The Triad, The Party, and The Secret Police Station

You almost have to admire the sheer, unmitigated gall of Wan Kuok Koi. To the world, the 69-year-old often appears as a patriot, a philanthropist, and a purveyor of Hongmen-branded beer. You can find videos of him online, smiling broadly while belting out Cantonese songs for his mother’s 90th birthday.

The U.S. Treasury Department, however, has a slightly different take. They know him by his nickname, “Broken Tooth,” and they call him the boss of the infamous 14K triad, a sprawling Chinese crime syndicate involved in everything from drug trafficking and racketeering to, as we’ll see, human trafficking on an industrial scale.

This is the story of how one of Asia’s most powerful crime lords has built a global empire by wrapping his criminal enterprises in the Chinese flag, operating with the tacit, and sometimes explicit, blessing of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). It’s a tale that hops from the glitzy casinos of Macao to the pristine islands of the Pacific and the dusty roads of Uganda. It’s a story with everything: a real-life Bond villain, corrupt politicians, a truly terrible-sounding cryptocurrency, and a secret overseas police station that lands this caper squarely in the middle of a spy thriller.

The Coolest, Most Criminal Frat House

At the heart of this operation is the “World Hongmen History and Culture Association.” Its origin story is the stuff of legend, supposedly founded by Shaolin monks dedicated to overthrowing the Qing dynasty. In reality, U.S. officials and crime analysts say it’s little more than a front for the 14K triad, a global franchise for crime given a respectable letterhead.

Under the guise of promoting Chinese culture and the nation’s $1 trillion “Belt and Road Initiative,” Broken Tooth has built a constellation of businesses: security firms, liquor brands, and, of course, a cryptocurrency. This patriotic branding provides the perfect cover for the association’s real work: acting as a key component of the CCP’s “United Front,” a strategy Beijing uses to co-opt and control overseas groups to serve its political agenda.

A Case Study in Chaos: Palau

The operation in the tiny Pacific nation of Palau serves as the perfect case study. Palau is a staunch U.S. ally, recognizes Taiwan, and hosts American military forces, making it a prime target on the geopolitical chessboard.

Starting in 2018, locals noticed scores of young Chinese citizens arriving, not to see the famed limestone islands, but to be sequestered in rundown buildings. They were low-paid workers for illegal online gambling sites, their needs met by regular deliveries of instant noodles and sex workers. When police finally raided the operations, they arrested 165 people, more than double the capacity of the country’s jails. The overwhelmed police chief, Ismael Aguon, had little choice but to cite and deport them. “Where was I going to put these people?” he asked.

It soon became clear this was no small-time outfit. Broken Tooth and his associates had arrived, and they didn’t do subtle. They greased the wheels by co-opting the local elite. The list of alleged facilitators reads like a political who’s who, including two former presidents, Johnson Toribiong and Tommy Remengesau Jr. One former president acted as legal counsel for a key Chinese operator; the other accepted 125 cell phones for his re-election campaign from another and appointed his 10-year-old child singer son as a “tourism ambassador.” (No, that is not a typo.)

The plan’s brazen climax? Wan announced a Hongmen-themed resort and casino on the southern island of Angaur. It’s a move straight out of a villain’s playbook, as Angaur just happens to be the location where the U.S. military is installing a sophisticated, high-powered radar system aimed directly at countering China.

From The Pacific to Africa: The Espionage Twist

While the Palau operation was audacious, the network’s activities in Africa reveal the true depth of the connection to the Chinese state. As scrutiny in Asia increased, Broken Tooth’s deputies expanded their footprint. One of them, Ye Baochun, set up shop in Uganda.

His crowning achievement wasn’t a casino or a crypto-scam, but something far more sinister: a Chinese overseas police center. While publicly for the “safety” of Chinese investors, U.S. officials and rights groups say these facilities are part of Beijing’s global espionage and surveillance network, used to monitor and intimidate critics abroad. Suddenly, the line between organized crime and state intelligence wasn’t just blurred; it was erased.

The Denials and The ‘Endorsement’

Naturally, when the U.S. slapped sanctions on Wan and his network in 2020 under the Global Magnitsky Act—a tool reserved for serious human rights abusers and corrupt actors—the denials came thick and fast. Wan claimed he “always abided by laws and regulations.” Beijing called the reports “lies” and “unscrupulous attacks” on China.

It was a good story, right up until the photographic evidence emerged. Months after the Chinese Foreign Ministry publicly disavowed him, Wan was in Beijing, on stage, receiving a patriotism award from a committee that sits directly under the CCP’s political advisory body and has ties to the People’s Liberation Army. As one analyst noted, it was as clear-cut as it gets: it was an endorsement.

The whole operation is perhaps best summarized by a visit to the Hongmen retail store in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. A gleaming, guarded, gold-plated storefront displays stacks of Hongmen-branded cigarettes, whiskey, watches, and tea. It’s an impressive projection of power. The only problem? As an employee cheerfully explained to a reporter, none of it is for sale.

Smiling, she said, “It’s just for show.”