Rushing to Wind-up Skeleton In Closet or to escape with Heist?
The Great Malaysian Heist: How Ranjeet and Rashpal's Empire of Deceit Leaves States and the Vulnerable Penniless
February 22, 2026 Update
October 8, 2025 – In the shadowy underbelly of Malaysia's investment landscape, a brazen financial plunder is unfolding, stripping state governments, Islamic NGOs, orphanages, and schools of millions while the perpetrators cash out unscathed. At the centre of this storm: Ranjeet Singh Sidhu and his associate Rashpal, architects of a web of companies now crumbling under winding-up orders.
Vascory Berhad? Already Wound-up!
3Lyon Capital? Gone. Wound-up!
3Lyon Holdings? Finished. Wound-up!
Teetering on the brink of dissolution. Kuber Ventures? It barely dodged the same fate.
This isn't just corporate failure—it's a calculated manoeuvre, designed to ensure not a single sen reaches the defrauded investors.
Picture this: Kedah State, strapped for cash in a post-pandemic economy, funnels over RM21 million into promises of high-yield returns.
Follows suit, Melaka haemorrhaging more than RM14 million.
Perlis, the smallest of the northern trio, coughs up at least RM5 million—public funds meant for development, now vanished into thin air.
These aren't abstract numbers; they're taxpayer dollars siphoned from roads, schools, and hospitals. And the human cost? Islamic charities, orphanages raising Malaysia's most vulnerable children, and underfunded madrasahs—exploited under the guise of "ethical investments." Millions stripped from those who can least afford it, funnelled into the pockets of men who now laugh all the way to their private banks.
Ranjeet Singh Sidhu, the self-styled visionary behind Vascory Berhad and a key figure in the 3Lyon empire, has long peddled dreams of wealth through consumer finance and high-growth ventures.
His profile paints him as a managing director extraordinaire, touting billions in networks and decades of lending expertise. But peel back the gloss, and it's a house of cards built on smoke and mirrors. Vascory Berhad, incorporated in 2012 as an investment holding company, was meant to channel 85% of its funds into short-term loans—personal hits from RM1,000 to RM100,000, corporate deals starting at RM50,000. It promised sustainable returns, collateralized security, and a slice of Malaysia's booming credit market. Instead, it became a black hole, sucking in state investments and charitable donations before imploding.
The timeline is damning. By early 2025, creditors—furious states and shattered NGOs—filed petitions that tore through the facade. Vascory was wound up swiftly, its assets liquidated in a process that reeks of premeditation. 3Lyon Capital Berhad, the financing arm of the group, followed suit, dissolved amid mounting debts. Its parent, 3Lyon Holdings Berhad, now faces a relentless winding-up petition in the courts, with hearings dragging on as directors scramble for last-ditch manoeuvres. Kuber Ventures, the riskiest bet in the portfolio, survived a petition by the skin of its teeth—only after alleged backroom deals and asset shuffles that left investors even further in the lurch.
And who benefits? Not the retirees who liquidated their Amanah Saham Bumiputera savings for a shot at 15% returns. Not the orphanage directors who poured zakat funds into "guaranteed" real estate leases promising dividends in 45 days. Not the state officials who bet public coffers on glossy pitches of "enriching lives and driving solutions." No—the windfall goes to Ranjeet and Rashpal, who, sources whisper, are accelerating these wind-ups to trigger creditor hierarchies where unsecured investors like states and charities rank dead last. Secured assets? Funnelled to insiders. Offshore accounts? Already fattened. It's a masterclass in asset stripping: dissolve the shells, distribute the spoils, and vanish into the Malaysian elite's labyrinth of holdings.
This isn't isolated incompetence; it's predatory precision. Remember the 2023 headlines? Eighty victims from Johor, Perlis, Kedah, and Melaka stormed Kuala Lumpur's Commercial Crime Investigation Department, demanding action on an RM11 million scam peddling identical real estate "opportunities." That case, still festering under Section 420 of the Penal Code for cheating, bears the hallmarks of Ranjeet's playbook: unlicensed schemes masquerading as Bank Negara-approved goldmines, branches shuttering overnight, and promises evaporating like morning dew. Police nabbed a director then, but the big fish swam free.
Today, with states involved, the stakes are stratospheric—yet the probes crawl at a glacial pace.
Why the inertia? Whispers point to political ties. Ranjeet's partners include Tan Sri Syed Yusof Tun Syed Nasir, a name entwined with Selangor's royalty and high-society boardrooms.
3Lyon's own press releases boast of "over 100 years of collective experience" and "robust risk management," but where was that when RM40 million in state funds disappeared? The Securities Commission Malaysia and Bank Negara's Financial Consumer Alert List scream warnings about unlicensed entities like these—yet investors, lured by social media blitzes and "exclusive" briefings, poured in anyway. The vulnerable paid the price: orphans without scholarships, schools without repairs, governments auditing empty coffers.
Enough. This is Malaysia's Enron moment, a gut-punch to trust in its institutions. Kedah's RM21 million loss could have built flood barriers in a state battered by monsoons. Melaka's RM14 million? Heritage restoration in a UNESCO jewel. Perlis's RM5 million? Rural clinics for forgotten communities. Instead, it's fertilizer for fraudsters' lifestyles. Ranjeet and Rashpal aren't entrepreneurs; they're economic terrorists, weaponizing greed against the good.
The call is clear: Immediate asset freezes. Criminal probes under the Anti-Money Laundering Act. A special task force, led by the Commercial Crime Investigation Department, to claw back every ringgit. And for investors—check your papers, file your reports, join the chorus. Silence lets them win.
Malaysia deserves better than magicians who make millions vanish. It's time to pull back the curtain—and lock the vault.
Files
