The room was large and bright and official-looking. That was really all Jehan registered. He had a piercing headache and there were probably dark-circles under his eyes. Which wasn’t a bad thing if it made him look appropriately distraught. He was about to drop a bombshell on national TV. A little sympathy from the reporters asking the questions wouldn’t hurt.

This press conference had been meticulously planned and carefully timed. Over the past few weeks, his team at the Institute had been carefully leaking bank records and financial reports to the press. They all showed suspicious fund transfers originating from various organizations in Maralana, to a select few ministers in Rajat’s Cabinet.

None of it could be traced back to Jehan or any of his associates. He had called in every favor with the IT department at the Institute to make sure of that.

And the reports were genuine enough, collected over the years by Jehan and various other people and organizations that had an axe to grind, or were just good Samaritans trying to hold politicians accountable and keep track of the actions of the government.

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There certainly was corruption at the highest levels of the government, though Jehan was almost completely sure Rajat didn’t know about it. Or at least he didn’t know the specific people involved. The man was upstanding to a fault. But that didn’t matter. Facts were only important insofar as they could create and corroborate a narrative.

And the narrative that Jehan was about to create was one of corruption and subterfuge, of egregious neglect at best and deliberate duplicity at worst. He was about to drag Rajat’s reputation through the mud and hang him out to dry at the end of it. He would paint the Prime Minister as the national villain, working against the interests of the common people for personal gain.

Because it would get Rajat to resign. And while Rajat may not appreciate the gesture, it was better than an official impeachment.

Jehan sighed, offering up a prayer to the God he didn’t believe in.