The United Kingdom’s National Crime Agency announced on 5 November the recovery of assets worth millions of pounds from Singaporean businessman Su Binghai and his company, Su Empire Limited.
Among them were three dinosaur skeletons: an adult and juvenile Allosaurus, plus a Stegosaurus. They were bought at Christie’s December 2024 auction for £12.4 million.
Also seized were nine London apartments and eleven Chinese artworks valued at over £400,000. The settlement, agreed under the Proceeds of Crime Act, allows British authorities to reclaim property believed to be acquired unlawfully, even without a criminal conviction.
In the end, a quarter of the sale proceeds will go to a bank account nominated by Su. The rest will return to the public purse. But the story, though resolved, lingers for what it says about how deep time can be drawn into the machinery of modern wealth.
Fossils as Fortune
The dinosaur bones, between 145 and 157 million years old, once roamed what is now Wyoming during the Late Jurassic period. They survived extinction, excavation, and auction catalogues before being turned into status symbols for the very rich.
Private fossil collecting has surged in recent years.
In 2020, a Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton known as Stan sold at Christie's for $31.8 million, while a Gorgosaurus went for $6.1 million in 2022. A Stegosaurus nicknamed Apex fetched $44.6 million at Sotheby's in July 2024, setting a new auction record.
Museums often cannot compete with such prices, and many palaeontologists worry that science loses access to important specimens once they enter private vaults. Su’s collection sits at the intersection of legality and absurdity: the fossils were bought openly, but the funds allegedly came from opaque origins linked to Singapore’s biggest money-laundering scandal.
What Counts as Heritage
Britain’s National Crime Agency described the recovery as “a significant achievement for international asset tracing”.
Yet beyond the legal victory lies a broader ethical question: when fossils become luxury goods, who really owns the past?
Unlike antiquities, fossils are rarely covered by cultural patrimony laws. Once excavated, they can legally enter the market, often travelling across continents without much oversight. For some, this represents legitimate trade; for others, it erodes the very notion of heritage as collective memory.
The irony is hard to miss. The same fossils that once belonged to no one now belong to whoever can afford them. Their value no longer lies in what they teach us about the earth but in how well they decorate a private gallery wall.
The Market of Deep Time
Art dealers defend fossil auctions as a way of keeping history alive, arguing that collectors often donate or loan their pieces to institutions.
Yet critics see a different picture: one where prehistoric life is commodified as spectacle.
The global fossil trade has grown rapidly in the past decade, with auction houses and private museums across Europe, the Gulf, and East Asia catering to billionaires fascinated by prehistory. In 2023, Dubai's Museum of the Future displayed a private dinosaur skeleton on loan from a Gulf collector, blending science with prestige.
These transactions blur the line between education and exhibitionism. As with contemporary art markets, scarcity fuels value, and ownership becomes its own performance.
The Irony of Resurrection
There is something almost mythic about humanity’s urge to possess creatures that once ruled the earth. The bones on display, posed in dramatic stances under perfect lighting, tell two stories at once: of extinction and of ego.
The Jurassic justice delivered by British courts feels less about crime and more about perspective. How extraordinary that beings which died 150 million years ago can still be entangled in twenty-first century legal disputes.
In this sense, the case becomes less about fossils and more about conviction: the conviction that objects, however ancient, can confer meaning or legitimacy on those who own them.
Lessons in Ownership
The settlement highlights how art and heritage markets increasingly overlap.
Fossils, manuscripts, paintings, even meteorites now circulate through the same elite auction networks. Each sale reaffirms an uncomfortable truth: that cultural and natural history alike have become commodities.
Yet there are reasons for hope. Many countries are now revising export laws to protect palaeontological finds, and international institutions advocate for open-access digitisation of specimens. The British Museum of Natural History and UNESCO both stress that heritage should educate before it decorates.
In that light, the National Crime Agency’s operation may do more than recover assets; it may force a conversation about what kind of value truly lasts.
The Price of Deep Time
For scientists, fossils are windows into evolution.
For collectors, they are trophies of endurance. For the rest of us, they are reminders of perspective: that human wealth, however immense, will one day also fossilise into stories.
The Allosaurus and Stegosaurus will likely end up in public hands again, admired behind glass for their beauty and age. But their brief passage through private ownership will remain a case study in how modern ambition turns even prehistory into property.
Perhaps that is the ultimate irony of deep time: the creatures that once ruled the planet are now ruled by paperwork.
Keep up with Daily Euro Times for more updates!
Read also:
Gene Editing and National Laws: Who Sets the Boundaries?
A New Wave of Bioethics: The Frontiers of Genetic Engineering …
A Double Visit to Earth: Comets as a Mirror of Divisions and Hope in …
