When Des, a 73-year-old former engineer from Mitcham, answered an advert promising to help him escape the mounting costs of his holiday timeshare, he never imagined it would unravel into a life-altering ordeal. Yet, like more than 3,500 others across the UK, Des was swept into a web of deceit masterminded by Mark Rowe and his wife Nicola—an elaborate £28 million fraud that preyed on the hopes of elderly and vulnerable timeshare owners.
According to the BBC, the scheme, which ran under the guise of the “Sell My Timeshare” (SMT) brand, operated out of offices in Bournemouth, York, Stratford-upon-Avon, and Tenerife. It promised an easy exit for those desperate to offload their timeshares, but instead, victims were lured into high-pressure sales meetings lasting up to six hours. There, they were told their properties were worthless and pushed to buy into “Monster Credits”—vouchers that, on paper, offered discounts on holidays and shopping, and could supposedly be traded with other customers. In reality, these credits were worthless, and most victims found themselves still saddled with the costs of their timeshares.
The scale of the fraud is staggering. As reported by The Guardian, 3,583 people lost a combined £28.1 million, with nearly 500 individuals losing more than £10,000 each. The majority of victims were aged between 60 and 80, with some even in their 90s. The highest documented individual loss reached £80,000. Many, like Des, were forced to take out loans—often arranged by the company itself—to pay for the credits, only to discover they had been duped. “It was like a kick in the guts,” Des told the BBC. “There was no way of getting my money back.” The financial blow was so severe that he had to delay his retirement and take up work as a delivery driver to repay the debt.
The operation was as sophisticated as it was ruthless. Mark Rowe, 54, orchestrated the scam with a flair for illusion, creating fake virtual offices and personas to bolster the company’s credibility. The Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) detailed how Rowe “put victims up in hotels” and paid for glossy advertising campaigns, even featuring celebrity soap actress Julie Peasgood in SMT’s adverts. The meetings themselves were a psychological gauntlet: victims were “worn down and persuaded they had a millstone around their neck, and the only way they could get rid of it was to buy this Monster Credits product,” explained Peter Highway, the senior investigating officer from the South West Regional Organised Crime Unit. Unbeknownst to the victims, Rowe owned the Monster Credits company, hiding his involvement through a Seychelles-based firm with fake employees.
The proceeds from the scam bankrolled a life of luxury for the Rowes. Investigators revealed that more than £8 million was funneled into their personal accounts. As The Times reported, the couple spent over £110,000 on private school fees, bought a £2.4 million Hampshire home with stables, and splurged £26,000 on a private jet trip to Tenerife. Their taste for art was equally extravagant, with £185,000 spent at galleries—including £31,500 for an LS Lowry pencil sketch titled “Street Scene.” Their kitchen alone reportedly cost £70,000.
The sense of betrayal among victims was profound. In a statement read to the court, one victim lamented, “I’m now supposed to be retired and enjoying life, but as a result of being a victim of Mark Rowe’s fraud my quality of life has been reduced to a struggle—I’m unable to afford to even pay my own rent. I’ve been a successful businessman all of my life, but feel that I’ve let my wife down, and I cannot see how I can put this right in the time that we have left.”
The fraud began to unravel after a police investigation was launched in 2016, initially led by Dorset Police and later taken up by the South West Regional Organised Crime Unit. Investigators combed through more than 5.5 million phone recordings and scrutinized 500 bank accounts, including 54 held by the Rowes themselves. The case eventually led to a series of four trials at Southwark Crown Court over two years, resulting in the conviction of 14 people involved in the conspiracy.
Mark Rowe was sentenced in January 2025 to seven-and-a-half years in prison for conspiracy to defraud. Judge Alexander Milne, presiding over the case, called Rowe “profoundly dishonest” and a “corrupting influence” who had “left a trail of misery.” Nicola Rowe, who acted as the company’s finance director, pleaded guilty to money laundering and was due to be sentenced at Southwark Crown Court on October 17, 2025. Other key figures received sentences ranging from suspended terms to four-and-a-half years’ imprisonment. Lee Evans, 51, of Preston, for example, was sentenced to two years’ imprisonment suspended for two years after pleading guilty to fraud by false representation.
Gayle Ramsey, the CPS specialist prosecutor, described the ordeal as “a living nightmare” for victims. “These defendants acted in a completely selfish and manipulative manner to make huge sums for themselves and exploited timeshare owners, many of whom were elderly,” she said. “They provided victims with the false hope of disposing of timeshares in exchange for a valuable investment when in reality they were each left tens of thousands of pounds out of pocket after purchasing something which was worthless.” Ramsey confirmed that the CPS would pursue any assets gained by the defendants through its proceeds of crime division.
The broader context of the scam is rooted in the history of timeshare ownership in the UK. In the 1980s and 1990s, timeshares were marketed as hassle-free holidays and a sound investment, with promises that owners could easily sell their shares when they no longer needed them. However, as owners aged or their circumstances changed, many found themselves unable to use the properties or keep up with rising maintenance fees. This left a large, vulnerable population seeking a way out—precisely the group targeted by Rowe and his associates.
For victims like Des, the emotional toll has been as severe as the financial loss. “How do these people sleep at night?” he asked the BBC. “They don’t care about us normal people. They’re greedy, they get greedier and they’re living their life of luxury from their ill-gotten gains.” While some solace has come from seeing the perpetrators brought to justice, the scars of the fraud remain. As Ramsey noted, some victims died before seeing justice served.
The Sell My Timeshare scandal stands as a stark warning about the perils of high-pressure sales tactics and the vulnerability of those seeking relief from complex financial burdens. As the courts continue to pursue restitution, the victims are left to piece together lives upended by a fraud that promised freedom but delivered only hardship.
