Send us Fan Mail

Hours before Goliath Ventures Inc’s big Miami dinner, the company’s inner circle shifted from hype to panic. Instead of confidence, we suddenly saw a loyalty sermon from Tomo Marjanovic, wrapped in the new hashtag #GoliathStrong, urging his “brothers” not to walk away. It was clear something inside the organisation had fractured, and this message was attempting to hold together what was already slipping apart.

THE MESSAGE THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

I woke up to Tomo’s post and immediately recognised the tone. It wasn’t motivation. It wasn’t leadership. It was a man trying to keep an organisation from falling apart on the eve of its most important public appearance. When someone in his position starts warning people not to “disappear when things get difficult,” it means people already are. The façade was cracking, and the timing was too precise to ignore.

THE SCAM BEGINS

Goliath Ventures built itself on the illusion of strength — the events, the dinners, the staged luxury. But real strength doesn’t need constant reminders. Real companies don’t need hashtags to reassure their own members. As the cracks widened, the language changed. Business updates were replaced with emotional rhetoric. The organisation stopped talking about growth and started talking about brotherhood, loyalty, and codes that must be honoured. That’s when I knew this wasn’t a message aimed at the public. It was aimed at insiders preparing to step away.

THE MIAMI DINNER UNRAVELS

The Miami Casino Royale dinner had been marketed for months as a show of power. But as the date approached, people began backing out. Quietly. Nervously. Some told friends they didn’t want to be photographed with a company now covered in red flags. Others had already been speaking to investigators. Some simply sensed the end coming. And instead of reassuring them, the leadership tried to guilt them into turning up. Tomo’s message was a pressure valve — a last attempt to plug the holes before the ship rolled over.

THE LIEUTENANT STEPS FORWARD

In a legitimate company, the founder would be the one addressing the concerns. But Christopher Delgado vanished from the conversation, leaving Tomo to do the emotional heavy lifting. That’s what collapsing organisations do: the founder retreats, and a lieutenant steps forward to manage the fear. Tomo’s role shifted from “Director of Partner Services” to spiritual enforcer almost overnight. And once he stepped into that role, the language became unmistakably desperate.

THE CODE OF SILENCE

The idea of a “code” is not part of any compliant financial structure. It is part of a control mechanism — something used to keep people from asking questions at the exact moment they should be asking the most. When Tomo said the code must be honoured “even when it’s inconvenient,” he revealed how serious the internal doubt had become. This wasn’t about ethics. It was about survival. And he was begging supporters to ignore their instincts, ignore the evidence, and ignore the growing whispers.

BROTHERHOOD AS A WEAPON

The message wasn’t simply about unity. It was about preventing defection. Every line was aimed at those considering walking away: the promoters who had stopped recruiting, the team members who no longer wanted to attend the dinner, the insiders who had seen enough to question everything. By redefining loyalty as honour, and doubt as betrayal, the organisation tried to shame people into silence. But messages like this only appear when collapse is close.

The Avengers Anti-Fraud Alliance is a community supporting independent investigations into scams, Ponzi schemes, MLMs, crypto fraud and the people behind them.

Led by New Zealand investigative journalist Danny de Hek, the Avengers help uncover information, connect victims, analyse evidence and expose schemes that deserve public scrutiny.

We investigate. We expose. We protect.

Support the show