Tendai Ruben Mbofana
Let’s say I make a report that someone tried to steal my $18.7 million Bugatti La Voiture Noire, and the authorities respond and come to investigate immediately.
But they focus entirely on the reported crime.
That would signal something amiss.
It would defy all logic and standard law enforcement protocols for detectives to hunt down the would-be robber while completely ignoring the staggering fortune sitting right in front of them.
In any normal country operating under robust rule-of-law principles, an independent legal system would immediately activate a parallel track.
They would investigate the crime against my property, but they would simultaneously launch a comprehensive lifestyle audit and an unexplained wealth investigation into me.
The state would demand to know how an individual like me acquired one of the most expensive luxury vehicles on the planet, matching that asset against declared tax returns and legitimate commercial revenue streams.
Yet, when a prominent, politically connected figure becomes the victim of a multi-million-dollar financial crime, the state suddenly develops acute tunnel vision, fiercely prosecuting the immediate fraud while completely ignoring the massive, flashing red flags surrounding the source of the wealth itself.
The recent dramatic legal development involving Wicknell Chivayo, his ex-mother-in-law Tabitha Madzikanda, and million trust fund at FBC Bank perfectly illustrates this institutional blindness.
Madzikanda stands accused of abusing her senior position as a card manager to illicitly divert funds from a trust account set up for Chivayo’s children.
The state has rushed to deploy its full investigative might, detaining the suspect and processing fraud and cybersecurity breach charges.
From a technical, microscopic legal perspective, the state is treating this as a straightforward, self-contained corporate fraud case where the children’s inheritance is the victim and the bank manager is the perpetrator.
By strictly confining the narrative to the mechanics of the bank fraud, the judicial apparatus deliberately evades the glaring, multi-million-dollar elephant in the room.
In a normal country, a $5 million divorce settlement—with $1.4 million casually sitting in a single domestic trust fund—would automatically trigger massive anti-money laundering alarms.
Financial intelligence units exist precisely to scrutinize the assets of politically exposed persons or individuals moving colossal amounts of cash without clear, institutional commercial backing.
Standard legal doctrine relies on the principle that the origin of capital matters.
If the core wealth used to establish a trust or complete a massive payout is suspected of being derived from inflated state tenders, non-existent deliveries, or institutional corruption, the entire asset pool becomes toxic.
In a healthy democracy, the revenue authority would immediately cross-reference these millions against historical tax contributions, and asset forfeiture units would freeze the funds until a legitimate source could be proven.
Instead, the public is treated to the bizarre spectacle of state institutions acting as the aggressive shield and protector of wealth whose origins remain deeply suspect.
This selective justice is not accidental; it is a calculated feature of a system governed by political patronage and institutional immunity.
Opening a parallel investigation into how these millions were acquired is a line the state cannot cross, because doing so risks exposing the deeply entrenched networks of public procurement corruption that bankroll most of these lavish lifestyles.
To question the source of the complainant’s fortune would mean questioning the very state tenders, overpricing schemes, and political syndicates that generated it in the first place.
Therefore, the law is intentionally weaponized to punish the secondary crime of fraud while granting absolute immunity to the primary, foundational wealth accumulation.
This structural hypocrisy devalues the entire concept of national governance and institutional integrity.
When state anti-corruption bodies and police departments aggressively pursue a bank manager for trying to alter an account’s governance structure, but turn a completely blind eye to the questionable state contracts that filled that account, they cease to be instruments of justice.
They become, effectively, a private security firm for the elite, ensuring that even among those who handle illicitly or dubiously acquired national wealth, honor must be maintained.
The law is meticulous in ensuring that nobody steals from the wealthy, even as it remains indifferent to how those wealthy individuals might have stripped the state’s own coffers bare through inflated contracts and political favor.
The public is left to watch a theatrical display of law and order that completely insults their collective intelligence.
A normal judicial system understands that justice cannot be compartmentalized.
You cannot clean the branches of a tree while the roots are rotting in a swamp of corruption.
As long as law enforcement agencies choose to vigorously prosecute the theft of millions while refusing to investigate how those millions were amassed, the entire legal system remains an elaborate farce.
The state will continue to proudly display its handcuffs and cyber-forensic capabilities in processing corporate fraud.
At the same time, it will keep the lid firmly shut on the grand procurement corruption.
It is this very corruption that makes such unimaginable private fortunes possible in a struggling economy.
Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer.
