A network linked to a Croatian figure known to law enforcement has continued launching one cryptocurrency project after another. Despite repeated reports of vast sums of money disappearing, the operations have persisted. The case raises questions about how such activities have been able to continue, offering a glimpse into a world that appears detached from reality.
Sophia Thomalla hunts digital gold. The actress streaks through the sky in a red patent-leather suit and lands on hard concrete. Like a superhero. With brisk steps, she enters a skyscraper made entirely of glass and light, swiping through holographic menus in the lobby—but finds nothing. Then a young man in a suit appears and gestures the way. “The Chairman awaits you.” At the end of a long corridor, he stands: dark suit, sunglasses, as usual.
The promotional video, released at the end of 2020, offers a glimpse into a fantasy world where anything is supposedly possible: no more money worries, a life between beach and private jet. Thanks to crypto. The “Chairman” shows how it’s done.
Yet the fantasy world repeatedly collapses. Values vanish—sometimes even retirement savings. Then, shortly after, the fantasy world rises again—with new projects and fresh promises of miraculous wealth online. And the “Chairman” is always central: Josip Heit, 47. His story shows how easy it still is in the crypto industry to build castles in the air—and stay one step ahead of authorities.
Those attempting to investigate the fantasy land enter a labyrinth. Crypto is international and wonderfully complex. What is sold, where, and under what conditions? Which national authority could theoretically untangle this alleged multibillion-dollar tangle of companies, coins, and deals? And then the labyrinth is fiercely guarded. Heit expends enormous effort against financial regulators and critics, represented by the U.S. law firm Quinn Emanuel, repeatedly named the “most feared” law firm worldwide.
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An inquiry by SZ to Josip Heit brings a response from a New York lawyer: all allegations against his client are false. No court has ever confirmed them. They originate from discredited sources, anonymous activists, people paid for false claims, or convicted criminals. Some hold personal vendettas against Heit. His client has repeatedly acted successfully in court.
Heit, born in 1977 in socialist Yugoslavia, grew up in Kaštela near Split. After the fall of the Iron Curtain, his family moved to Germany. He once told a Romanian celebrity journalist he grew up poor, watching expensive things on TV. “Of course, I wanted that too.” In 2009, Heit serves a prison sentence in Luxembourg as part of a gang committing years of theft—six years plus fines. He is released early in 2012.
On Instagram, he presents himself as a successful businessman: in suits, luxury watches, yachts, and hotels, always smiling. Muscular men often appear beside him, linked to organized crime. Heit’s circle intersects with influencer Andrew Tate, known for preaching masculinity, toughness, and misogyny, and under investigation in Romania for suspected human trafficking and other charges. Tate denies these allegations.
Heit is a networker. Someone who has worked with him describes him as charming, but capable of switching faces in an instant.
In 2018, Heit joins Karatbars, a Stuttgart gold-trading company operating via multi-level marketing. Everyone could become a salesperson, expanding the network and earning commissions. Heit appears in Karatbars videos as “Chairman of the Board”—a title his lawyer later says was just a “marketing courtesy.” Heit is only an investor.
Karatbars offers a cryptocurrency allegedly backed by gold, exchangeable after “Gold Independence Day,” July 4, 2019. But trouble arises. On June 15, 2019, Marvin S., a marketing expert for Karatbars, drinks whiskey in his Mainz apartment when a call warns him: “There’s been gunfire.”
Marvin S. later claims he had doubts about Karatbars’ legality and wanted out. The company allegedly sent a known Croatian criminal to intimidate him—possibly even Heit himself. Investigators later close the case, unsure who fired the shots.
After the promised Gold Independence Day, Heit appears on camera in a pinstripe suit, announcing problems with the gold exchange. According to his lawyer, Heit was deceived by forged documents and even warned U.S. authorities. Yet records show millions flowed into Heit-controlled companies. By November 2019, Germany’s financial regulator BaFin orders Karatbars’ crypto business halted.
Heit moves on in 2020 with G999, another cryptocurrency, again via multi-level marketing. The coin plummets to less than one-thousandth of a euro. Investors are soon pitched new projects: tokenized real estate in Dubai and virtual metaverse plots—also losing nearly all value. Profit goes mainly to early promoters or recruiters.
Glamorous marketing events abound: Dubai’s Coca-Cola Arena, G999 on the Burj Khalifa, triumphant music, cheering crowds, Heit at the center. Is the wealth real? U.S. authorities note billion-dollar claims but cannot verify them. Visitor traffic on the network’s website peaks at over half a million per month.
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On October 28, 2023, an undercover investigator enters a public library in Florida. Whiteboards promise passive income, and MetaCertificates promise astronomical returns—up to 176,000 percent over 18 months. Authorities call it “an indication of high-grade fraud,” issuing a temporary injunction. Heit’s lawyer notes no convictions; injunctions are not judicial rulings.
Crypto boundaries blur in the fantasy land. Jurisdiction, transparency, and accountability dissolve across borders. Crypto assets can move with a click; tracing ownership can become so expensive that it’s impractical.
In September 2025, luxury cars arrive at a Munich hotel for a marketing event promoting DAO1 and Apertum blockchain technology—the “next big thing.” Despite flimsy whitepapers, the projects attract over 1,600 German investors. Within a month, BaFin issues a warning: DAO1 offers crypto without a license. Other U.S. regulators retract earlier injunctions. Heit is “fully rehabilitated,” his lawyer says.
Soon after, the “MetaLion” reappears in a global call, touting the future of Apertum. Heit joins in as a consultant, announcing that G999 and other products will be “implemented” into Apertum under legal constraints.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Heit says, “much is still ahead of us.”