In the quiet, leafy suburbs near Royal Ascot, construction crews are hard at work building what looks like something straight out of a Hollywood film.
Locals whisper that the place resembles a Bond villain’s lair—floodlights blazing at night, fountains being installed, and statues going up one by one.
The massive compound, taking shape across about ten acres of Berkshire greenbelt, involves merging two huge houses, surrounding fields, and a stretch of woodland.
At the centre of this ambitious, no-expense-spared project is 56-year-old businessman Sarwar Khawaja.
Though he might not be a household name, Khawaja has long been trying to project an image of influence, power, and prestige.
Until recently, that included social media posts featuring him rubbing shoulders with King Charles, former Archbishop Rowan Williams, and even fashion icon Jimmy Choo.
A Carefully Crafted Public Persona
Khawaja’s online presence told a tale of success. Photos showcased his Rolls-Royce, flashy watches, and designer suits.
He styled himself as a “professor, philanthropist and visionary.”
His bio was filled with accolades—an expert in leadership, artificial intelligence, and education.
And in September, he or someone in his circle paid for a glowing advertorial in The Independent, describing him as a tireless innovator changing lives through education.
But that highly polished image started to disappear earlier this year.
His personal website vanished. His Instagram went private.
His X (formerly Twitter) profile was deleted, and his LinkedIn received a quiet makeover.
The Silence Comes at a Suspicious Time
This sudden online retreat coincided with a serious controversy involving a college very closely linked to him.
Since 2018, Khawaja had been associated with Oxford Business College (OBC), calling himself its “Chairman of Business Development,” “Executive Board Chairman,” and even featuring his name above one of its campuses.
Staff at the college once praised his words of wisdom, with one employee even posting a photo of a campus sign displaying Khawaja’s quote: “It’s not where you come from, it’s where you choose to go.”
But in late March, OBC found itself at the heart of a student loan fraud scandal that has rocked the UK’s higher education system.
The College at the Centre of the Storm
It all started with an exposé in The Sunday Times, which revealed OBC had become a hub for student-loan fraud.
The article claimed that hundreds of students were enrolling not to study, but purely to pocket thousands in student loans.
This wasn’t a unique case—fraud has been spreading across many institutions, leaving the British taxpayer potentially liable for hundreds of millions of pounds.
A government review found that just six colleges, including OBC, had racked up 1,785 fraudulent student funding applications worth £22 million.
OBC alone was linked to claims worth at least £4 million.
In response, Education Secretary Bridget Phillipson made an extraordinary move: banning OBC’s 10,000 students from accessing student loans.
The government cited serious concerns around how the college was recruiting students—some of whom couldn’t speak English properly—and failing to monitor attendance.
OBC Fights Back, But Questions Mount
Oxford Business College responded angrily, claiming the government’s decision was unjust and unlawful. They quickly filed for a judicial review.
But when a journalist visited the college’s “main campus” shortly after, what they found was not what you’d expect from a thriving academic institution.
Rather than historic buildings and bustling classrooms, OBC’s headquarters were found in the upper floors of an old Royal Mail sorting office near a train station—nearly empty, except for two Eastern European men smoking outside.
How the Scam Worked
To understand the scale of the problem, it helps to look at how the UK’s student loan system works.
Anyone with settled status can apply for a government-backed loan to cover tuition fees (up to £9,535) and living costs (up to £13,348).
These payments go straight to the college and the student respectively.
In theory, these are loans. But if the recipient never earns over £25,000 per year, they won’t repay a penny—and after 40 years, the debt is wiped.
Move abroad? It’s even harder to enforce repayment.
This setup has created a loophole ripe for exploitation.
Fraudsters—many reportedly from Eastern Europe—enrol just to receive the money, without attending classes.
In 2024, 85,000 Romanian nationals with settled status received loans; while some were genuine students, many weren’t.
A Broken System, Enabled by Institutions
Colleges like OBC earn a tidy sum for each student they enrol—regardless of whether the student actually studies.
Some universities work with private colleges like OBC under “franchise” schemes, offering their degree programmes through them.
The worst offenders allegedly accepted anyone who applied, even if they couldn’t speak English or meet basic academic requirements.
According to a New York Times article, OBC once sent recruiters door-to-door in immigrant neighbourhoods to drum up students.
A former recruiter even said: “It was all about money, money, money.”
Some applicants passed “English proficiency” tests simply by using the Duolingo app on their phones.
The Whistleblower Report That Was Buried
One institution did try to investigate. Buckinghamshire New University (BNU), which had a franchise arrangement with OBC, hired consultant Julie Kelly to assess the situation in late 2023.
Her 22-page report uncovered widespread issues.
She found many applicants already working full-time, emails timestamped from outside the UK, 250 unresolved academic misconduct cases, and average class attendance below 50%.
In some cases, students hadn’t attended a single class in a year but were still receiving loans.
And what did BNU do with this damning evidence? Nothing.
They chose not to share it with the Department for Education, Office for Students, or Student Loans Company.
Only now, with the scandal in the headlines, are they promising to hand over the report.
Internal Emails Reveal Staff Knew
Even within OBC, concerns were being raised. Dr Julie King, then Dean of the Nottingham campus, emailed colleagues in February to say that attendance was “no more than 50%” and many students seemed to be collecting loans while not even living in the UK.
After the government’s crackdown in April, Dr King resigned.
She admitted in a message to colleagues that some staff had “unscrupulously recruited poor-quality students” who were difficult to teach and engage.
She has since removed all mention of OBC from her LinkedIn profile.
Khawaja Distances Himself, But the Connection Remains
As for Sarwar Khawaja—the man who once proudly claimed to be leading the college—he’s been quietly erasing his digital links to OBC.
Websites have been taken down, social accounts deleted, and references removed.
But the paper trail remains. His involvement dates back to at least 2018, when OBC first began franchising degrees from BNU and other universities.
His fingerprints are all over the institution’s rise—and its fall.
A Symbol of a System in Crisis
What happened at Oxford Business College is more than just one scandal—it’s a snapshot of a broken system.
One where ambition, image, and profit have taken precedence over genuine education.
And one where, despite multiple red flags, meaningful oversight came only after the press got involved.
For now, as Khawaja builds his real-life palace behind Berkshire hedgerows, the future of thousands of students and millions in public funds hangs in the balance.