TikTok’s Prince of Poverty

Thomas Cruz stands front row at a DaBaby concert in Dubai. He stretches his arm out while holding his phone, grins, and pans from the rapper—microphone in hand, gold medallion around his neck—and back to himself, smirking. 

As Cruz parties, This is what happens when Section 8 pays $25k/day for your World Cup vacation flashes across the screen, referencing the federal housing program he regularly brags he has exploited. 

The rest of the nearly two-minute TikTok video is a montage of opulence and access for his 1.2 million followers. Rapper Rick Ross chilling near Cruz’s table at the club. Cruz surrounded by bankers and international soccer officials headed to the World Cup in the first-class cabin of an A380 Qatar Airways flight. A Rolls Royce golf cart ride to the Hublot store at a mall in Dubai to try on ridiculously big and expensive watches. 

It ends with front row seats at the Argentina-Netherlands quarterfinal game won by a penalty kick to keep Lionel Messi’s World Cup dreams alive. The TikTok video is an invitation to gawk at a life out of reach to most people. 

Oozing new money and emboldened by his own success, Cruz often taunts the government and viewers who fund his lavish lifestyle. 

All paid for by you, he often reminds viewers, the American taxpayer.

Cruz, 35, says he built his wealth in Wilmington real estate as the coastal city was booming. He figured out how to rapidly scale what he calls an arbitrage model: Buy run-down homes for cheap, do as little maintenance as possible, enlist them with local housing authorities, lease them to poor people, and earn a pretty profit on the government’s payroll.

The model does serve a public purpose; there’s a profound supply and demand mismatch and a grave need for low-income housing. Tenants using vouchers can face discrimination from landlords hesitant to house them, but across the Southeast and Midwest, where Cruz has since spread his empire, he explicitly targets them as customers. 

In Wilmington, records and interviews reveal Cruz often neglected his rental portfolio during his ascent. 

The city’s code enforcement department filed legal claims against him at least 25 times between 2019 and 2022 to compel his compliance. Before he sold most of his rentals last year and left town for Miami, Wilmington cited Cruz for 366 violations at 49 properties, The Assembly found. While most violations didn’t render a house unlivable, some did. He paid more than $10,000 in fines and related charges.

“He was definitely our biggest landlord problem for that time period,” said Brian Renner, Wilmington’s chief code enforcement officer. “In part because of the scope of the portfolio and the type of housing we’re talking about, but also in part poor management.”

Fittingly, Cruz responded to The Assembly’s questions on TikTok (although he mistakenly called us Rolling Stone). He acknowledged the violations and that he had paid fines, but said they weren’t much, given the number of houses he owned. “I think my record’s pretty good,” he said, figuring he paid about $23 per unit in fines.

He conceded that he initially hadn’t worked out the kinks of his property management operations.

“When I was growing and I was learning and I was learning all this through trial and error, I did not have enough property managers,” he said earnestly. It was a rare moment of reserve. 

Guaranteed Income

Cruz was born in Rio De Janeiro, Brazil, moved to the U.S. when he was 6, and grew up in Chapel Hill. After graduating from UNC-Wilmington in 2010 with a business degree, he eventually stumbled into real estate.

Cruz says he made his money in Wilmington by milking a portfolio of single-family rental properties, many filled by low-income residents receiving housing choice vouchers—commonly known as Section 8. 

Congress created the program in 1974 to help low-income families access housing in the private market. It’s the nation’s largest housing subsidy and served 2.3 million families with a $30.3 billion budget last year.

A Section 8 voucher covers most or all of the rent, paid directly to the landlord, and depending on the location, tenants can be required to also pay a portion of their income. In Wilmington, renters contribute 30 percent of their earnings. 

For landlords, the program represents a guaranteed income stream. But many of them shy away from Section 8, wary of renting to low-income tenants or being capped by locally imposed market rates. 

The Wilmington Housing Authority, which administers the Section 8 program locally, paid two of Cruz’s businesses $182,700 for 17 units from August 2018 to July 2022. That’s not a huge sum of money—about $45,000 a year. But Cruz, in an email to The Assembly, hinted that he had other business entities in New Hanover County, and said that he has more than 700 properties in four states. 

He wouldn’t confirm whether he received additional funds from the authority for a different business. An authority representative said it can be difficult to track individuals who operate under multiple business entities, and a search for three additional Cruz businesses returned nothing.

Cruz is unapologetic about the source of his income.

“If y’all wanna fuck the middle class and the poor at the same time, lemme hear a ‘hell yeah’ in the comments,” Cruz implored a live TikTok audience of roughly 1,000 on the Sunday before Thanksgiving.

“Hell yeahs” poured into the chat.

“Look at all these people that want to exploit the poor and the middle class. Hell yeah!” he said, cackling from the balcony of his waterfront Miami mansion. “I really do enjoy exploiting the poor … They congregate in very certain spots in these United States.”

Cruz’s brash rhetoric and villainous persona have helped him win over disciples who hand him a steady stream of new revenue. 

“If y’all wanna fuck the middle class and the poor at the same time, lemme hear a ‘hell yeah’ in the comments.”

Thomas Cruz

In addition to his Section 8 earnings, he’s diversified into real estate education, which he says brings in upwards of $135,000 a month. He hawks courses, a private Discord social-media channel, one-on-one coaching, and software. The software compares a suite of metrics, including crime rates for regions across the U.S. to identify Section 8 goldmines like Wilmington. 

Last year, he showed his monthly income can top $1 million in a TikTok of his online bank statement.

He feeds off critics—he often calls them “clowns” or “birds”—who accuse him of scamming people with get-rich-quick schemes or scold his crass approach. “Everyone has to exploit somebody,” he said during the livestream. “It’s a zero-sum game. They just like feeling better on their high horse.”

He said he’s purposefully avoided YouTube as an education platform. He favors personal or live video formats that disappear. “That shit would get me canceled,” he said. “I’m not always compassionate. I’m not always politically correct.”

Cruz’s antagonistic approach appears to boost his engagement. His instructional opener for a recent TikTok: “This is exactly how I buy up all the affordable housing in any given area and continue to contribute to the housing crisis … My first step in devastating a local market and taking up all the low-income housing is giving my real estate agent access to my proprietary Section 8 software.”

Despite the rage-baiting, Cruz also has a penchant for random bouts of generosity. In November, he shared a TikTok sending a mass message to all 709 of his tenants, giving them a break from their share of December rent as an early Christmas present. 

He’s filmed MTV “Cribs”-style walkthroughs of his $2.4 million Wilmington pad—he moved out in the fall, trading up for his $17 million Miami estate—and tours of his 100-foot Pershing motor yacht.

But the slick presentation hides the messiness it took to get there. 

Many of the homes Cruz owned in Wilmington were in poor condition. Residents complained about shoddy repairs and reported paying out of pocket to fix problems. Even when he did order fixes, they were aimed at just getting past inspection. 

“I don’t renovate, I don’t remodel,” he told attendees during a free November 15 education webinar that was a promotional teaser to enroll in his course. “I don’t do anything. Maybe some light painting and landscaping.”

“Normal tenants with a pulse” wouldn’t fork over $1,400 a month to live in a home worth $60,000, he told the virtual class, but the government does.

Abdul Hafeedh bin Abdullah, executive director of Sokoto House, a community center in downtown Wilmington, confirmed Cruz’ approach to renovation. Abdullah had a small crew, and Cruz needed help cleaning out and repairing the units. 

Cruz ran a volume business. Vacant properties aren’t profitable, so quickly filling them was the top priority. Abdullah said Cruz’s first question was always the same: “How long until you can get it back on the market?” 

Abdullah worked on 10 to 15 houses, making a few thousand dollars each. There were no frills, and structural damage was covered up as quickly and cheaply as possible. Abdullah said his crew could flip a house in a few days.

“It’s not even remodeling, I call it a facelift,” Abdullah said. “He wants low-maintenance type stuff. If there was flooring problems though, he’s not paying to go inside there and fix the flooring. It’s very surface. Cover over it and get it done.”

Taking Cruz to Court

Cruz has said he once owned more than 400 units in Wilmington; in one TikTok, he filmed a bemused New Hanover County employee folding up his property tax receipt that spanned several feet. He recently said he still owns a couple of blocks in the city; a housing authority representative said they weren’t aware of any recent payments to his business entities. 

The Assembly found the city frequently cited Cruz for housing code violations between 2019 and 2021. The bulk of the cases represent benign or unsightly infractions—overgrown lawns or evicted tenants’ front-yard garbage, what the city’s code enforcement team refers to as “trash and grass” cases.

But some cases contained more egregious violations, like occupied rentals lacking basic utilities. The city’s code enforcement staff of four was so familiar with Cruz’s portfolio and his persistent problems, they eventually adopted a fast-tracked approach. 

The city often couldn’t reach Cruz to address issues. So they would bid out the work, fix the problem, impose a lien, and take Cruz to court for payment.

Wilmington filed liens against Cruz at least 25 times through this process. In all, records show he paid about $11,600 in code violation fines and related charges, mostly to cover the costs the city incurred to remedy the infractions. 

“We spend a lot of taxpayer resources for essentially doing property management for some of these LLCs,” said Renner, the chief code enforcement officer. 

Most complaints for Cruz’s properties came from neighbors. Some came from police or code inspectors patrolling the area. Few came directly from tenants.

“No running water, no power. There are also children in the residence,” said notes in a city file for a Castle Street property. “There’s no heat and landlord Tom Cruz won’t fix it. Tenant is disabled,” an 8th Street property file states.

In one October 2019 hearing, the city declared one of Cruz’s Chestnut Street properties unfit for habitation, barring him from collecting rent until he fixed it. It was occupied with no electricity or heating, no operable cooking equipment, and in structural disrepair. 

Renner acknowledged some problem tenants can be the source of damage. But he said some low-income renters get taken advantage of through the privately operated public housing system.

“There shouldn’t be substandard housing because the minimum standards are pretty minimal,” he said. Residents often “accept a situation that’s maybe not ideal or even the best option or maybe even unfit, because there’s not something [else] available that’s affordable.”

One of Cruz’s tenants spent time briefly in a hotel and domestic violence shelter with her newborn son after leaving an abusive relationship. When First Fruit Ministries, a nonprofit that helps connect homeless people to housing, set her up in a Cruz property, she was relieved.

“We spend a lot of taxpayer resources for essentially doing property management for some of these LLCs.”

Brian Renner, Wilmington’s chief code enforcement officer

“I’m desperate,” remembered the woman, whose name The Assembly agreed to withhold because she fears retaliation. “I take the first thing that they offer me.”

The nonprofit’s executive director, Lee Anna Stoker, said they paid Cruz the deposit and five months of rent and utilities; Section 8 money was not involved. First Fruit also furnished it, she said.

After moving in, the woman said she realized the central heat wasn’t working. Two weeks later, the hot water heater broke. There was a bug infestation, she said, and she grew concerned about a gas leak, but struggled to get anyone to address it. “I thought I was going to wake up dead,” she said. “It was freezing cold.”

She considered living in her car instead. But “you can’t live in a car with a baby,” she said. “They’ll take your kid away.”

The woman said one of Cruz’s maintenance workers left a space heater for her to pick up from his front porch—a gesture of kindness she’s certain the man extended outside of his professional duties.

She and her aunt said they repeatedly called Cruz or his representatives to report issues. The first time she said she heard from Cruz was when she was a few days late moving out in early 2020, and he called demanding money. She said she then went back to her abuser. 

Cruz, in his TikTok response, said the tenant and First Fruit knowingly accepted a house with no heat or hot water. He also said he never heard from anyone about the issue until now. Stoker said the unit met inspection prior to the tenant moving in. “It is not our practice to place clients in substandard housing,” Stoker said.

“It was a piece-of-shit house,” said the woman’s aunt, Kris Testori. 

Testori had her own dealings with Cruz. Across 16th Street from her former business, Port City Escape, Cruz rented a home to Trillium Health Resources, which houses people recovering from drug addiction. 

An October 2019 city inspection report noted the property—with tenants on an active lease—had drug activity, squatters, and no electricity.

Testori and other nearby business owners repeatedly attempted to get Cruz to rein in the tenants and clean up the property. They worked with a local business group, public officials, and police. (A spokesperson for the Wilmington Police Department said it responded to more than 50 calls for service at the property in 2019.)

Testori said the shootings, drug busts, used needles, and prostitution hurt her business. She hoped to appeal to Cruz’s business mindset when asking him to address the situation.

After she caught one of his tenants defecating on her property on camera, she messaged him in September 2019, exasperated: “I am so thankful for slum lords that brag about the cars they own and the money they make in town all while putting people in housing that is so substandard animals should not live there,” according to messages reviewed by The Assembly. 

Cruz deflected responsibility for his tenants’ behavior, and remained diplomatic in the exchange, seemingly unfazed by her criticisms—“thanks for bringing it to my attention.”

Daylight Around the Door

Landlords enrolled in the Section 8 program, which is part of the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, face annual inspections from local housing authorities, which can stop rent payments until a property passes. 

Wilmington’s housing authority identified just two out of 17 properties where Cruz failed Section 8 inspections, marking him for eight violations. 

In a January 2021 failed inspection, the housing authority found the heating and cooling system wasn’t working; among other issues, “daylight could be seen around the front door.” An inspection at the other failed property noted deteriorated bathroom flooring and a leaking tub faucet in August 2021.

It’s unclear why city inspectors cited Cruz’s properties frequently but the housing authority did not. 

“HUD standards are much stricter than the city’s minimum housing code,” Renner said. “So if they’re meeting HUD standards, then they’re very likely meeting ours, which is where I get baffled sometimes.”

The Wilmington Housing Authority’s executive director, Tyrone Garrett, said it conducts timely and thorough inspections. “WHA cannot speak to years-old city code violations it hasn’t reviewed and that were issued when the Section 8 units were under a previous WHA administration,” he said in a statement.

In recent years, the authority has struggled administratively and financially. Auditors have flagged issues with its ability to comply with federal financial regulations, and in 2021, it faced institutional turmoil amid a mold crisis that left residents scrambling.

Wilmington’s Section 8 program is categorized as “troubled,” the authority reported in its 2024 annual plan, referring to a ranking system the federal housing department uses to assess local housing authorities. 

“WHA’s main challenge with administering Section 8 is the one that all housing authorities face: finding a supply of landlords to meet the demand of Section 8 tenants,” Garrett said.

Christine Jang-Trettien, assistant professor at CUNY-Queens College, said the broader issue is what Section 8 incentivizes investors to do. She said landlords who own houses in neighborhoods with low crime and good schools often don’t participate because the government determines Section 8 rents, and they are set below market rate in high-income neighborhoods.

“Section 8 rental housing is the most lucrative in the poorest neighborhoods where property values are lowest, which is how you get businesses like Tom Cruz’s,” she said. “For landlords in the poorest neighborhoods, Section 8 rent is often higher than what you can get on the market.”

Jang-Trettien said Section 8 landlords often hold on to their units, trapping residents in crumbing houses, stifling wealth creation. “Where are people going to buy a home and start to build wealth if so many homes get taken off the market in these neighborhoods?”

But in Cruz’s view, the Section 8 program is working as intended. If anything, he said, it should get more funding and rents should be increased so that affordable housing investors like him can earn more money.

A spokesperson for the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development said Cruz’s “comments and marketing materials” about Section 8 “are not a representation” of the department.

Lightbulb Moment

Cruz once said he chose Wilmington for the beaches and the girls. At UNCW, he started selling 20 to 30 WordPress websites at $149 a month, built by Indian web developers. Besides a two-week stint at Circuit City, Cruz has said he’s never had to work a real job. 

His first real estate purchase was a condo for $100,000 in 2007, right before the market tanked. The next year, he owed more than the condo was worth and ended up renting it out, making $500 a month in profit. 

That was the lightbulb moment. He realized he almost never talked to his tenants, but his website clients needed almost constant attention. 

Eventually, he started buying portfolios. In 2018, Cruz and a business partner purchased 93 rental units in 83 houses for $6.3 million. Most of them were two- to five-bedroom houses downtown built between 1910 and 1925. 

At the time, 10 percent of the homes were Section 8, but Cruz told the Greater Wilmington Business Journal he wanted to beef up that number to maximize guaranteed federally backed rents.

“It’s a long-term investment for me and my partner,” Cruz told the Business Journal. “That’s why we’re in the process of renovating so many units, to get them to where we would want to live in them.”

Cruz never reached that goal—and would never live in those houses.

Cruz and his business partner put their “long-term investment” on the market in 2022. Wilmington’s housing market was scorching at the time, making flipping the portfolio easy. Kevin Powell, a financial adviser, brokered the deal for a wealthy client. 

The asking price was $14 million for all 93 units, but Powell was able to knock it down to slightly less than $10 million because of the condition of the houses. He inspected about 20 of the houses with Cruz. All were 80 years old, and he found tons of issues.

“The properties were [in] such ill repair,” Powell said. 

“Section 8 rental housing is the most lucrative in the poorest neighborhoods where property values are lowest, which is how you get businesses like Tom Cruz’s.” 

Christine Jang-Trettien, assistant professor at CUNY-Queens College

Cruz filmed a TikTok of the deal, featuring a broker informing him it was the largest single-family portfolio sale in New Hanover County history, and the highest appreciation in value.

The portfolio’s latest caretaker, Cape Fear Collective, which purchased it last year, has more altruistic motives. The nonprofit has said it will preserve the affordable units and try to offer tenants a pathway to homeownership. 

Separately, Cruz offloaded a collection of Wilmington rentals to his friend and fellow TikToker, Blake Rocha. Like Cruz, Rocha sells real-estate education courses to his following of 1.2 million.

Meanwhile, Cruz has moved on to greener pastures. 

In a recent TikTok live stream, Cruz fumbles with a handful of color-coded keys. He’s in the garage of his Miami mansion, filled with $2.3 million worth of cars. 

He says he’d rather skip showing his most “low-income” car, a $300,000 Lamborghini. Inside one of his four Rolls Royces, he pans to the ceiling. These cars are known for twinkling interior lights that resemble the constellations, but that’s for “welfare” owners, he said. 

His features an eclipse. 

Days later, in his TikTok response to The Assembly’s questions, he shows off each car again, one by one, reminding viewers they paid for them. “As long as you’re getting that W2 federal tax withholding out of every single one of your checks, I love exploiting you,” he said. “Every time you get paid, I get paid.” 

Disclosure: Reporter Kevin Maurer was previously employed by Cape Fear Collective.

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Johanna F. Still is The Assembly‘s Wilmington editor. She previously covered economic development for Greater Wilmington Business Journal and was the assistant editor at Port City Daily.