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Mathias Deloof

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The Broker for Homebuyers and Property Investors | 🏆 5 x Top 100 Mortgage Broker in Australia

I’m Redom Syed, FBAA Broker of the Year 2025 and Founder of Flint Group, one of Australia’s fastest-growing mortgage businesses.

What started as a mission to help families like mine make better money decisions has grown into a $10 B vision — to build one of Australia’s largest, most impactful mortgage groups.

💡 Who we are:
Flint is a modern brokerage, built for modern brokers who want to command attention.  We are a group of 100+ professionals across Australia and overseas united by one purpose: to empower Australians to understand, plan, and act with confidence.

🏆 Why clients and professionals choose us:
	•	Award-Winning Expertise – Recognised as Australia’s FBAA Broker of the Year (2025) and in MPA’s Top 100 Brokers for 7 years running.
	•	Ex-Treasury Economist Insight – We combine data, economics, and lending strategy to create smarter client outcomes.
	•	End-to-End Property & Finance Support – From first homes to complex investment portfolios, our clients access 50+ lenders and hundreds of tailored solutions.
	•	Proactive Loan Management – Our dedicated review team ensures every client stays on the lowest rate available — without needing to ask.
	•	Research-Driven Guidance – Our in-house research team has predicted every major rate and policy shift for nearly a decade, helping clients save tens of thousands.

📅 Book a chat → calendly.com/redom/15min￼
🌏 Learn more → www.flintinvest.au￼
📞 Contact → 0489 943 079 | info@flintgroup.au

Redom Syed - Mortgage Broker

Vinh Giang changed my life.

Not a throwaway line. I mean it literally.

A few years ago, nothing was moving. I had the ideas, I had the work ethic, but I kept hitting the same invisible wall.

Turns out the wall had a name.

I had never actually learned how to communicate.

Years of economics, strategy, analysis - and nobody once told me that none of it lands if you can't make another person feel it.

That realisation stung.

Since then, every Sunday I audit my own communication from the week. Not my numbers. My words. Where I lost people. Where something actually landed.

Last week I got to see Vinh and say thank you in person.

If you're technically strong and still feel like you're not getting the traction you deserve - it's probably not your knowledge that's the problem.

It's the gap between your head and the room.

Redom Syed

Co-Founder Flint Group | Building the Future of Mortgages | 2025 FBAA Broker of The Year

When I was a kid, my biggest dream wasn't to be a CEO.

It was to own a factory.

Every Sunday my dad would take me to work with him. 

He was a factory supervisor, and I loved every single one of those mornings.

People showing up, doing their work, looking after their families. 

It felt safe. It felt stable.

Then my parents lost their jobs.

Overnight, that feeling vanished. 

I watched what that does to a family up close. 

The stress. The silence at the dinner table. The way everything shifts without anyone saying why.

I will never forget it.

That loss planted a quiet dream, that one day I'd build that place for other people.

Last year, it became real.

We opened Flint Nepal. 50+ people. A real community, built from scratch.

I think about my dad every time I walk through those doors.

Every blind corner, every moment of doubt, every stumble along the way.

It all makes sense now.

Sometimes you walk into a conversation expecting nothing.

Then someone says one thing…and it hits you right in the chest.

Over dinner recently, someone looked at me and said:

“Look, you’re a smart boy. I reckon you’ll be worth about $200 mil one day.”

Then they turned to my partner and said:

“You’re a machine. You’ll be a billionaire.”

Oof.

Compliment…and a backhander all in one 😂

And weirdly? I loved it.

Being underestimated is such a gift.

It gives you edge, and keeps you hungry, and reminds you there’s more in the tank.

I’ve got nothing to prove to anyone.

But moments like that light a fire anyway.

They make you think bigger, dream bigger, act bigger, and do more.

Never underestimate the power of being underestimated.

People see the meetings.

But they don’t see the in-between.

Back-to-back days, long nights, and calls that run way over time.

But still, two hours blocked every night though. Non-negotiable.

Playing princesses with the kids, then stories, and finally one last cuddle for the night.

Then it’s right back on.

Weekly dinner calls with our GM Rushmi Shrestha  in Nepal.

Deep check-ins with my best mate Adi Chanda.

Sometimes it's business, but mostly, it’s making sure we’re okay.

High performance isn’t just output.

It’s staying human while you push.

That part matters so much more than most people think.

The scariest moment in property isn't signing the contract.

It's 3am, two weeks later.

You're staring at the ceiling wondering if you've made the biggest mistake of your life.

Did I overpay? What if rates go higher? What if something goes wrong?

I've been there personally.

And I've had that call from clients more times than I can count.

Always late. Always the same quiet panic in their voice.

Here's what I tell them.

That feeling isn't a warning sign. It's a rite of passage.

Every serious investor I know has had that 3am moment. Usually more than once.

It doesn't mean you got it wrong.

It means you care. It means the stakes are real. It means you're a human being who just made a significant decision about their future.

The doubt is normal. Sitting with it is part of the process.

What I've never had? A client call me two years later and say they regretted buying.

Not once.

So if you're lying awake right now second-guessing yourself…you're not losing your mind.

You're just in the part nobody posts about.

It passes, and what's on the other side of it is usually worth it.

Somewhere along the way, being tired became a personality trait.

"Busy" became the default answer to "how are you?" Exhaustion became proof that you care.

I've never bought it.

The genuinely high-performing people I've been around aren't running on empty by Wednesday. 

They're sharp. Decisive. Fewer decisions, but better ones.

Burning yourself out isn't dedication. It's poor engineering.

If a business only moves because everyone inside it is redlining, that's not high performance. 

That's a structural problem wearing a hustle costume.

The best thing I did as a leader was stop celebrating stress.

Real performance looks like precision. 

Sharp calls made early, and systems that run without someone heroically holding them together.

You don't prove anything by how much you can suffer for your business.

You prove it by building one that doesn't ask you to.

I had a conversation recently that completely messed with the way I think about goals.

Partially because of who it was, but more because of what they said.

We were talking about growth, and I threw out a number that felt ambitious, hoping no-one would laugh.

“10 billion.”

They didn’t laugh.

In fact, they paused…then said,

“Why stop there?”

And just like that, the number doubled, then doubled again.

It wasn’t bravado, or hype.

It was calm. Almost casual.

Like the idea of thinking that big was obvious.

That’s when it hit me.

Most of the limits we set aren’t real constraints.

They’re comfort limits.

They’re numbers that feel “reasonable” so we don’t have to sit with the discomfort of dreaming properly.

It felt like building my first Lego set again.

No instructions. No final picture. Just a pile of pieces and the freedom to see what happens.

If you aim higher than feels sensible, you might miss the exact target, but you’ll land somewhere far more interesting than where you started.

Since that conversation, I’ve stopped asking,

“What’s realistic?”

And started asking,

“What’s possible…if I stop playing small?”

That question changes everything.

If you want a crash course in reading a room, try reasoning with a three-year-old at bedtime.

No logic works. No clever framing. They've already decided. And they will outlast you every single time.

I used to walk into client meetings the same way. 

Armed with data, ready to out-logic anyone in the room.

It never worked as well as I thought it should.

People making the biggest financial decision of their lives aren't looking for the smartest person in the room. 

They're overwhelmed. Second-guessing themselves. Carrying a weight you can't see just by looking at them.

The moment I stopped trying to impress and started trying to understand, everything shifted.

Nobody calls a broker because they want a presentation.

They call because they're stressed and they need someone to make the complicated feel manageable.

That's the whole job.

Turns out my little one was teaching me that all along.

I thought I was just building a company.

Turns out, the company was building me.

When I quit my job as an economist, I genuinely believed the hardest part would be finding clients. 

I had the degree. I had the technical skills. I figured the rest would just sort itself out with enough spreadsheets and strategy.

It did not sort itself out.

Entrepreneurship isn't just a job. 

It's a mirror, and it shows you things about yourself you'd honestly rather not see.

For me, it exposed two things pretty quickly.

That I couldn't communicate anywhere near as well as I thought I could. 

And that underneath all the qualifications and the confidence, there was a very loud voice telling me I had no idea what I was doing.

Both of those hit hard.

I had all the knowledge. 

But knowledge without the ability to make someone else feel it is just noise. 

And self-doubt without anywhere to hide it is just...heavy.

Looking back now, those early years didn't just build a business.

They built a version of me that's more honest, less precious about being right, and genuinely okay with not having all the answers.

A version that knows when to close the laptop and go have the most fun with my favourite tiny humans in our living room.

Chasing numbers is easy.

The real thing - the thing that actually stays with you - is looking back years later and respecting the person the whole journey made you into.

That part you can't plan for.

It just happens, if you let it.

I used to think a silent office meant everyone was being productive.

Then we had a day last month where our space was absolutely packed. 

Zero moments of quiet. 

Energy that was almost impossible to describe.

Content being filmed in one corner, a deal being worked through in another, conversations bleeding into each other across the room.

Loud. Chaotic. The best the office has ever felt.

Silence in a workplace is often just people not talking to each other, and teams that don't talk to each other don't function as a team.

The standards here are high. The work has to be good.

But I've stopped believing excellence needs a sterile environment to grow in.

The people who thrive here find their footing in a fast-moving room within thirty seconds and get straight to work.

Either the energy fuels you or it doesn't.

I'd rather have a loud room full of people who are genuinely in it, than a quiet one where everyone's just waiting for the day to end.

The most uncomfortable feeling in business isn't failure.

It's a Thursday afternoon when everything is fine.

Numbers are okay. Team is okay. No fires burning.

And that word  ‘okay’ sits in my chest like a warning light.

Because okay means we've stopped pushing.

Okay means we've found a comfortable speed and settled into it.

Okay means there's a next level we haven't gone after yet.

I don't say this to be dramatic. 

I genuinely love what I'm building and the people I'm building it with.

But I didn't leave a career I worked hard for, risk everything, build two businesses from scratch, and drag a team across four countries just to arrive at ‘okay’.

When everything feels fine, that's my signal.

Not to celebrate. To look up and find the next thing that scares me.

A bigger goal. A bolder bet. A conversation I've been putting off having.

Fine is the enemy of great. Okay is where ambition goes to get comfortable.

I'd rather be chasing something that keeps me up at night than sitting still in something that doesn't.

Okay is not the destination.

It's just the starting line for whatever comes next.

When I feel stuck, I don't write a five year plan.

I give myself six weeks.

Looking too far ahead when you're already overwhelmed just makes everything heavier. So I shrink the timeline.

Six weeks of showing up. Every day. No waiting for motivation, no waiting until it feels right.

Something shifts around week three.

Not because the problems are solved. But because momentum is its own kind of medicine. 

You stop feeling stuck because you're moving.

I've done this reset more than once.

You don't need a perfect plan. You don't need to feel ready.

You just need six weeks and a decision that you're not allowed to quit on yourself.

The rest takes care of itself.

Leadership, to me, starts with seeing people properly.

Seeing what they’re capable of…sometimes before they see it themselves.

My job isn’t to keep people small or comfortable.

It’s to ask what they actually want, then help them move toward it.

And that looks different for everyone.

Some people want to grow inside what we’re building. I’ll back them hard.

Some people want something bigger or different down the line and that’s okay too.

People don’t owe me loyalty forever. They don’t have to stick around.

If someone’s goals go beyond what I can offer, I don’t hold them back.

I’ll take them right to the edge, help them get ready, and watch them take off.

Leadership isn’t about possession. It’s about contribution.

If people leave more confident, more capable, and clearer about who they are than when they arrived, then I’ve done my job.

Everything else is just a bonus.

Most investors are optimising for the wrong thing.

More properties. Higher valuations. Bigger numbers on a spreadsheet.

Then rates move, credit tightens, and that impressive portfolio becomes something you're just trying to survive.

I've seen it more times than I'd like.

The investors who sleep well aren't the ones with the most assets. 

They're the ones with the most options. 

Cashflow that doesn't depend on everything going right. 

Buffers that absorb the unexpected without forcing a decision you're not ready to make.

That's what yield actually buys you. 

Not just income - agency.

The freedom to hold when others are forced to sell. 

To move when others are frozen.

Wealth has always been less about accumulation and more about what your asset base allows you to do - or not do.

The most valuable thing a well-structured portfolio ever gave me wasn't a number.

It was a Tuesday afternoon where nothing was on fire and I had nowhere I absolutely had to be.

That kind of quiet doesn't happen by accident.

Build for flexibility first. Everything else follows.

If I look back, there are plenty of things I could’ve done better.

Moved faster in some areas, trusted myself earlier and backed my judgement instead of waiting for more certainty.

But the real lesson isn’t about what I’d change back then.

It’s about what I can change now.

Reflection is useful. Dwelling isn’t. (That's a property pun for you. 😂)

Every stage of your career gives you a chance to do things slightly better than the last one.

Communicate clearer and decide quicker and hold higher standards.

Letting go of what isn’t working.

And yes, in a few years I’ll probably look back at this version of myself and think,

“Hmm…could’ve done that differently too.”

That’s fine. That’s just growth.

The win isn’t getting ‘everything’ right.

It’s staying honest enough to reflect, and brave enough to adjust.

If you’re still learning, you’re still moving forward.

That’s the point.

I used to think success meant never being scared.

I was wrong.

When I started out, I was scared of failing. Of not making rent. Of being exposed as someone who had no idea what he was doing.

That fear was loud. Constant. Exhausting.

Then something shifted.

The business grew. The clients came. The revenue followed.

And the old fears got quieter.

But new ones showed up.

Scared of plateauing. Of building something average. Of waking up at 50 and realising I'd played it safe when I could have gone bigger.

That fear is sharper. More useful.

Then I had daughters.

And the fear evolved again.

Now the thing that scares me most isn't failure. It isn't mediocrity.

It's missing it.

Missing the years. The dinners. The ordinary Tuesday nights that turn out to be the ones they remember.

Building something extraordinary while accidentally being absent from the most important thing I'll ever be part of.

That's the fear I take most seriously now.

Success didn't make me fearless.

It just upgraded what I'm scared of.

And honestly? The quality of your fears tells you a lot about how far you've come.

The loneliest moment in running a business isn't a crisis.

Crises are weirdly connecting.

Everyone rallies. There's urgency. A problem to solve. A reason to talk.

The loneliest moment is a Tuesday afternoon.

Numbers are fine. Team is okay. No fires burning.

And yet something feels… off.

Like you're running in the right direction but not sure anyone's watching.

Like the gap between where you are and where you imagined you'd be is just quietly sitting in the corner of the room.

I've had a lot of those Tuesdays.

And for a long time I thought something was wrong with me.

Like I was ungrateful for what was working, or not built for this, or missing something other founders had.

Then I talked to enough other founders and realised it's just… part of it.

The quiet weight of ambition.

The cost of caring deeply about something without a guaranteed outcome.

Nobody warns you about the Tuesday afternoons.

They're not glamorous enough for the highlight reel.

But they're a big part of the job.

And if you can sit with them without spiralling, without quitting, without outsourcing your peace to a metric.

That's actually where the real resilience gets built.

Not in the crises.

In the quiet.

🚀 Flint Nepal is hiring multiple credit analysts

✅ Strong pay
✅ Real career growth
✅ Cool office with 60+ cool people
✅ Led by one of the most fearless woman in our industry - Rushmi Shrestha

You deserve better.

Join a company, and people who actually wants to see you grow.

If that sounds like you, reach out.

👩‍💻A General Manger 🏅Finalist for Young Mentor of the year 2024 - Women in Finance Australia 🏅 Finalist for Best Loan Administration - Better Business Awards 2021 | Certificate IV in Finance and Mortgage Broking |

I love a good spreadsheet, I'll be upfront about that.

But I've learned to be careful about what I let them tell me.

Numbers are clean. Predictable. They give you the illusion that you understand exactly what's happening inside your business.

The most important things never show up in a cell.

They show up in a conversation you weren't expecting. 

In the way a team handles something going wrong. In whether people are honest with you when things aren't working.

I've been in rooms where the metrics looked great and the culture was quietly falling apart, and rooms where the numbers were under pressure but the team was so locked in you just knew it would turn around.

The spreadsheet couldn't tell the difference.

Only being in the room could.

Real momentum isn't something you track on a dashboard.

Put the laptop down occasionally, have the unscheduled conversation, and pay attention to the things that don't have a column header.

That's where the real information lives.

Failing doesn’t feel like a lesson when you’re in it.

It feels like panic. Like you’ve messed it all up. Like you’re lost and everyone else somehow knows exactly what they’re doing.

I’ve been there.

Moments where it felt like I’d blown it and the ground dropped out and confidence went with it.

That part isn’t motivating, it’s just heavy.

But what matters is what happens next.

You don’t stay there, you don’t spiral forever and you don’t decide that one moment defines you.

You sit with it.

You learn what it’s trying to teach you and then you get up.

With the right people around you, failing becomes survivable, even useful.

These moments aren’t destinations, they’re checkpoints.

You take what you need from them…and you keep moving.

Stopping is the only real loss.

Everything else is just a part of your story.

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Mathias Deloof

Redom Syed - Mortgage Broker

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taplio

The Battle

Mathias Deloof

Redom Syed - Mortgage Broker

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Posts

Engagements

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Performance Score.css-goub6s{font-size:var(--chakra-fontSizes-md);font-weight:500;color:var(--chakra-colors-gray-600);display:block;margin-top:var(--chakra-space-1);}Mathias Deloof's LinkedIn Performance

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