Sheikhs, Lies and Real Estate: The Untold Story of Dubai (11 page)

We met at Après, a trendy restaurant and bar at
the bottom of the Ski Dubai slopes with a ringside view of crashing
snowboarders and tumbling skiers through its giant glass windows. It was always
entertaining watching the
burka
-clad ski bunnies and
dishdasha
daredevils flying down the slopes. As we ordered and tucked into our pizzas, I
was dying to get down to business, but as usual Jerome was distracted.

‘Jerome, look mate, we need to speak about the
plot.’

‘Yes, I know we do.’

‘As I said to you at the polo field, I think I
have a buyer.’

‘That’s great!’

‘Yes, but I desperately need some concrete
information. I need the plans, pricing, location map...’

I noticed Jerome’s eyes wandering. ‘Man, that
waitress is cute.’

‘What?’

‘The blondie over there. Check out her ass.
Wowsers!’

‘Jerome, can you just focus for a moment?’

‘Okay, okay, buddy. Listen, I will have
everything you need in the next few days. There’s been a slight delay. Now just
keep your guy on ice and manage his expectations. If he’s serious, he will understand.
Okay?’

His was testing my patience. ‘But you said that
last week!’

‘I know, but I need two, maybe three more days,
tops.’

‘And what the hell should I tell my buyer in
the meantime?’

‘Tell him that the price is being revised and
it will mean a better deal for him. Trust me, he won’t mind.’

I was at my wits end. ‘Jerome, you better have
something by the middle of next week. I’m beginning to look like an idiot. I am
giving you until next Thursday or this deal is off.’

‘Okay. You have my word. I can’t say more than
that. Cool?’ I nodded reluctantly. ‘Good. Now, come with me. I have a challenge
for you.’

I followed him to a costume store close by and
he scoured the shop as if he was searching for something.

‘What are you looking for?’ I asked.

He didn’t answer, but whatever it was he found
it moments later. I walked over to see exactly what he was so excited about.
Jerome was holding a box with the label ‘the mother of all afros’ and had the
look of a man with a crazy plan. It scared the hell out of me.

‘I have a dare for you.’ 

‘What kind of dare?’

‘I dare you to wear this afro through the mall
for the rest of the day.’

‘Jerome, how old are you, 5? Stop messing
around, man, let’s get outta here.’

An earnest look overcame his boyish face. ‘You
think I’m joking? Well, I’m not. Let’s see just how big your balls really are!’

‘Are you insane? I’m not going to make a
compete fool of myself!’

‘You chicken shit. You think you’re gonna be a
deal maker with little balls like that?’

I sighed. ‘Come on, Jerome, are you freakin’
serious?’

He wasn’t backing down, and put on the afro
himself. He looked ridiculous. ‘Yaa, maan. I am totally serious, maan’.

‘Okay, I’ll only do it if you do it too. Deal?’

‘No problemo.’

 And so we both put on the ‘mother of all afros’
and walked through the mall in one of the world’s most conservative societies.
British kids pointed at us with delight and Indian women giggled as two
nonchalant idiots strolled causally through the mall like members of the
Jackson 5. Tourists took pictures with us and men looked over their shoulders
for a hidden camera. But the locals were not amused by our juvenile antics.
Expressionless Emirati men shook their head as they walked past and women in
black
abayas
looked at the floor in embarrassment. Even the Emirati kids
stared us down with disapproval. It seemed we were disrupting a social order that
did not look kindly on such childish frivolity.

It was fun, but deep down Jerome’s
unpredictable personality was beginning to worry me. He was alarmingly erratic
and I was concerned that he just didn’t understand the seriousness of this deal
to my future. All sorts of doubts were creeping into my mind and I was losing
hope in his ability to deliver. I decided that this was the last straw – if he
didn’t come through this week as we had agreed, I would know the deal was dead
in the water.

***

Exactly a week later, Jerome called me.

‘As promised, I have the full details of the
plot. I suggest we meet in thirty minutes at the Shakespeare café on the Sheikh
Zayed Road.’

I nearly fell off of my chair. ‘See you there.’ 

I spotted Jerome sitting in the corner and
puffing on a
shisha
pipe as I entered the café. ‘This has come directly
from the daughter of the Sheikh of Abu Dhabi’s private office,’ he said,
tossing a file of papers in my direction. I opened it and scanned the plans as
he spoke. ‘The plot is in Business Bay and nobody else has access to it. These
are the plans and the location map.’

‘How did you get access to this?’

‘One of my clients works directly with the
private office and managed to obtain exclusivity to sell it before it became
public knowledge. It was gifted to the sheikha by her father, and she is now
looking to sell it for a profit.’

‘I see.’ It seemed that everything Saff had
requested was there in front of me.

‘So now tell me about your buyer,’ said Jerome.

‘Well, I met with the CEO of a new company called
Darius Developments a couple of weeks ago. They are actively looking for plots
in key locations. He mentioned that Business Bay is a target, so I think this
could be exactly what they are looking for.’

‘That’s excellent news! But we can’t afford to
fuck this up, so we need to approach it properly.’

He was right. Despite my good relationship with
Saff, the firm’s chairman would simply not consider signing contracts with a
couple of twenty-something chancers like us. We desperately needed credibility
if we had any chance of closing this deal. Jerome and I sat for a while
considering all the angles. Eventually he clapped his hands and smiled like he’d
had a revelation.

‘Okay, I got it. My uncle runs a small property
company back in the UK called Empire Realtors. I can pretend to act as the
Dubai representative for the company and tell him that we have been managing
some properties in London on behalf of the Abu Dhabi royals. So through our
connections with the royals, Empire has been granted access to some exclusive
deals. You are the representative from Imperial Bank who is acting as
introducer and simply bringing the parties together. What do you think?’

‘Yes, I guess it could work.’

‘Great, let’s do it!’

And so a meeting was arranged the following
Saturday afternoon between Saff, the CEO of Darius Developments, and Jerome,
the newly appointed Middle East Director of Empire Realtors, to discuss the
commercial terms of the Business Bay plot. We agreed to meet in the lobby of
the Emirates Towers. It was rumoured that hundreds of millions of dirhams worth
of transactions were closed there every week, so this was sure to be a good
omen.

Despite it being a weekend, I wore a suit and
tie for the meeting. If this was to be my first deal in Dubai, I wanted to look
the part. I arrived twenty minutes early and scanned the room for an empty
table. The lobby was as thriving as ever with groups of would-be deal makers
pushing to close. I noticed a free table in the corner near the piano and
seized it immediately.

Saff arrived before Jerome. He was dressed in a
crisp grey suit and a tie, as expected. We greeted each other and he took a
seat. But after almost twenty minutes of small talk, we could no longer ignore
that Jerome was late. It was not a great start.

‘So will your colleague be joining us soon?’

‘He should be here any moment. He’s never
usually late.’ I scrambled for my phone to call him. There was no answer. I
tried again ten minutes later, but again no answer. My palms were sweating now
and I began to think of the worst-case scenario. What if he didn’t show at all?
What would Saff think of me? How would I ever save face? Almost an entire hour
later, Jerome strolled nonchalantly into the lobby.

‘Sorry I’m late, guys, the traffic is a killer
today.’ His lack of punctuality was not the worst of it. Jerome had turned up
to the most businesslike meeting of our lives in ripped jeans, a cap and
sneakers, like he had just stepped out of a boy-band video. I could have killed
him right there, but somehow I composed myself. Was he deliberately trying to
screw this up for both of us? 

‘Saff, meet Jerome, the Middle East Director of
Empire Realtors,’ I said, through gritted teeth.

‘Pleased to meet you, Jerome. I didn’t realise
this meeting was so casual,’ said Saff, ‘I feel so overdressed.’

I looked at Jerome with a piercing stare, which
he noticed but ignored.

‘No, it’s fine, Saff. You look great,’ replied
Jerome with a cheeky grin.

‘So, let’s get down to business. We have heard
a lot about the plot of land you are offering,’ said Saff. ‘We are very
interested. But can you now give us some further details, beginning with where
it is?’

‘Well, I’m glad to tell you that the plot is in
Business Bay.’ Saff’s eyes lit up as Jerome showed him the plans. ‘It’s a prime
location as you can see, between the Al Khail and Emirates Road. There is no
better location in the development.’

‘And may I ask how Empire came across this
plot?’ asked Saff.

‘Well, I can’t reveal too much, but I can tell
you that Empire has very intimate links with the Abu Dhabi royal office, as we
have managed a substantial portion of their assets in the UK for over twenty
years. It is the exceptional level of trust that we have developed over the
years with the office of His Royal Highness that has led to the privilege of
being informed about this exclusive plot.’ It was the best spiel of bullshit I
had ever heard, and Jerome was so convincing that even I believed him. Saff
looked assured.

‘Well, we have been looking at acquiring a plot
in the Business Bay for a while, and if this piece of land is exactly where you
say it is, we can confirm that we would like to make an offer.’ His words were
like sweet music to my ears. ‘I will communicate this to my chairman today and
we will send you through the offer tomorrow morning. Once agreed, we will ask
our lawyers to draft the MOU.’

‘That works for me. I look forward to hearing
from you,’ replied Jerome, before Saff shook our hands. 

‘I look forward to doing business with you both,’
he said, and left.

Somehow, our charade had worked. It was one of
the greatest feelings of my life.

The next morning, Saff sent through a formal
offer for the plot to my email account as promised. I forwarded it on to Jerome
and waited for his response. But he didn’t reply. I called, but he didn’t
answer. I waited for his call, but it never came. Jerome had disappeared off
the face of the planet and I began to fear the worst.

A few days later, Saff rang. ‘Adam, what the
hell is going on? Are we doing this deal or not?’

A lump formed in my throat. ‘Yes, of course we
are, Saff. There’s just been a slight delay.’

‘What kind of delay? My chairman is asking me
when we are signing. It’s making me look quite stupid. Get back to me soon!’

‘Sure, will do.’

I was irate. Jerome was not only jeopardising
the deal, he was costing me my credibility. Another week went by without a word
and I finally accepted that the deal was dead.

Breaking the news to Saff was one of the
hardest things I had ever done. I made up a story about how the seller had
changed his mind at the last moment and had withdrawn the selling agreement. It
was a massive blow to my ego and I almost burst into tears as I put down the
phone. Saff had taken a chance and trusted me, and I had let him down. I
couldn’t help but blame myself, although deep down I knew it wasn’t really my
fault at all.

***

The next week I received a text out of the blue from
Jerome’s number: ‘Meet me in 30 minutes at Falafal Hut. J.’

In a small Lebanese café on the Sheikh Zayed
Road the ugly truth finally emerged.

‘I have some bad news, I’m afraid. This deal is
not going to happen.’

I don’t know how I refrained from punching him in
the face, but somehow I used all of my strength to muster up the patience to
stay quiet and hear his explanation. It materialised that Jerome had never had
access to the plot in the first place. His apparent relationship with the royal
office was not a direct connection at all. Rather, he had been introduced to
the deal by a broker who claimed to have known somebody who worked for the royal
office. The broker had told Jerome there may be a chance to access the plot if
he could find a buyer, and that’s where I came in.

‘Did you have anything signed?’ I asked.

‘Well, that’s where the problem kinda was.’

‘Jerome, did you have anything signed?’

He sighed and looked out of the window,
avoiding eye contact. ‘No.’

Once I had informed him of Saff’s interest,
Jerome had told his broker to convince his private office contact that there
was a buyer. But once Jerome shared the formal offer from Saff with his broker,
who in turn shared it with his royal office contact, he was told that they no
longer wanted to sell.

At first this didn’t make sense to me. Why
would the royal office reject a formal offer if they were seriously planning to
sell? There were two reasons. One was that Jerome, the broker and his royal
office contact could not agree on fees. They all wanted a cut that was too
large, and considering Jerome would also have to share a fee with me, there
wasn’t enough left to split four ways.

The second reason was that the royal office had
never really wanted to sell in the first place. The process of soliciting an
offer was simply a benchmarking exercise so they could get an idea of what the
plot was worth in the market. Now they knew what somebody in the market was
willing to pay for it, they would be more likely sell it to another royal
office or prominent Emirati family for an inflated value over and above the
benchmark market price.