It sounded like a dream only the ultra-rich could afford — a secret sanctuary for the elite, where millionaires could park their Ferraris beside Porsches, sip rare wines, smoke hand-rolled cigars, and discuss business over candlelight and crystal.

He called it The Bunker — “the Soho House for car lovers.”

But what began as a glossy vision of luxury has now imploded into one of the most bizarre scandals to hit California’s investment world in years. At the center stands David Bren, a 33-year-old with a famous last name, a trail of lawsuits, and a father who wants nothing to do with him.

🚨 The Dream of “The Bunker”

For investors, The Bunker was irresistible.

Decks circulated through Beverly Hills boardrooms promised an exclusive lifestyle concept: membership-only car vaults, access to exotic vehicles, and private culinary events “curated for the discerning man of means.”

Founding members would include household names — Mark Cuban, August Getty, Larry Ellison, and even NBA star Kristaps Porziņģis, according to investor materials obtained by The Los Angeles Times.

Entry wouldn’t come cheap. Membership fees were pitched at $14,500 per month, plus initiation costs for “founders.”

But there was one major problem.

“The Bunker does not exist,” reads one of several lawsuits filed against David Bren.
“There is no ultra-high-end automotive club. There are no members. The business is a mirage.”

💸 The Alleged Scam

Between 2020 and 2022, Bren reportedly convinced multiple investors to pour money into his vision. He described The Bunker as a near-complete project, claiming a deal was in motion to acquire Mr. C’s Beverly Hills Hotel for $90 million.

Documents promised that once the property closed, construction would begin on “the world’s most exclusive social club for automotive enthusiasts.”

But, according to the lawsuits, none of it was real.

“It was a charade designed to lure investors into funding his own extravagant lifestyle,” reads another filing reviewed by The Times.

Investors say Bren lived lavishly — hosting parties, driving luxury cars, and frequenting five-star hotels — all while claiming their funds were being used for property acquisitions.

One investor reportedly lost his entire savings. Another, consumed by shame and financial ruin, was later found dead in his garage, according to court documents.

🧊 The Father Who Walked Away

David Bren’s famous last name is no accident. His father, Donald Bren, is one of the most powerful men in American real estate.

At 93 years old, Donald Bren’s empire spans 129 million square feet of prime property in Southern California. With a net worth hovering near $19 billion, he is the chairman of Irvine Company, the corporate giant behind some of the nation’s most exclusive developments.

But when news broke of his son’s alleged scam, Donald’s response was swift — and cold.

“We do not have a personal or business relationship with this individual,” said Paul Hernandez, spokesperson for Donald Bren and Irvine Company, in a statement to The New York Post.

Insiders say the two haven’t spoken in over a decade. Their last encounter, according to sources familiar with the family, was in a courtroom — not at a dinner table.

“There has never been a relationship,” the source said flatly. “Donald cut ties a long time ago.”

⚖️ The Family Rift

The Bren family fracture isn’t new. It first made headlines in 2003, when Donald’s former partner Jennifer McKay Gold filed a lawsuit on behalf of their two children — including David, then 11 years old — seeking millions in retroactive child support.

Donald had already paid roughly $9 million in support, his lawyers argued. A jury ultimately ruled in his favor, ending a bitter public fight.

But in the years that followed, that estrangement became the foundation of David’s story — a backstory he allegedly used to manipulate sympathy from potential investors.

“He played this victim card,” one associate told The Times. “He’d say, ‘My dad never gave me anything. I just want to prove I can make it on my own.’”

That persona — the underdog son of a billionaire trying to make his mark — was powerful. It was the emotional hook that reeled in backers, from tech founders to financiers, who wanted to believe in redemption.

🏙️ The Illusion of Power

Part of David’s success in luring investors was his ability to project credibility.

He dressed the part: tailored suits, designer watches, cars that matched his story. He spoke confidently about high-level deals and name-dropped industry titans.

“He made it seem like he could just pick up the phone and call his father,” recalled Chris Rising, a Los Angeles developer who briefly entertained Bren’s pitch to buy Mr. C’s Beverly Hills Hotel. “He gave off this aura of legitimacy.”

For many, it worked — until the money started disappearing.

💰 The Investors Who Believed

Among those who backed The Bunker were tech entrepreneur Nanxi Liu and her mentor, Tony Chen, a Bay Area investor who became deeply invested — emotionally and financially — in the project.

Liu said Bren personally assured her that the Beverly Hills property deal was “already secured.”

She hesitated — until Chen pressed her.

“He told me, ‘You have to invest in this. It’s the Soho House for car lovers,’” Liu recalled. “He was convinced.”

In 2021, Liu wired $100,000 into The Bunker’s account.

Months later, Chen began to unravel. According to Liu, he appeared at her doorstep in “massive crisis.” His investment — rumored to be several hundred thousand dollars — was gone.

🧾 The Checks That Bounced

According to multiple lawsuits, Bren made repeated promises to repay disillusioned investors — promises that rarely materialized.

When investors Elham Alsulaiman and Zainal Alireza demanded their $1 million seed investment back, Bren issued a check for half the amount. It bounced.

Others say Bren stalled by offering vague apologies, or even complimentary memberships to The Bunker “once it opened.”

It never did.

Private attorney Joshua Ritter, who represents several victims, said at least one client lost nearly $1 million to the alleged scam.

“They were all sold the same fantasy,” Ritter said. “A club that never existed, backed by a name that carried weight — even if the father wanted nothing to do with him.”

🕯️ The Human Cost

Perhaps the most tragic part of the saga isn’t the money — it’s the toll.

One investor fled California entirely, unable to face the embarrassment of having been duped. Another, overwhelmed by financial ruin, took his own life.

Others, like Liu, say the experience left them deeply distrustful of start-up culture.

“It wasn’t just about greed,” she said. “It was about wanting to believe in someone. And that’s what hurts the most.”

🏗️ The Ghost of “The Bunker”

Today, there’s no trace of The Bunker — no property, no cars, no luxury club hidden in the hills.

The website has vanished. The social media pages are inactive. Even Bren himself has gone quiet, not responding to phone calls or emails seeking comment.

Legal filings continue to mount, though none have yet reached trial. Prosecutors have not announced criminal charges, but civil suits allege fraud, breach of contract, and misrepresentation.

If proven, the total losses could exceed $2 million, with ripple effects across the Los Angeles investment scene.

🧊 A Cold Goodbye

As for Donald Bren — the father, the billionaire, the empire builder — he’s moved on without a backward glance.

He has weathered decades of scrutiny, lawsuits, and public fascination with his private life. But this time, the silence feels different.

“Donald’s position is clear,” said one family associate. “He has no involvement, no relationship, and no intention of helping his son.”

It’s a statement as sharp and final as any disownment could be.

⚖️ The Legacy Question

In the end, the saga of David Bren is a tale of two American myths — the empire of privilege, and the illusion of self-made success.

One man built a real estate kingdom worth billions.
The other built a fantasy worth nothing.

Both share a name that once promised power.
Now, that name is synonymous with betrayal.

And somewhere in Beverly Hills, where “The Bunker” was supposed to stand, there’s only empty space — a monument to ambition, deception, and a son who dreamed too big for the truth.