It all began with a complaint from a major customer of the bank: one of their many cash deposits from the previous month had not appeared in their bank statement. They had a stamped deposit slip as proof.
It seemed like a simple error – a deposit posted to the wrong account and overlooked during batch ‘call over’, so it was a surprise when the deposit slip was not found in any of the batches for the day of the deposit, or those of the following day. I began to worry because, as vault custodian, I handled daily cash operations in the branch and I did not want even a smidgeon of suspicion to fall on me for any impropriety. I was careful to keep to bank rules, guidelines and processes. I wondered how the money could have gone missing and felt sure the cash was still in the bank somewhere, merely overlooked by mistake. We searched every nook and cranny: it was gone.
I did not think the situation could get any worse, but I was wrong. Summoned to the manager’s office, I found the branch manager and the branch head of operations waiting with one of the white-suited internal security staff. They asked the latter to repeat what he had told them. The man calmly stated that he had seen the customer’s cash stacked near the vault and that I had instructed him to move it away from other stacked cash deposits. The implication was clear, he was pointing the finger at me.
It never rains but it pours, it is said. I was dumbfounded. Asked to respond, I replied truthfully: yes, he occasionally helped move heavy stacks of cash, but I had never asked him to isolate any stack. He insisted otherwise. When I started to protest, they told me to be quiet. The mood in the room had shifted. I could feel the hostility.
When I was finally allowed to speak, I challenged the idea that the security guy could remember which customers’ deposits arrived on what date among the hundreds processed. My point was dismissed. Instead, it was suggested that I should find a way to bring back the money.
It felt like my world had collapsed, the walls crashing in on me. I knew I had not taken the money. But no one else knew that – except the real thief/thieves. Colleagues in conversation would suddenly go quiet when I approached and look away. I experienced some of what wrongly accused people must feel when they are pronounced ‘Guilty’ in court for a crime they did not commit.
I had only been at the bank a couple of years or so. It was my first job after NYSC. And now I was facing a serious accusation. But instead of skulking around the bank feeling small, I refused to shrink. I chose to hold my head up high, trusting that the truth would prevail even if I did not yet know how.
I wracked my brain for a way to find out the real thief. My resolve was strong, very strong. I was a chess player, I knew panic would get me nowhere, but what move could I make against an opponent unknown? Not even Sun Tzu could offer a strategy for that. But I knew someone who could: Hercule Poirot.
Agatha Christie had become a favourite author of mine and I had read at least thirty of her novels by then. I kept thinking: What would Poirot do? How would he approach this?
That was when I had a ‘eureka!’ moment – well, almost.
I remembered that the average Nigerian believes in the supernatural (aka ‘jazz’). Lacking options, I decided to introduce a ‘jazz’ angle. I let it be known that I was going to consult a powerful seer who could identify the thief and place a devastating spell on him/her. At the time, there was a story going round – what we would now call ‘viral’ – about a famous seer based in Jos. I decided this ‘babalawo’ / ‘boka’ would do quite well, he was perfect. My subterfuge had to seem real, so I made arrangements to send ‘emissaries’ to the seer in Jos. I made the plan publicly, making sure it circulated loudly and visibly throughout the branch.
Then something happened: I received a message from Mr J, the good-natured steward of the bank’s guesthouse with whom I had a warm and respectful relationship. His note stated he wanted to speak with me, but he could not come to the bank because he did not want to be seen. Curious, I drove to the guesthouse after work and J met me outside.
He had a story.
One of the bank employees, Victor, who had stayed in the guesthouse after being posted to the branch – had approached J, scared and visibly distressed. Victor confessed to J that he was the one who stole the missing money. He had hidden the cash the day it was deposited, then pretended to work late. After everyone had left, he took the stolen cash home in a large bag that he had brought to work specifically for the purpose. Then over the weekend, he took the money to another bank that operated a half-day Saturday service and deposited it into his account there.
Victor’s predicament: I had vowed to ‘jazz’ the thief, which had him scared stiff . Spooked, he approached J for help, hoping to find someone who could help repel or break the spell. Unfortunately for Victor but a bullseye for me, he chose the wrong confidant. J is a good man and I had a very cordial relationship with him. So, my friend J pretended to consider Victor’s request for help and said he would get back to him with a solution, then quietly sent word to me via the note ✍️.
Armed with this information, the case of the missing customer cash was swiftly solved. With proof of the deposit into Victor’s account at the other bank, he confessed, returned the stolen money, and was quietly dismissed from the bank.
My career came close to being ruined because of someone else’s selfishness. Did Victor target that customer because they made large daily deposits and he thought they would not notice one missing? Or because he knew suspicion would not fall on him and did not care upon whom it fell?
It did not end there.
Victor was fired, but the security staff who had falsely accused me (the false witness) faced no consequences and was simply allowed to continue work as usual. Every day, I would see him calmly going about his work unbothered. That did not sit right with me. H*ll no, I thought. He would think nothing of falsely accusing someone else in the future.
Since the two managers in the branch did not deem it fit to discipline or reprimand the man, I wrote a memo directly to the Group Head of Operations at the head office. I outlined what had transpired and laid out the facts. The Group Head’s response was swift and the security staff was removed. I never had to see him again.
The two managers later denied they had ever suspected me.
Even today it amazes me that some people will deliberately make up lies or spread false stories about others that may destroy their lives, while happily going on with their own lives.
Overcoming obstacles often requires courage, determination, strategy, creative thinking. And a bit of luck. When it was all over, I gave Agatha Christie’s Poirot a mental high-five. He had taught me well.
Happy Workers’ Day!
