The pastor who stole $50 million—and kept his congregation

On August 24, 2019, thousands rose to their feet as Kong Hee walked onto the stage at Suntec Singapore. Forty-eight hours earlier, he'd walked out of Changi Prison after serving two years and four months for orchestrating Singapore's largest misuse of charitable funds—S$50 million (US$37 million) misappropriated from his own congregation.

The crowd wasn't angry. They were crying tears of joy.

"We love you, Pastor Kong!" someone shouted. "Welcome home!" called another.

Here's what makes no sense: these weren't just supporters. These were victims. The same people who sacrificed their savings, downgraded their homes, and gave until it hurt—all for a building that never existed—were welcoming back the man convicted of misappropriating their money.

The programmer who built an empire

In 1989, Kong Hee was a computer programmer in his mid-twenties running a Bible study group from a cramped HDB flat. Twenty people. Plastic chairs. Fluorescent lights struggling against Singapore's humidity.

But Kong had something. While traditional churches sang centuries-old hymns, he brought in electric guitars. While other pastors quoted King James scripture in robes, Kong wore jeans and spoke like someone you'd meet at a coffee shop.

The growth was explosive: 20 people in 1989 became 1,000 by 1995, then 10,000 by 1999. By 2009, City Harvest Church reached its peak with 32,000 members, multiple services weekly at Singapore Expo and other venues.

Even in those early days, Kong taught prosperity gospel—give to God, and God gives back "pressed down, shaken together, running over." His timing was perfect. Singapore's economy was exploding in the 1990s and 2000s. Property values doubled. When members tithed and their businesses grew, when they donated and got promotions, it felt like proof.

Along the way, Kong married Ho Yeow Sun, a singer who went by Sun. Beautiful, ambitious, she became Pastor Sun but never stopped dreaming of something bigger than church. That dream would cost their congregation everything.

The Crossover con

Between 2007 and 2012, Kong Hee and five church leaders orchestrated the systematic misappropriation of S$50 million through sham bonds to companies they secretly controlled. They called it the "Crossover Project"—Sun Ho would sacrifice herself, entering secular entertainment to save souls. Every album sold meant potential salvation. Every music video was evangelism.

There was one problem: her albums tanked. The first sold so poorly that stores returned copies. Most people don't know a second album existed.

That's when Kong turned criminal.

He couldn't write checks from church accounts to Sony Music—that's obviously illegal. So Kong built something more sophisticated. Enter Xtron Productions, supposedly independent but controlled entirely by City Harvest members, with Kong pulling the strings.

The scam worked like this: City Harvest "invested" in Xtron bonds paying 7% interest. Legitimate-looking. But Xtron's real purpose was funding Sun Ho's career. S$13 million flowed out initially.

While members donated to the building fund on Sundays, that money funded music videos by Monday—Sun Ho in provocative outfits directed by Wyclef Jean, all paid for with church funds.

When the bonds came due and Xtron couldn't pay, Kong doubled down. Enter Firna, an Indonesian glass company owned by church member Wahju Hanafi—the same man who co-owned Kong's Sentosa Cove penthouse. More bonds. S$11 million. Money round-tripping in circles to hide the truth.

Then auditors started asking questions. Kong's response? Misappropriate another S$26.6 million to cover it up.

The price of faith

In 2011, with S$24 million already misappropriated, Kong stood at his pulpit and delivered one of his most memorable sermons:

"You give until your heart is broken. You give until tears stream down your eyes."

The congregation erupted in "Amens."

"More than ever before," Kong declared, "the unemployed, housewives are giving. Full-time NS men, retirees, students, seventeen years and above, sixteen years. Unequal amount, but equal sacrifice."

Then came the story that would define City Harvest's culture of sacrifice:

"Nick and Connie sold their five-room flat. They downgraded to a three-room apartment just to give S$20,000 to the building fund. Where do you hear people like that? People willing to sell their house and downgrade, to build God a great house."

The congregation applauded. Nick and Connie became heroes.

Here's what the congregation didn't know: In 2007—the same year Kong began misappropriating church funds—he bought a S$9.33 million Sentosa Cove penthouse, co-owned with Wahju Hanafi, whose company would later be used in the misappropriation scheme. Five thousand two hundred and forty-two square feet. Ocean views. Monthly mortgage payment: S$17,000.

Kong's monthly housing payment was almost what Nick and Connie donated after selling their home.

Sentosa Cove is Singapore's only gated island for the ultra-wealthy, where Hollywood stars vacation and guards check IDs at the gate. While preaching sacrifice, Kong's property progression told a different story: starting with a S$127,000 HDB flat in Tampines, selling for S$420,000, upgrading to Horizon Towers with private lifts and marble floors, then The Suites at Central for S$2.6 million, finally landing at Sentosa Cove.

The building fund members sacrificed for? Kong never even attempted to buy church land. No architectural plans were filed. No permit applications submitted. The promised 39,000-seat auditorium was complete fiction.

142 days of denial

At dawn on May 31, 2012, sixteen officers from the Commercial Affairs Department swept through City Harvest's offices. Two years of investigation had produced damning evidence: proven fictitious bonds, exposed round-tripping schemes, BlackBerry messages between conspirators, recorded meetings planning the cover-up.

The trial stretched 142 days from 2013 to 2015, one of Singapore's longest criminal cases. Legal fees exceeded S$10 million—paid by church donations. The victims literally funded their defendants' defense.

In a surreal courtroom moment, judges watched Sun Ho's music videos, prosecutors demonstrating where the money really went. Kong claimed every transaction was a "genuine investment," that the Crossover Project was legitimate mission work.

The judge didn't buy it, calling the scheme "systematic and deliberate."

On October 21, 2015, all six were found guilty. Kong received eight years. But on appeal in 2017, in a controversial 2-1 split decision, charges were reduced on technicalities. Kong's sentence dropped to three and a half years. Sharon Tan, the church's finance manager, got just seven months.

Seven months. For her role in S$50 million misappropriated.

The verdict was so controversial that Singapore's government changed the law. Future directors committing similar crimes would face harsher punishment. The government called the sentences "manifestly inadequate" but could not retroactively apply the new law.

One defendant, Chew Eng Han, made headlines when he attempted to flee to Malaysia by boat the day before his prison term began. Caught at sea, he received an additional 13 months—the only one who acted like an actual criminal. Notably, Chew later left Christianity entirely, becoming Buddhist.

The return of the shepherd

Kong walked free on August 22, 2019, after serving two years and four months with good behavior remission. Forty-eight hours later, he returned to Suntec Singapore's stage. He had requested that the crowd not applaud, but thousands had gathered nonetheless.

"I was convicted by the court for criminal breach of trust," Kong said. "I have served my sentence. And today I find myself humbled."

Humbled. Not sorry to victims. Not apologetic for the misappropriation. Humbled.

"I'm sorry for all the hurt, all the pain, all the anxiety that you've been through. And I sincerely apologize for everything that has happened."

Everything that happened. Not "everything I did." Not "I misappropriated your money." Like S$50 million disappeared by itself.

"I have missed out a significant part of my son's growing-up years. My absence has pained my parents deeply."

He made himself and his family the victims. No mention of Nick and Connie. No mention of the thousands who sacrificed. No mention of the money.

Sun Ho stood beside him—the woman whose failed music career cost S$50 million. Never charged despite being central to the scheme. Never questioned. Still called Pastor Sun.

Though permanently banned from being a board member or executive of any charity, Kong exploited a loophole: he could still be a "spiritual leader." Can't manage money. Can still ask for it.

The collection never stops

Today, City Harvest's membership has dropped significantly from its 2010 peak of 33,000. The church reported 15,654 members in 2019, though it claims higher numbers when including online viewership. They still meet at Suntec, still paying millions in rent—ironically, the church had purchased a stake in Suntec Convention Centre using S$97.75 million from the building fund, but members still pay to use the space. The standalone building they sacrificed for exists only in their faith.

Of the S$50 million misappropriated, not a penny was returned directly to victims. The court noted that the money was eventually returned to the church with interest through the complex web of transactions, but Singapore law treated it as a crime against the institution, not individuals. Those who sacrificed everything got nothing back personally.

We never found out what happened to Nick and Connie—the couple who sold their home, downsized their life, gave S$20,000 to build God a house that was never built. Are they still in that three-room flat? Do they still attend City Harvest? Do they know their sacrifice funded Sun Ho's music videos?

Kong sold the Sentosa Cove penthouse in 2018 at a loss of over S$2 million. He now rents a terrace house in Upper Bukit Timah for an estimated S$12,000 monthly.

This isn't just about Kong Hee or City Harvest or Singapore. Around the world, the pattern repeats: prosperity gospel, building funds, financial complexity, scandal, reduced sentences, return to ministry. The playbook never changes because it never stops working.

After the verdict, knowing about the penthouse, knowing about the misappropriation, members went on camera:

"I've been here 23 years. I believe in you, Pastor Kong."

"Our cell group doubled during the trial."

They knew he lived in Sentosa Cove while they downgraded their homes. They knew he was convicted of misappropriating their money.

And they thanked him for it.

The collection plate never stops passing. The building fund never builds anything. Fifty million Singapore dollars misappropriated. Not a penny returned to individual victims. Not a single direct apology given.

The only thing that came back was Kong Hee.

This investigation is based on news reports, Commercial Affairs Department findings, and public records from Singapore's criminal breach of trust case. All financial figures and legal outcomes are matters of settled law. The six individuals named were convicted in Singapore courts, with appeals concluded in 2018.