It started with the man.
He arrived without announcement, strong faced. His name was Idris , a rising public figure whose influence had grown too fast. In just a few years, he had transformed from an unimportant analyst into a celebrated and revered voice on governance and reform. People admired him and most importantly the people trusted him. He stood there posing so sharp for the camera, with all the confidence in the world.
Idris moved through the hall with confidence, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, answering questions with so much charisma and charm. When journalists approached him, he spoke about accountability, and the importance of confronting the past.
“The truth,” he said at one point “has a way of surfacing, no matter how deeply it’s buried.” and that became his slogan or motto.
It was a line that earned nods of approval.
What no one knew was that Idris himself was built on a lie.
Years ago, he had fabricated a story /lie . He claimed to have uncovered a redacted document during his early career, a piece of evidence that allegedly exposed a government cover up. It wasn’t real, but it sounded plausible. He presented it with confidence, added just enough detail, and people believed him.
The attention had been intoxicating.
So he told another lie.
Then another and by so doing his reputation grew and eventually the lies became indistinguishable from truth in the eyes of the public and even in his own eyes............................... until tonight.
As the event reached its peak and everywhere was bubbling the Minister of Information stepped onto the stage to formally unveil the highlight of the evening, a recently declassified redacted file rumored to contain revelations.
“Tonight,” the Minister announced, “we present a document long hidden from the public. A document that many believed existed….... he paused, but could never prove.” A murmur spread across the hall, it was suddenly tense, the laughter and brightness of the event had suddenly faded and a more serious theme was adopted almost unconsciously.
Idris felt a lump in his throat, even though he had swallowed nothing but saliva
For the first time that night, his composure shook.
The file was placed on a glass podium under bright light. Cameras zoomed in. Journalists leaned forward. The Minister opened it slowly, savoring the moment.
Then he read aloud.
The contents described an investigation, not into a government scandal but to a man who had fabricated evidence and built a career on misinformation. A man whose early claims had been flagged years ago but never publicly challenged due to lack of proof, that was until now.
Idris stood frozen, sweating under the Air conditioned room.
All eyes turned to him.
“That can’t be true…” some people said aloud, such was the belief the people had in him but the evidence could not be denied
“No, it has to be a mistake…”
“But the evidence—”
Idris opened his mouth, but no words came out.
For years, he had controlled the story.
Now, the story was controlling him.
Two officials approached him calmly and said to him “Egbon Idris” one of them said , “we need you to come with us.”
He didn’t resist. It was over.
The interrogation room was unforgiving, it was like a dark torture chamber, Idris was shivering with fear, what was the way out he thought to himself, "how did it get to this". The rooms dark walls were now moldy and unpleasant to look at. Idris sat on one side of the table, his image now stripped down to something fragile. From a renowned activist and voice to this ..........
Across from him sat Inspector Laila , her expression unreadable as she flipped through a thick file.
“You had years,” she said finally. “Years to stop.”
Idris stared at the table.
“It was the devil" Idris said
“You didn’t think it would matter?” she interrupted. "Your lies led to the deaths of alot of innocent people, whom were accused and extra-judicial killings carried out on your behalf"
There was no anger in her voice.
She slid a document across the table.
“Your first report,” she said. “Completely fabricated.
Idris let out a hollow laugh.
“I remember writing it,” he said. “I remember thinking… if I just make it sound real enough, no one will question it.”
“And they didn’t.”
Then Laila spoke.
“Here’s the thing about lies, Idris,” she said. “They don’t collapse all at once.”
He looked up at her.
“They crack, like building cracks” she continued. Until one day, everything falls apart at the same time.”
Idris swallowed hard.
“Why tonight?” he asked. “Why expose me now?”
Laila closed the file and studied him for a moment and all she could see was a frail man, reduced to nothingness.
IMAGES ARE A.I GENERATED.
