By A Special Correspondent

JUST for awhile, I was transported to a recession-proof world.

It could be all mine, with just a stroke of the pen.

'You can enjoy sky-diving at Mount Everest, para-gliding, cruises, and even go to casinos and travel all over the world,' promised the well-dressed man in his mid-20s.

The entertainment industry, he proclaimed, was recession-proof.

'You don't see Warner Brothers stop producing movies and I heard the lines at Zouk are getting longer,' said the man.

He and his associates were in a business which they claimed would enable the middle class to enjoy an elite lifestyle of leisure and luxury entertainment.

I could have it too. All I had to do was be a member of this little-known club.

The firm promoting the club has surfaced here to recruit 'members' by promising very high returns for their money.

On its website, the club claims to offer members 'top-level living' through its alliances with other private clubs, casinos and entertainment venues.

While it has no office here, its 'representatives' have been targeting some people here through word of mouth and introductions by existing members.

So what did I have to do to sign up?

Potential members are told that they need to pay $11,935 for a premium membership package.

They can then sit back and earn rewards points using a rather complicated system.

These points can be redeemed for cash or for leisure activities with an entertainment company affiliated to the club. They can also be used to gamble online on a related website.

I was told that I could earn points worth as much as $57,000 in a period that can be as short as 16 months.

That is nearly five times the principal and works out to an annualised return of about 360 per cent.

But why stop there? I was told that members can even become multi-millionaires in one year if they can help to recruit more members.

Now that sounds a bit like a pyramid scheme.

Did he take part?

So I asked: Had the young man himself taken part in these leisure activities?

No, he said as he was only interested in money and was too busy working now.

Posing as a potential customer, I had managed to make contact with someone called Marteen, by SMS.

He wouldn't reveal his exact age, but when we met he turned out to be a young man dressed in a black polo T-shirt and black pants.

He arranged a meeting at a fast food restaurant in the east.

Marteen's manager, who also showed up, introduced himself as Fawwaz.

He wore a crisp white business shirt with cufflinks and dark pants. He had an expensive-looking watch and rings on both hands. He also looked like he was in his mid-20s.

He showed a chart explaining the various packages available and the returns members could get on a monthly basis.

As a carrot to entice people to sign up, he said new members would get an all-expenses paid trip to Cambodia to play at the 'biggest casino' there.

When asked which casino, his reply was: 'The biggest one. It is owned by the richest man in Cambodia. I can show you the pictures later.'

When asked whether members would fly there on business class since this is an elite club, he replied: 'Does it matter what flight you take? It's free and you get to gamble at the biggest casino in Cambodia and if you win, you get to keep all the winnings.'

The presentation lasted 1 1/2 hours, after which Fawwaz took out a membership form.

Marteen then told me I had to sign the form to show some sincerity even if I could not put down a deposit right away.

He refused to show any websites related to the club unless I signed the form.

However, after much insistence, they relented and showed what they said were the company's websites, even without our signing up for any of the packages.

One of these was an online gambling site, and there was only an e-mail address for enquiries.

We later sent e-mails to these sites but have not received any response.

This article was first published in The New Paper.