£60,000 in unpaid rent and an 'absolute worm' of a boss: welcome to Escape Reality

Friday 21 February was a typically wet one in Glasgow. Richard Mooney was sodden by the time he hurried into Merchant Square, a former fruit market in the city centre, now converted into a trendy food-and-drink destination. As he headed to sign in at the security guard’s desk, the 33-year-old was thinking about getting the heaters on right away. Escape Reality, the escape-room company Richard worked for, occupied a basement unit in the building. It could get very cold down there. If he didn’t dry off soon, the Glaswegian equivalent of trench foot could be on the cards. 

“Morning,” Richard greeted Kevin*, who was in his usual spot, manning the security guard’s post. Kevin seemed pretty stern to outsiders, but they’d become friendly over the years. On this occasion, however, Kevin wasn’t returning Richard’s smile. He wore a regretful expression. 

“Look, mate,” Kevin said, quietly. “I’m really, really sorry, but I need to take your keys”. 

At first, Richard says, he thought Kevin was talking about his keys to the big bins in the alley by Merchant Square.

“I don’t have them on me,” he told Kevin. “I’ll go down and get them”. 

Kevin held out a hand. “No,” he said. “I need all your keys”. 

Realisation was dawning on Richard. He gave a short bark of horrified laughter. 

“So it’s happened then?” 

“Yeah,” said Kevin, nodding sympathetically. “You’ve been evicted”. 

It wasn’t exactly relief that ran through Richard at that moment he says. “We knew it was coming. It was just acceptance”. 

The eviction they could handle. The tens of thousands of pounds in unpaid rent wasn’t the problem of Escape Reality’s staff. What was their issue, however, was missing pension contributions from their employer that were only now starting to be made. And now Richard feared they might have to add unpaid wages to the docket. 

He called Brian, Escape Reality’s head of operations. Brian claimed he had no idea this was coming, but Richard didn't believe him. Given everything that had happened, who would? 

“I want to talk to Sam,” Richard told Brian. He was shocked to get his wish a few minutes later: Sam Chin, the man Richard understood to be managing Escape Reality, was organising a Zoom call with him. 

When he joined the meeting, Sam had his camera off, so Richard did the same. Sam asked him if everyone was OK. “Yeah,” said Richard. “It’s rubbish, but it’s happened”. 

Another thing was unclear. Richard and another person had been promoted at the beginning of January; Richard to branch manager, and his colleague to supervisor. They hadn’t yet had the new positions confirmed in writing, but they’d been fulfilling the responsibilities for over a month. 

Will our final paycheck reflect this, Richard asked Sam. He noted down Sam’s answer, well aware by now of how important it was to keep a record of anything Escape Reality-related. Especially since Sam had taken charge in 2024. 

“He said,” recounts Richard. “‘Richard, we don’t need to have anything written down to be men of our word’”. 

Pay day arrived a week later. No money from Escape Reality accompanied it. And then came the email.

The adventure begins

In December 2016, Richard was 24 and unemployed. He was floating about, trying to find something to do when he saw the advert for Escape Reality, a new escape-room business setting up in Glasgow. Richard was familiar with the concept: customers get locked in a room and have to solve a series of puzzles to get out. So he applied.

“I got the job because I was the only person they interviewed that day who knew what an escape room was,” he says. “Everyone else thought it was like a video game thing”. 

Escape rooms are now an established part of the leisure sector. They’ve got their own awards and podcasts. “That is the mark of an industry [arriving],” Richard observes merrily. “Once it has its own podcast”. 

Richard was hired in an entry-level role, as a ‘gamesmaster’, at minimum wage. But he was looking forward to being on a salary again, and the unusual nature of the workplace appealed. He was introduced to Malcolm Leow, Escape Reality’s boss, and his friend, Sam Chin. Malcolm — who also went by Hwai Jiat Leow —- and Sam went way back, he said. 

Richard was never too sure of Malcolm’s exact role. Escape Gaming Ltd was the smallest nesting doll in a series of subsidiaries, and Malcolm’s name was listed as a director on three of them. But the ultimate parent company — Xscape Holdings Limited — was registered untraceably in Dubai. 

Malcolm’s own account of his role “changed depending on what he needed,” says Richard. “I've heard him say he was like the finance director. I've heard him say he was the managing director. If there was ever negative news, he was always like, ‘Oh, I'm just like a spokesperson for the shareholders’. Whatever he needed to be in that moment to get himself out of the situation”. 

But Malcolm had set up Escape Gaming Ltd, the company that operated Escape Reality outlets in Cardiff, Glasgow and Edinburgh, in 2016. Since mid-2018 he has been its sole director — a role also occupied for Escape Reality Manchester Ltd, the separate company that owned the Manchester branch. Legally, he was responsible for what these companies did. 

As for Sam Chin, his name wasn’t registered as a director next to Malcolm’s, and Richard didn’t see him again for a very long time. 

Malcolm, says Richard, was 32 when they met. Physically, he was short and unimposing. “Laid back” and “shy,” is how Richard describes him. 

“I thought he was handsome,” interjects Fran Penney, who’s sitting next to him. Fran, 34, joined Escape Reality soon after Richard. She was one of the people who thought it was to do with video games. Great, Fran thought; she had a background in video gaming, and theatre.