Sword and Scale Nightmares - Assistance

Episode Date: October 23, 2024

In July 2020, 33-year-old tech entrepreneur Fahim Saleh was found dismembered down to his torso in his New York City apartment. Bank statements would reveal who had the motive to commit such a heinous murder.

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Gambling problem? Visit connectsontario.ca. ["Pomp and Circumstance"] July 14th, 2020. On the lower east side of Manhattan, a young woman walks down the sidewalk towards her cousin Fahim's place. Fahim lives in a luxury apartment on Houston Street. It's the kind of place where the elevator opens right into the living room, and through wall-to-wall windows a sprawling New York City glimmers.

The young woman called A and her family haven't heard from Fahim in a few days, so they've asked her to go drop by. Fahim is an extremely successful tech entrepreneur. He's only 33 years old, but he's worth about $150 million. His phone is always glued to his hand. His business is his entire life. I know how he feels. Fahim's family knows that he's received their texts.

He must have heard their missed calls. A is worried just like the rest of the family, so she finds herself in the muggy summer heat trudging towards Fahim's building as sweat pools around her neck and forehead. A fishes around in her purse for the key, and when she finds it she swings open the glass doors to Fahim's building. Using the virtual doorman, she steps into the elevator and heads to the seventh floor. A scrolls her phone as the elevator hums. She's hovering her fingers over the last exchange she had with Fahim. Where is he?

If he's at home, she'll be surprised. Maybe he had to go overseas for business. Maybe he's met someone and they just took off on a romantic spur of the moment trip. But that just wasn't like Fahim. The elevator stops and dings. A waits for the clunky doors to release her. When they do, she looks up into Fahim's beautiful, sunny apartment. She steps inside and calls his name. Her voice echoes back through the silence. It smells like his place, but there's a strange burnt odor in the air. Not like a kitchen fire, but the smell of hair

that's been singed with a lighter. A furrows her brow at the smell. Then she hears Fahim's dog's nails tapping on the floor as the little husky comes to greet her. She bends down to pat the dog, then she sees it. A human torso. It's just been sitting there on the floor. No limbs attached. No head. Just the fleshy, brown middle of Fahim's body, dismembered down to the core. She screams and drops to her knees. The dog skids off towards the bloody mess, spinning in a circle and knocking into the torso clumsily. As the dog runs off, her nails leave blood prints on the polished, luxury floor. Welcome to Sword and Scale Nightmares. True crime for bedtime.

Where nightmare begins now. Fahim Saleh was born in December of 1986 in Saudi Arabia. He was the youngest and only boy of the Saleh family, with two older sisters, Ruby and Riff, who coddled him like he was their baby. Fahim was born a year after the family had immigrated from Bangladesh to Saudi Arabia. Fahim's father was constantly trying to make life better for his kids and in 1991 he took a big leap and migrated the family to the United States. They settled in Louisiana in a small two-bedroom apartment.

Fahim's father pursued a Ph.D. in computer science and his mother worked at a local laundromat, folding clothes for minimum wage to keep the family afloat. Times were tough as it is for many immigrants, and money was always tight. But the Saleh family had one another and tried to make do with what they had. Fahim was always an entrepreneur. When he was only 10 years old, he took what little money he had saved and bought stockpiles of candy from the dollar store. At recess at school, he'd flip the candy to his classmates for a profit.

Huh, that's funny. I used to do the same thing with these stickers called garbage pail kids. I used to sell them in elementary school to other kids for like twice the price. Fahim's kind of cool, actually. And he was making some good pocket money until the principal caught wind of his operation and immediately shut it down. Despite the setback, little Fahim was hungry for the feeling of success and cash, so he cooked up another plan. He asked his father for an advance on his birthday gift. A jewelry-making kit.

His father agreed, and Fahim set to work making necklaces and bracelets, which he sold at school that week. These were the humble beginnings of a business career. The kind that would make a father proud. Fahim was also the kind of kid who always had to know how something worked. He was notorious for taking apart toys and trying to figure out the mechanics. I swear to God, is Fahim me? Am I Fahim? I used to do literally the same shit. I took apart stereos, took apart all kinds of things. When Fahim was a teenager, he got access to the internet and it changed his whole world. He began to teach himself how to code and soon started making websites. I swear to god I'm being punked. This is like an autobiography.

At only 13 years old, he built a site called MonkeyDoo. Okay, I didn't do that. The site contained jokes, pranks, fake poop, fart spray, and more fun things for teenagers. When a $500 check from Google showed up in the mail addressed to Fahim, Fahim's father was stunned. The Saleh home was filled with books on technology and coding. Fahim had studied his father's textbooks. Teenagers are visiting the site, dad, and I'm monetizing their ads from Google, Fahim said. His dad was shocked. How is this teenager making that much money playing around on the internet?

But Fahim's big break would come with the creation of his website teenhangout.com, which was a social network that offered free aviators or buddy icons for AOL chat. The site blew up and Fahim made enough money by the end of high school to put himself through university, becoming completely financially independent before he was even of legal drinking age. Quite an accomplishment. Fahim had graduated from university into the bleak job market of 2009, caused by the housing crash and subsequent recession.

His offers were scarce, so he decided to go his own way. Now, Fahim had always loved pranks. He was the kid in high school who actually made the prank calls because, unlike his buddies, he could actually stay in character without breaking or cracking up. In high school, he had bought the domain name prankdial.com, just in case. And now, it was time to use it. He recorded a few mock prank calls as MP3s, uploaded them to the site, and created a system where the user could pick what kind of scenario they wanted for the prank call. Things spiraled upwards from there.

By the time prank dial was a week old, Fahim was making $20 a day, but through social media and Google advertisements, the site grew to be worth $10 million. Yeah, I know, the internet's crazy. Doesn't make any sense. By the way, Pranked Isle is still active and earning income today. Go try it out on your friends. Our call in line is 954-889-6854. Have a ball. Like most entrepreneurs, Fahim's business ebbed and flowed. He'd make a bunch of money, and then the idea would fade, and something fresh would come into play. But Fahim wouldn't worry about it. He just dreamed up the next plan and got to work. He was good at kind of figuring out up the next plan and got to work.

He was good at kind of figuring out what the next thing was and taking advantage of it. By the time he was in his early 30s, Fahim's greatest accomplishment was his company, Pathio, a delivery, courier, and ride sharing company that operated in four cities in Bangladesh and two, Nepal. As Pathio thrived, Fahim and a business partner founded Gokada, a Nigerian-based ride and food service much like Uber, but with motorcycles. This is when friends started calling him the Elon Musk of the developing world. So when Fahim's cousin, A, found him chopped into pieces on his apartment floor that sunny July day, no one could understand who could have done this to Fahim.

He wasn't involved in anything unsavory. His businesses were clean. He had no enemies. Or so they thought. Fahim's investment firm was called Adventure Capital and he used it to fund projects in the developing world. In 2018, he hired a young computer programmer and aspiring entrepreneur named Tyrese Haspel as his personal assistant. Tyrese had a rough life growing up. His mother had become pregnant with him as a result of rape. She never got over it. She eventually committed herself to a mental institution when he was just a child and Tyrese

was raised by his grandmother. When she passed away, Tyrese was abandoned again, but this time the 12-year-old boy was saved by an aunt. Tyrese was aloof and independent, and he avoided conflict. His aunt described him as the kind of kid who had a wall up. He did what he wanted, despite his aunt's rules. But Tyrese was smart and he wanted more out of life. When his aunt finally had enough and severed ties with him, he ended up in foster care. But that didn't stop him.

He joined the Future Business Leaders of America program and worked on his charisma. He invested in wire-framed glasses and sharp clothing. He worked hard and shook hands. That's when he met Fahim. Fahim saw something in Tyrese. Tyrese was smart. He was good at school, and he'd won many awards in computer programming. He had even sold $1 snacks during homeroom to make

extra cash, just like Fahim's own recess candy scheme and just like my garbage pail kid scheme. The two clicked right away. Over the years Tyrese helped Fahim with his personal affairs, even walking his dog for him and managing his schedule. But soon he proved himself to be more valuable, and Fahim promoted him to more of an executive assistant role for his investment firm. Tyrese had access to all the finances of Adventure Capital. While Fahim would be off in Nigeria or Bangladesh for business, Tyrese took advantage of everything Fahim had given him. He used Fahim's luxury apartment to host parties.

He signed off emails as chief of staff. He treated his friends to drinks, dinner, and shows with the company card. He even told the dog rumor that Fahim's dog was his. He was living in a fantasy world of his own making. Though Tyrese started his relationship with Fahim, a gung-ho employee, he soon began to slack and Fahim had had enough. He let Tyrese go and in May of 2019, the two parted ways. But Tyrese had done something sneaky four months after he had been hired at Adventure Capital.

You see, Tyrese had opened a discreet PayPal account under the name Nethertech Switzerland to mimic something that would regularly be seen in Fahim's records. And then guess what he started doing? He started stealing the money. And that's why I don't have a personal assistant. On January 10th, 2020, Fahim's accountant noticed something. Money was missing. A lot of it. Money was missing. A lot of it. Just under a hundred thousand dollars worth. Hey Tyrese, uh, hope all is well, Fahim wrote to his former assistant. On a recent visit to my accountant there were several transactions marked on the Adventure Capital Chase account amounting to over $35,000. My memory

must be failing but I don't remember authorizing such charges. Can you please explain?" When Tyrese saw the email flashing in his inbox, he clicked and then froze. Taking a deep breath, he crafted his response carefully. He needed to be concerned, but not panicked. Cool and calm. Tyrese had been siphoning money, not only through the PayPal account, but in larger chunks from Adventure Capital. He'd have to manage this situation properly.

Hey, Fahim, I'm not sure myself. Must be a clerical error. Can you send more information so I can look into this and remedy this?" The exchange grew more intense with each email. On his end, Fahim was toggling back and forth between messages from his accountant, phone calls, and transaction sheets. Fahim was perplexed as to how or why this could be happening. But the more he dug, the more he was convinced that Tyrese had stolen from him. The two argued via email throughout the evening. Tyrese hovered around his laptop pacing and stretching in his small Brooklyn apartment while he waited for the next response to come in.

Was he going to get caught? His girlfriend sat in the corner. What's wrong with you? Tyrese waved her off angrily. Bahim shattered Tyrese with the bank records. He was caught. What's the explanation here? He demanded in a final email. Tyrese had no choice but to fold. He chewed his fingers and rubbed his temples. He stood up and kicked the bottom out from under his chair and punched the wall. His girlfriend shouted his name, but he just slammed the door. I was desperate and I needed to pay off debt and help my family. Tyrese typed.

I apologize for deceiving you and I'm ready to take responsibility for my actions. Tyrese suggested a payment plan. He told Fahim that he would pay him a lump sum every month until the debt was gone. Please don't involve the police. Please. Kind Fahim agreed. And the problem with kindness is that bad people often take advantage of it. But Fahim had his attorney draw up a specific payment plan.

Tyrese was to pay monthly with a small interest rate, and the debt would need to be cleared in under two years. Fahim warned Tyrese that if he didn't follow the plan, he would take legal action and have him criminally prosecuted. Tyrese agreed, and signed those papers. Tyrese paid $20,000 and a few more payments of around $3,000 a month, April, May, June. But the whole time Tyrese was stewing, he was also plotting. He was also planning.

And unbeknownst to Fahim, he was still leaking money from the secret PayPal account into his own pocket. Tyrese knew Fahim's schedule like the back of his hand. This wouldn't be difficult. On June 8, 2020, about a month before Fahim's gruesome murder, Tyrese sat in his fourth-floor rental apartment in Brooklyn, staring at his laptop. His work was suddenly interrupted by a buzz at the door. It was FedEx. Tyrese let the delivery man up and shuffled in his slides to unlock the door. When the FedEx worker passed him a small 8-ounce package, he flashed a grin and then turned his head down. He was alone. Tyrese ripped open the package. Inside was a Taser Gun. This wasn't

just any Taser Gun. It was a top-of-the-line model that cops often use. This wasn't a toy. This specific model released little ID tags made of colorful paper circles when the weapon was fired, like some kind of confetti fingerprint. But Tyrese did not know that. What Tyrese did know was Fahim's workout schedule. His former boss liked to jog midday. Fahim liked to hit the pavement when the sun was at its hottest and the workout would be the most challenging.

On the morning of July 13th, 2020, Tyrese dressed himself up in a black suit and tie. He put a black baseball hat on his head, black sunglasses on his face, and slipped on his black COVID mask. The crisp collar of his white dress shirt was the only light piece of clothing on him, despite the blazing summer heat. He left the house just before sunrise and headed into the city towards Fahim's apartment on the Lower East Side.

COVID made it so easy to slink around. Under the disguise of his mask, Tyrese could have been anyone, just another 20-something in a suit with a designer duffel bag. He made his way up to Fahim's door, as he had so many times over the years. Luck struck and he was able to sneak in behind another tenant. Then he sat in the lobby and waited. This building had no doorman, no one to notice him. Who would, anyway? Everyone in New York kept their eyes on

their phone or on the sidewalk, looking down. Never looking up, never making any kind of human connection or eye contact, and now with a mask on their face. Just people. No names, no faces, no identities, just people. Shuffling past. Paris sat there in plain sight for hours, just waiting. Fahim liked to run during

the workday when he could find a chunk of time to break from the grind. That day he put on his running gear and headed out just after lunchtime. It was 86 degrees outside. He didn't even notice Tyrese in the lobby as he swiftly jogged by and out the door into the city. When he returned Fahim was sweaty and thirsty, breathless as he entered the elevator. Then noticed a man behind him. It was a young black male in a suit and tie. Fahim smiled and held the door. The man nodded and said nothing, his face hidden by sunglasses and a COVID mask. It was, of course, Tyrese. The two rode the elevator quietly. Tyrese pretended to fumble

with a key fob while Fahim checked his phone quickly before shoving it back into the pocket of his shorts. Tyrese was sweating underneath his blazer. Every second felt like an hour in the small elevator. Then the button for seven lit up. Fahim nodded to the mystery man before turning towards his apartment. That's when Tyrese whipped out the taser and shoved it into Fahim's back. The electric shock ran from the gun to Fahim, and Tyrese felt the intensity follow his hand up his arm.

He watched as Fahim fell forward, hitting the ground like a bag of rocks. Tyrese pushed him into the apartment with the side of his foot and felt the doors close behind them. That's when he pulled out his knife and began stabbing. He stabbed and slashed with precision and force. He stabbed, one stab for every chunk of money that he himself had stolen. Fahim's head clunked on the ground as he fought back, but Tyrese was too strong. The taser had weakened him. Tyrese stabbed until his former mentor was quiet until he was still. It was over so quickly that it scared him. Tyrese stood up and exhaled. He had never felt so alive in his life.

He'd be back tomorrow to finish the job, but for now, he had plans to celebrate his girlfriend's birthday and he needed to get some gold balloons. What is this level of psychopathy? Of sociopathy? Where does it come from? I wonder. Tyrese had rented an $18,000 a month Airbnb just 15 minutes away as a staycation gift for his girlfriend's birthday.

I wonder who was paying for that. This was really an alibi attempt and to get him closer to Fahim's place for the murder. The two spent 48 hours dining and dashing about the city together, his girlfriend blissfully oblivious to what had just happened. When Tyrese took off to Home Depot for an electric saw and supplies, he told his girlfriend that he had a work thing to handle and she ate it up, as they often do. He was almost done dismembering Fahim when cousin A entered the apartment. Tyrese had spent the morning with the brand new Makita saw,

cutting his former boss into healthy chunks and packaging his legs, arms, and head into black garbage bags. He had researched where the human joints were and had even surprised himself at how precise his cuts had been. The heat of the saw buzzed in his hands and his arms grew heavy as the job went on.

Fahim's thin, small frame wasn't that hard to chop up. Tyrese had all the cleaning supplies ready. He was meticulous as he soaked up the blood careful not to get any on the furniture or rug. He left the torso for last. After all, it was the heaviest. He had plans to burn the body parts later. Tyrese was lost in his thoughts. On the far end of the apartment, when he heard the elevator ding, terror ran through him. Someone was coming. Fahim's dog started towards the elevator.

Tyrese grabbed his stuff and bolted. Fahim had a back exit into the staircase. It was gone before he could hear A. Scream. Tyrese Haspel is awaiting trial for Fahim's murder. When the police arrested him in his luxury AirBnB, he tried to run, of course. Today he says he's innocent. He didn't kill his former boss, but the prosecution has a strong case against him. You see the confetti from his taser,

the one he bought, the one that was found in Fahim's apartment, you know, that can be tracked. Tyrese is caught on multiple cameras around the building on the day of the murder. And you know, there's pretty much no one else anywhere in the world that could have done this or wanted to. So there's that.

For now, Tyrese awaits his fate in a cell on Riker's Island, where I'm sure he's regretting most of the decisions he's made in his sad, phony little life. Until he comes face to face with an actual judge, he'll be stuck in jail where it's pretty hard to be an entrepreneur. When all you have to sell is yourself and nobody's buying. If you enjoyed the show, please consider joining Plus at swordandscale.com slash PLUS. But if you can't, consider leaving us a positive review on your preferred listening platform. Sweet dreams and good night.