low, an outsider to Hollywood, had no such qualms. He set up a production company, Red Granite, and agreed to shoulder the expenses of producing The Wolf of Wall Street, offering DiCaprio total creative control to bring his vision to fruition.

The funds started flowing in April 2011 when Low transferred the initial sum — a whopping $1.17 million. A month later, he splashed out $3 million on a lavish party to introduce Red Granite to the movie world at Cannes, the location of the esteemed film festival. Low shelled out a million to hire Kanye West as the performer and flew Belfort to France to partake in the celebrations.

Belfort, a man well-versed in the mechanics of fraud, sensed something fishy. He confided in his wife that Low was orchestrating a "fucking scam" — no sane person would frivolously spend hard-earned money the way Low was. It was just a matter of time before Low's fraudulent machinations involving 1MDB were unmasked, much like Belfort's own had been. His intuition was spot on.

A disgruntled player blows the whistle on the 1MDB scam, exposing Low's machinations.

In 2012, Low executed another transaction. This time, his accomplice was the International Petroleum Investment Company, or IPIC, a sovereign wealth fund under the control of Abu Dhabi. On May 21, 1MDB transferred $1.75 billion to a faux company supposedly interested in acquiring Asian power plants. Just a few days later, $576 million of those funds found its way into a bank account linked to IPIC. Once again, it was a sham "loan repayment" that ultimately ended up in Low's coffers.

This influx provided the rest of the capital needed to finance The Wolf of Wall Street, placate Najib's Malaysian constituents, and keep Low's opulent lifestyle afloat. However, there was a catch — loose ends remained from Low's initial heist.

In 2009, Low had shelled out a hefty sum to Turki and other intermediaries for their part in the 1MDB swindle. PetroSaudi, the shell company instrumental in facilitating the deal, hadn't been as considerate. Its former director, a Swiss national named Xavier Justo, was still owed $2 million. Justo had threatened his former employers, warning them that he'd publicize the incriminating documents he possessed if they didn't settle his dues. His warnings fell on deaf ears.

Meanwhile, corruption fatigue was mounting in Malaysia, and murmurs began to circulate that Najib was profiting from Low's schemes, using 1MDB as his personal piggy bank. Protesters wearing yellow shirts, part of a coalition named Bersih — Malay for "clean" — had taken to the streets, but little had changed. In the absence of undeniable proof of misconduct, Najib remained invulnerable.

That immunity evaporated in 2014 when Justo decided to take action. He reached out to Clare Rewcastle Brown, a British investigative journalist and the editor of Sarawak Report, an online whistleblowing platform focused on Malaysia. Justo offered to sell her evidence of Low's inaugural deal with 1MDB for $2 million. As she didn't have the necessary funds, Brown turned to Tong Kooi Ong, the proprietor of Edge, Malaysia's top-selling business magazine.

Tong furnished the money, and in late February 2015, Brown published her exposé. The article, headlined "Heist of the Century," delineated how Jho Low had exploited PetroSaudi as a façade to siphon off millions from 1MDB. Simultaneously, an exclusive feature in the New York Times shed light on how Low had functioned as an unofficial envoy for Najib in the United States, acquiring a slew of luxury properties for the prime minister.

The alarm bells had started to ring — Low's audacious run as a world-class swindler was approaching its finale.

The aftermath of the 1MDB fraud triggers a political revolution in Malaysia, yet Low evades capture.

The revelation of Low's embezzlement ignited a civil war within Malaysia's ruling party, UMNO. Reformist elements headed by ex-prime minister Mahathir Muhamed demanded Najib's resignation and a comprehensive probe into the 1MDB debacle. Najib was confident he could weather the storm but played it safe by asking Low to exit the country before he could be interrogated by the parliamentary Public Accounts Committee.

The public sentiment was swiftly souring. Towards the end of August 2015, an estimated 100,000 protesters thronged the streets of Kuala Lumpur. They spanned all strata of society and aired their outrage as well as their apprehension that 1MDB's debts would drain resources from education and social welfare for the foreseeable future.

Najib hastily launched a crackdown against dissenters, igniting a three-year period of oppression. Yellow shirts, a symbol of the Bersih or "clean" movement, were banned in public places. Newspapers were shuttered, and whistleblowers were imprisoned. Talk of 1MDB faded from the news, and everyday people began to monitor their words. By May 2018, Najib believed the storm had passed and reckoned he could steer UMNO to another electoral triumph.

He was mistaken. In a dramatic turnaround, Najib's party was defeated, and Malaysians elected Mahathir’s anti-corruption alliance, Pakatan Harapan or "Alliance of Hope," in a landslide. For the first time in the nation's history, UMNO found itself out of power.

Concerns that Najib would mobilize the military to reverse the outcome were unfounded. Understanding he was out of options, he passed the baton to Mahathir. Upon taking office, the new prime minister minces no words. It was time, he said, for "certain heads to roll."

Najib's head was first on the chopping block. At 2:30 pm on July 3, 2018, anti-corruption authorities raided his Kuala Lumpur mansion and detained him. The next day, he was brought to court to face charges. It was an astonishing reversal of fortunes. Just eight weeks prior, he was beyond the reach of the law; now, he was finally brought to justice.

Low spent election night in Thailand. Anticipating a resounding victory for his old ally, he had already chilled the champagne. Instead, he was faced with an extradition warrant. The jig was up, and he fled to Macau, China. Over the next fortnight, he roamed around the country, finally settling in Shenzhen, a bustling city in the southeast. Then, without warning, he vanished.

Low is still on the run. It's believed that he is currently hiding out in China.

Final Wrap-up

Born into a wealthy family, Jho Low was far from impoverished — his family's fortune totaled millions. But that wasn't sufficient. Struggling to match up with his classmates at a prestigious private school in London, he began to cast himself as an Asian "royalty." In America, while at university, Low began to build a network of influential friends. These contacts would ultimately pave the way for a massive infrastructure deal back in his home country, earning him the favor of Najib Razak, Malaysia's future prime minister. Low was entrusted with the control of a billion-dollar investment fund. He exploited this power to orchestrate the robbery of the century, draining millions into his personal account to sustain his extravagant lifestyle. When his grand theft finally came to light, it resulted in the collapse of the Malaysian government.