She Uncovered ₦2.4 Billion in Fraud… Then the System Hired Her

It all started with a typo. Just one extra zero.

Sandra Okojie, a 29-year-old junior account officer at ZebraTrust Microfinance Bank, was working late on dormant corporate accounts. The task was routine: close inactive ledgers, flag suspicious transactions, move funds to a holding vault.

But fatigue played its part.

She keyed in ₦100 million instead of ₦10 million into a flagged dormant account—HighBloom Consults, a name buried in forgotten records. She noticed the error almost immediately and contacted IT for a rollback.

“Already processed. We’ll need backend approval,” they said.

By morning, the money was gone.

The account had been emptied to multiple shell companies, registered under a single BVN tied to a former executive—Ayo Dosunmu, ZebraTrust’s ex-Managing Director, who had resigned after a quiet scandal two years earlier.

Sandra dug into the shell structures. She found five other ghost companies linked to the same BVN, all receiving micro-transfers over the last 18 months. The total? Over ₦2.4 billion—all funneled through dormant accounts.

When she escalated the findings, her supervisor shut her down.

“You’re just a junior officer. You want to go viral or go broke?”

That same night, she received an anonymous message:

“Stop digging. You’re in over your head.”

Instead of backing off, Sandra leaked the files to an independent fintech blogger known for breaking banking corruption stories in Nigeria.

Within 48 hours, the headline dominated social media:

“Dormant Accounts Used to Launder ₦2.4 Billion – CBN to Investigate ZebraTrust Bank”

CBN launched a formal investigation. The bank’s CEO resigned. Two board members were detained. Sandra was suspended “pending review,” but hailed online as a whistleblower hero.

Shortly after, she was approached by a new fintech startup called BluEdge Capital, offering her a role as Head of Risk and Compliance. They admired her courage.

One week into her new job at BluEdge Capital, Sandra was settling into her role when she noticed something unsettling: a familiar account ID showed up during a routine internal audit—HighBloom Consults.

Confused, she flagged it.

“Don’t worry,” her new boss smiled. “That account’s been sanitized. It’s ours now.”

Her blood ran cold.

That night, she accessed the back-end. BluEdge was a shadow operation—built to absorb the same shell companies tied to the ZebraTrust scandal. But this time, the money flow was larger—international.

Sandra realized: they hadn’t recruited her to protect the company. They recruited her to keep her quiet.

The final blow?

She checked the domain registrar of BluEdge Capital.

It was owned by Ayo Dosunmu.

Sandra disappeared for three days.

When she resurfaced, she dropped a full 40-page document to a CBN task force, complete with screenshots, emails, and WhatsApp chats showing that BluEdge was laundering billions through new digital wallets masked as startup wallets.

Interpol got involved.

The Nigerian banking sector was rocked.

But Sandra didn’t return to her job.

Instead, she relocated to Nairobi, where she now works anonymously with AML watchdogs, exposing digital money laundering in Africa’s rising fintech ecosystem.

Her last tweet?

“Not all heroes wear suits. Some just read ledgers.”