On January 28, 2026, Next’s manager, Saba Tsiskaradze, sent me two contracts to sign: a management agreement and the conditions of common-area services. Both were dated in the past, and neither could have existed on the date it bears. Both are written as annexes to a purchase agreement between me and Next White that does not exist: I bought from a private individual. One declares itself “agreed and signed by all the owners of the apartments”; I am an owner, and I have signed nothing of the kind. I refused to sign both drafts. This page is about the documents themselves and the motives for their proposition; how the signatures were sought is told elsewhere.

A contract dated before its own contents existed

The management agreement is dated November 13, 2024. It identifies me by passport number YE528452. That passport was issued in December 2024, two days after my application to the Brazilian consulate in Tbilisi. A document dated November 13, 2024 recites a number that did not exist until the following month.

Next’s own document confirms it. Three months after the date the agreement bears, in February 2025, Next signed a contract with me for meters and the transport of materials. It identifies me by my previous passport, FO169569.

Both agreements also contain the email address I gave Saba on January 27, 2026, when he asked for my passport number, email and phone in order to prepare the contracts. He sent the drafts the next day.

The document is built on a relationship that never existed. It names Next White the “Seller/Managing Company” and me the “Buyer/Owner”. Next White never sold me anything. Its clause 2.1 says the management “will commence in accordance with the real estate ("Apartment") purchase agreement concluded between the parties”; clause 8.6 borrows its force-majeure terms from that same purchase agreement; and clause 4.8 makes the second document, the service conditions, “annex N 1, of the purchasing agreement concluded between the vendor and the apartment owner”. There is no such agreement. Two contracts hang from a third that was never made.

Why that date

November 13, 2024 is not a random day. It is the date my titles were registered (16-11, 16-12). More than five months after sending the drafts, Next’s lawyer explained in writing what the date was for. Under the developer’s sale agreements, she wrote, “every purchaser undertook the obligation to execute the Management Agreement and the Common-Area Service Agreement upon registration of ownership”.

So the agreement was dated to the day on which, by Next’s account, I was supposed to have signed it. The date is not a mistake. It is the story Next needed the document to tell: that the obligation existed, and that I met it, on the day the registry made me an owner. A contract drawn fourteen months later and dated to that day is a record of what Next wished had happened.

A contract dated to the first invoice

The service conditions are dated August 1, 2025. That is the month from which Next charges me service fees. They reached me on January 28, 2026, almost six months later. Here too the date is not the date of drafting; it is the date from which Next wanted the document to operate.

The same phantom purchase agreement runs through it. Clause 1.2 opens “As it is envisaged by the real-estate purchasing agreement”; 1.3 makes the conditions “an integral part of the real-estate agreement”; 9.7 sends the reader to “the contract for the purchase of real estate (the 'Apartment') between the Parties” for its definitions; and clause 2.2 still speaks of a “Purchase price”, a line left over from whatever template this was cut from.

Then it manufactures the consent of everyone else. Clause 6.2 states that the conditions are “agreed and signed by all the owners of the apartments” and are “therefore” to be read as “the common decision of the apartment owners”. This is how Next replaces the decision of the homeowners’ association that the law requires: with a sentence. The sentence is untrue of at least one owner: me. Clause 9.4 says the obligations pass to every future buyer because the parties register them in the public registry; Next’s lawyer has confirmed that nothing was ever registered against my titles. Clause 2.1 starts the fees “from the moment of actual service provision”, of which the owner “is notified in writing via e-mail”; the only notice I know of was a post in the owners' chat. And by clause 9.11 the conditions “come in force from the moment of signing”, which never came. Next applies clause 5.2 to me anyway.

What the files say about themselves

A PDF records when it was produced. Anyone can verify it by opening either file and viewing its properties (in most readers, "File → Properties" or "File → Document Properties"):

Both files were produced from Microsoft Word within a minute of each other, less than ten minutes before Saba sent them. A PDF’s creation date is the date of export, not the date its text was written. But the text contains the email address I supplied the evening before. Whatever existed earlier, the documents I received were completed between the evening of January 27 and 12:30 (UTC) on January 28, 2026, and dated to 2024 and 2025.

What this means

Two documents were produced in January 2026 and dated November 2024 and August 2025, so as to record, after the fact, an obligation Next says arose at registration and a debt Next says began in August. Each rests on a purchase agreement between us that does not exist. One of them speaks in the name of every owner in the building. Each was presented to a foreign owner as required by regulations that were never named. Only the complex's apart-hotel status was mentioned.

Whether this is a crime is a separate question. Georgian criminal law does not seem to punish the falsification of a private document as such; what it may punish is the conduct around the falsification.