The videos were rolled out on social media almost like a streaming series. They had cliffhangers, explosions, intrigue and a catchy title: Operation Midas.
But this was not fiction. Instead, Ukraine’s top anticorruption agencies released the videos over two days to reveal the biggest corruption scandal in Ukraine since Russian troops invaded almost four years ago. Allies of President Volodymyr Zelensky, the agencies said in the videos, embezzled $100 million from the country’s state-owned nuclear power giant.
The first promotional materials for the series popped up on social media at 10:10 a.m. on Nov. 10. The anticorruption agencies posted photos of stacks of $100 bills and bags of Ukrainian notes, with the hashtags #midas and #exposed.
“Details later,” the announcement said.
The videos soon followed, every few hours. New characters were introduced with names like Che Guevara, Rocket and the Professor. After a cliffhanger in one video, viewers were told to stay tuned for the next episode.
“We will reveal their role in the next part,” Oleksandr Abakumov, the lead detective of the National Anti-Corruption Bureau of Ukraine, said at the end of one of the videos.
“But more about him — in the next part,” he said at the conclusion of another.
“To be continued,” finished the last video, the fifth.
(More than a week later, viewers are still waiting.)
To state the obvious, this is not how anticorruption investigations are usually publicized. Even in the United States, with a showman for a president, charges are typically announced by a prosecutor wearing a dark suit in front of a lectern or from dry paper that leaves out the juicy details. They typically don’t include videos culminating in explosions.
But as the rollout of this 15-month investigation kept many Ukrainians glued to their phones, it also seemed like a way for anticorruption investigators to build support and prevent any retaliation from law enforcement bodies loyal to the president. In July, as the anticorruption agencies investigated the embezzlement scheme, officers from Ukraine’s domestic intelligence agency raided the homes of detectives and jailed two of them.
The drama of the videos also seemed almost apt for a country run by Mr. Zelensky, who rose to fame as an actor and whose chief of staff is a former movie producer.
“It’s like a Netflix series, no?” said Volodymyr Kudrytskyi, a former head of a state-owned power distribution company. Mr. Kudrytskyi has had his own cinematic run-ins with Mr. Zelensky’s administration, culminating in his arrest on what anticorruption activists say are trumped-up money laundering charges. He now wears an ankle bracelet.
The revelations have undermined the country’s leadership even as Ukrainian soldiers continue to fight a bloody war against Russian troops. Ukrainians tuning in have been particularly appalled as they suffer through blackouts caused by Russian drones and missiles. The criminal scheme, investigators say, involved kickbacks from money that was supposed to be spent on shelters to protect nuclear power facilities from Russian attack.
Mr. Zelensky, whose biggest acting role was in a satire of Ukrainian corruption called “Servant of the People,” has distanced himself from the scandal and said anyone involved in government corruption should be held accountable.
Investigators say they compiled more than 1,000 hours of recordings from wiretaps, tantalizing bits of which are featured in the videos. On those tapes, everyone uses a code name. A former business partner of Mr. Zelensky, an entertainment mogul named Timur Mindich, goes by Karlsson, a cartoon character who lived on a roof. (Ukrainians interpreted this to mean that Mr. Mindich was the protective roof of the corruption scheme.)
Oleksiy Chernyshov, a former deputy prime minister and a friend of Mr. Zelensky, went by Che Guevara. His wife, Svitlana Chernyshova, was the Professor. (Investigators said the country’s former energy minister, Herman Halushchenko, was also known at times on the tapes as the Professor, a repetition that feels like poor tradecraft.)
Mr. Chernyshov, who has been ordered held in pretrial detention, says that he is innocent and that investigators published excerpts from the recordings out of context. Ms. Chernyshova has not been officially charged and has said nothing publicly. Mr. Mindich has fled the country.
Mr. Halushchenko, who was removed from his most recent post as justice minister by Parliament on Wednesday, has not been charged and has denied any wrongdoing.
The minions on the tapes included lower-level functionaries with nicknames like Rocket and Tenor. There was also a big money guy called Sugarman, as well as a Georgian who has not been identified, known as Khachapuri. That’s the name for the decadent cheesy bread considered Georgia’s national dish.
“Were they being named by their children?” the journalist Bohdan Miroshnikov wondered on Telegram.
The anticorruption agencies posted the first video on Telegram and YouTube, precisely 90 minutes after the promotional materials went online. The episode kicked off with ominous music followed by an appearance by Mr. Abakumov, the detective, who introduced a series of snippets of wiretapped recordings between Rocket and Tenor.
Some excerpts did not entirely make sense. On July 9, Tenor mentioned that more “fortifications” were being planned, and Rocket replied that everyone knew something was about to happen, and one of the men was definitely listening to “Shape of My Heart” by Sting.
Some did make sense. On June 30, Mr. Mindich, or Karlsson, the accused ringleader, simply said, “I don’t want to get a notice of suspicion,” the Ukrainian equivalent of a criminal charge. The video, less than two minutes long, ended with a montage of power stations, drones, blackouts and explosions.
That got everyone talking.
Memes circulated, including one of the actor Bill Hader excitedly eating popcorn. Ukrainian subtitles said that searches at government officials’ homes were the topic of the day.
Videos begat videos. An opposition lawmaker who had provided some of the evidence to anticorruption investigators made his own videos on Telegram and YouTube. Journalists joined in, too.
The productions by the anticorruption agencies had dark turns. On Sept. 25, as the country headed toward winter and certain blackouts, Rocket and Tenor discussed how to increase kickbacks on protective shelters at a nuclear power plant.
At other points, they discussed how to launder money and move it overseas, maybe to Mauritius, maybe to Cyprus. Sugarman talked about money and percentages and said lines like: “There’s a million there. There’s khachapuri-shmachapuri. It’s fine.”
Only two women were mentioned in the episodes. One was the Professor, who is actually a university professor. The other, Rocket said, “likes those guys in tight pants.”
“Those boys won’t earn any money,” Tenor replied.
The agencies’ videos had a lot of fans. But they got two thumbs down from some supporters of the government. After the first two videos aired, more than 20 Telegram channels that often back Mr. Zelensky started reposting the same message about the National Anti-Corruption Bureau of Ukraine, or NABU.
“Meanwhile, the Russians are already preparing to award NABU with state awards,” the message said.
The drama continued online, with references to past seasons, like the previous Ukrainian president whose close friend and business partner was wrapped up in a defense embezzlement scheme.
“With the investigations of our anticorruption bodies, a Netflix subscription is a waste of money,” the journalist Polina Lytvynova wrote on Facebook. “My God, what a mess.”
In the fallout, there were twists. At a parliamentary meeting on Monday night about the corruption accusations, a member of Parliament held up his hand for four hours on Zoom before finally being called on. Then he said that Operation Midas must have been concocted by journalists because “they’re the ones who do silly things like that.”
An anticorruption detective responded, “Your last name also appears on the tapes.”
Mic drop. A long pause followed.
“The kind of pause not even a Netflix voice-over could save,” the Ukrainian journalist Dana Iarova wrote on Facebook.
Oleksandra Mykolyshyn and Nataliia Novosolova contributed reporting.
Kim Barker is a Times reporter writing in-depth stories about the war in Ukraine.
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