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Many investors who have the misfortune of parking their funds in Robert Sobrepeña‘s Camp John Hay Development Corporation (CJHDevCo) would have found his gumption most admirable, if it were not so outrageous, even in a country where shady business dealings are the norm.
In the late 1990s, Sobrepeña won a contract to develop and manage the CJHDevCo. What happened next is a study on how far a private company could go to defraud the government and the investing public, without being made accountable for its crime.
The management contract was only for 25 years, but CJHDevCo, immediately after winning it, turned around to sell leases for up to 50 years to unwary investors. That is a classic definition of fraud.
Over the years, CJHDevCo collected approximately ₱5.7 billion from investors. Despite the billions that flowed into its coffers, the company still failed to meet its financial obligations. It informed the Bases Conversion Development Authority (BCDA), from whom it had won the contract, that it was in dire financial straits and asked for a restructuring deal.
The BCDA agreed, not once but several times. In 2012, however, BCDA — tired of CJHDevCo’s continuing failure to keep its end of the bargain — decided to rescind the original lease agreement and all other related deals.
However, CJHDevCo was not going to give up its milking cow that easily. It filed a case against BCDA before an arbitration tribunal, to resolve the dispute and clarify its rights under the lease agreement and the subsequent restructuring deals.
It looked like CJHDevCo did not come to court with clean hands. The Department of Human Settlements and Urban Development (DHSUD) certified that BCDA never issued any Certificate of Registration and License to Sell to CJHDevCo. Moreover, no homeowners association was ever registered under the company’s name.
How it all began
In the crisp highland air of Baguio City, where pine trees sway beneath a slate blue sky as fog rolls silently across old American trails, a dream once took shape. Camp John Hay, the former US military recreation facility nestled in the city’s heart, was to be transformed into a luxurious mountain haven: a place of five-star hotels, golf courses, alpine condos, and casinos that would rival any European resort. The man behind that vision, Robert John L. Sobrepeña, promised it all. For a time, it seemed he would deliver.

But today, that dream lies in ruin — its skeletal structures draped in mildew, its legal titles worthless, and its mastermind disgraced and cornered. Sobrepeña‘s empire — once sprawling across real estate, transport infrastructure, and high finance – is collapsing under the weight of broken promises, unpaid dues, and a Supreme Court ruling that has become a landmark rebuke of corporate deception and legal chicanery in the country.
This is the story of how Sobrepeña rose to prominence, built an empire on shaky foundation, and eventually triggered one of the most consequential property disputes in Philippine history, This is a story of greed, mismanagement, and how the fog in the City of Pines came to obscure, not just a landscape, but the truth.
The rise of a tycoon
He had the makings of a man who could convince a country to dream. Well-born, well-spoken, and ambitious, he was the son of a prominent businessman and political figure. He emerged in the 1990s as one of the bold new faces of Philippine business, amid the rapid liberalization of the national economy under the late President Fidel V. Ramos. At a time when the country was shaking off decades of dictatorship and economic protectionism, Sobrepeña promised modernity: high-rise condos, world-class resorts, and a rail system to transform Metro Manila’s traffic-choked sprawl.
Through the Fil-Estate Group, a network of companies engaged in real estate, fund management, and infrastructure, Sobrepeña became one of the most aggressive proponents of privatized development. Under the Fil-Estate brand, Sobrepeña orchestrated a sprawling web of developments: golf courses in Tagaytay, luxury condos in Ortigas, and sprawling subdivisions in the provinces. His companies pioneered “pre-selling” schemes, marketing condo units and vacation timeshares long before the buildings were complete. Buyers — ranging from middle-class families to overseas Filipino workers and foreign retirees — trusted his vision and signed contracts en masse. The capital rolled in.

At the heart of this growing empire was CJHDevCo. In 1996, the BCDA awarded CJHDevCo the exclusive right to develop Camp John Hay under a 25-year lease. For an annual fee of P425 million, Sobrepeña would turn the former military base into a premier eco-tourism zone. He hailed it as the crown jewel of the post-EDSA boom — a place where nature met capital in harmony. Sobrepeña declared it a “win-win” for Baguio, the government, and investors.
But almost from the start, the dream began to unravel.
The cracks in the pines
CJHDevCo struggled to meet its payment obligations to the BCDA. While Sobrepeña launched the John Hay Manor hotel and a convention center, and began selling long-term subleases to investors, many of the development promises went unfulfilled. By 2003, CJHDevCo sought and was granted a revised agreement to reduce its payments. By 2011, however, the arrears had ballooned to over P3.3 billion.
What followed was a legal trench war. CJHDevCo refused to vacate the property. It filed suit after suit, arguing that the BCDA itself had failed to uphold its end of the agreement by not providing proper infrastructure or utilities. Meanwhile, CJHDevCo continued selling long-term leasehold rights to buyers under what was essentially a nullified arrangement. These contracts were marketed as quasi-permanent, with durations up to 50 years, well beyond the main 25-year-lease right, despite CJHDevCo having no ownership of the land. Investors, unaware of the fragility of the legal structure, moved into units that were, at best, built on borrowed time.
To make matters worse, the funds from these transactions were not safeguarded in escrow. Instead, they were allegedly used to prop up CJHDevCo’s operations or diverted to related companies under Sobrepeña’s umbrella. By the mid-2010s, dozens of lawsuits had been filed by angry sub-lessees. The Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) flagged several entities for non-compliance. The dream was dissolving in a fog of litigation and loss.
Camp John Hay implodes
The BCDA, after years of failed mediation, terminated CJHDevCo’s lease in 2015. What followed was a bitter legal war. CJHDevCo argued that the BCDA itself had breached the agreement by failing to deliver on infrastructure and utilities. The BCDA countered that CJHDevCo had defaulted on its financial obligations and demanded the return of the property.
In a landmark 2015 arbitration ruling, the Philippine Dispute Resolution Center sided with the BCDA, ordering CJHDevCo to vacate the property and return it to the government. The court also ordered that the P1.4 billion in “lease rentals” paid by investors — mostly from long-term condo-hotel subleases — be returned by the BCDA, which in turn had to collect the funds from CJHDevCo.
But there was a catch: CJHDevCo had no intention — and seemingly no capacity — to return the money.
In many ways, Sobrepeña’s story parallels that of other tycoons of the post-EDSA boom era — men who emerged amid a frenzy of privatization and deregulation, who mastered the language of development but lost the trust of those they were supposed to serve. But unlike the others who bowed out or paid their dues, Sobrepeña clung on… until even the courts could no longer protect him.
In hindsight, Sobrepeña’s business model was not at all sustainable. It relied on the constant sale of future rights — be they leaseholds, rail revenues, or condos — to fund present operations. When the future caught up with him, there was little left to give. His refusal to vacate Camp John Hay even after BCDA terminated his lease was not defiance. It was desperation.
So, where is the accountability?
For the Philippines to build investor confidence, it must demonstrate that white-collar deception carries consequences. Jail time is not just warranted. It is necessary to send a message that the era of impunity is over.
This is not vengeance. It is justice. The facts are documented. The losses are real. And Sobrepeña’s silence is damning.
The SEC even issued a cease and desist order against CJHDevCo and its affiliates, stating they had no legal rights to sell hotel units. The company, however, ignored the order and kept on selling. It thus committed misrepresentation or outright fraud.
It is clear the BCDA got played, and it can only blame itself. It should have vetted the man it was dealing with.
Sobrepeña after all is the same guy who was at the helm of the College Assurance Plan (CAP) which left clients holding an empty bag.
From 1980 onwards, CAP sold a pre-need plan that issued a guarantee to parents that their child’s college tuition would be paid in full. It was marketed as a saving for the future without worrying about inflation. But when the supposed benefits became due, CAP declared bankruptcy. The parents had to shoulder the high cost of tuition themselves or tell their children they couldn’t go to college at all.
Would the CJHDevCo investors suffer the same fate?
After the company’s lease was canceled, the subleases, the purchase of hotel units could become worthless.
So, where would they turn for justice?
The National Bureau of Investigation (NBI) is investigating the case. That is a welcome development, but the investigating body must examine the case through the lens of criminal liability, not treat it as a mere civil breach. It must charge Sobrepeña with fraud, as the evidence seems to warrant.
So far, Sobrepeña is taking things in stride, perhaps confident that he can worm his way out of trouble.
The government cannot afford to let him get away with it like he did the last time. If the country can ever hope to build investor confidence, it must demonstrate that white-collar crimes can earn for the perpetrator prison terms as well as hefty fines. – Rappler.com