The council occupied real space, employed real people, and collected real money—none of it authorized.
In Abuja, at the very heart of Nigeria's federal administration, a man constructed an entire government agency from forged paper and borrowed authority — securing office space, bank accounts, and nearly a million dollars in public budget allocations before anyone in the presidency noticed. The scheme, built around a fictitious body called the Presidential Foreign Intervention Promotion Council, endured long enough to appear in the 2026 national budget, raising questions not merely about one man's audacity, but about the fragility of the systems meant to guard public trust. President Tinubu has now ordered a thirty-day investigation, understanding that the deeper wound here is not the forgery itself, but the silence of the institutions that should have caught it.
- A man forged the chief of staff's signature to conjure an entire government agency into bureaucratic existence — complete with staff, office space inside the Federal Secretariat, and a budget line worth $950,000.
- The deception held long enough to pass through the Central Bank, the national appropriations process, and the physical gatekeeping of Nigeria's most secure government complex.
- Before police could arrest him, the alleged architect of the scheme fled, claiming innocence and alleging that senior officials had demanded bribes and later tried to seize the council's funds — accusations the presidency firmly denied.
- Investigators confirmed the allocated funds had not yet been disbursed, narrowing the immediate financial damage, but the procedural breach it exposed sent shockwaves through civil society, opposition ranks, and the legal community.
- President Tinubu has tasked the anti-corruption commission with a 30-day inquiry targeting not only the forgers but any officials, institutions, or intermediaries who may have enabled the fraud — and the systemic gaps that made it possible.
Inside the Federal Secretariat in Abuja, someone had built a government agency that did not exist. The Presidential Foreign Intervention Promotion Council occupied real office space, employed real staff, and opened real bank accounts — all on the strength of a forged letter bearing the chief of staff's signature. It even secured a line item in the 2026 national budget: 1.3 billion naira, roughly $950,000 in public funds.
Adeniyi Adeyemi Matthew presented himself as the council's director general, claiming it had been established in 2024 to attract foreign investment. The forged appointment letter was convincing enough to satisfy the Central Bank of Nigeria and the Federal Secretariat's administrators alike. Yet when investigators examined the signature, they confirmed it was fabricated. The presidency had no record of the council's creation, and the Accountant-General's Office found no evidence that any of the budgeted funds had actually been disbursed.
Before police could reach him, Adeyemi disappeared. He told local media he was innocent and feared for his safety, alleging that senior officials had demanded bribes during his appointment and later attempted to take control of the council's finances. The presidency denied the claims. A manhunt was launched on charges of forgery, impersonation, and related offences, with two additional defendants also charged.
The episode drew immediate condemnation from civil society groups, opposition politicians, and senior lawyers. President Tinubu ordered the Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission to deliver a full report within thirty days — examining not only the forged documents, but how the scheme had navigated so many layers of government unchallenged. The investigation was directed to identify any officials, financial institutions, or intermediaries who may have enabled the fraud, and to expose the procedural weaknesses that allowed one man to impersonate the authority of the state so effectively.
Inside the Federal Secretariat in Abuja, where Nigeria's government machinery hums along in a sprawl of ministries and offices, someone had set up shop under a name that did not exist. The Presidential Foreign Intervention Promotion Council occupied real space, employed real people, opened real bank accounts, and collected real money—nearly a million dollars in public funds. The only problem was that no one in the presidency had authorized it.
Adeniyi Adeyemi Matthew presented himself as the council's director general. He carried what appeared to be an official letter of appointment, signed by Femi Gbajabiamila, the president's chief of staff. The letter looked legitimate enough to convince the Central Bank of Nigeria to open accounts. It looked legitimate enough to land the council a line item in the 2026 national budget: 1.3 billion naira, roughly $950,000. It looked legitimate enough that the council secured office space within the Federal Secretariat itself, the heart of government administration. But when investigators examined the signature, they found it was a forgery.
Adeyemi, according to the presidency, had fabricated the entire apparatus of legitimacy. He had created the council in 2024, he claimed, to attract foreign investment to Nigeria. He staffed it with three employees. He pursued what appeared to be official recognition and diplomatic support, including visa facilitation for potential investors. Yet there was no record of any actual deals, no evidence that the council had done anything but exist on paper and in the bureaucratic machinery it had infiltrated.
Before disappearing, Adeyemi told local media outlets that he was innocent and feared for his safety. He insisted the council had been lawfully established and promised to appear in court to defend himself. He also made a more serious allegation: that senior government officials had demanded bribes during his appointment process and later tried to seize control of the council's funds. The presidency flatly denied these claims. Police launched a manhunt for Adeyemi on charges of forgery, impersonation, and related offences. Two other defendants were also charged in connection with the scheme.
The mechanics of the deception revealed something troubling about how Nigeria's government operates. The council had managed to open multiple bank accounts using forged documents. It had secured office space in the most secure government complex in the capital. It had appeared in the national appropriations act. Yet when the Accountant-General's Office investigated, they found no operational account with the central bank and no record of any public funds actually being disbursed. The money allocated in the budget had not moved. The three staff members were questioned by police.
President Bola Tinubu ordered an investigation on Tuesday, directing the Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission to submit a comprehensive report within thirty days. The inquiry would examine not just the forged documents themselves, but the wider question of how such a scheme had succeeded at all. Investigators were tasked with identifying any public officers, private individuals, financial institutions, or intermediaries who may have facilitated the alleged fraud. They were also told to expose the procedural weaknesses in government that had allowed someone to impersonate official authority so effectively.
The scandal had already drawn sharp criticism from civil society organizations, opposition politicians, and senior lawyers demanding an independent inquiry. Tinubu's statement emphasized that the integrity of the presidency and federal institutions could not be compromised by forgery, impersonation, or the exploitation of bureaucratic gaps. "All persons found culpable are to be treated strictly in accordance with applicable law," he said. What remained unclear was how far the investigation would reach—and whether it would expose not just Adeyemi's actions, but the institutional vulnerabilities that had made his deception possible.
Citas Notables
The integrity of the presidency and federal institutions must be protected against impersonation, forgery, abuse of official identity and the exploitation of weaknesses in the public service.— President Bola Tinubu
Adeyemi claimed the council was lawfully established and accused senior government officials of demanding bribes during his appointment and later attempting to seize control of the council's funds.— Adeniyi Adeyemi Matthew (via local media)
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
How does someone actually pull this off? Open bank accounts, get budget allocations, occupy government space—without anyone noticing?
That's the question that should terrify officials right now. The forged signature got him past the first gate. After that, the system just... worked. Bureaucrats saw what looked like official paperwork and processed it.
But surely someone checks these things. The Central Bank, the budget office—they must verify.
In theory, yes. In practice, there are gaps. A forged letter from the chief of staff carries enormous weight. People don't want to be the one who questions it. And if the paperwork looks right, if it's in the system, it gains a kind of momentum.
The money was allocated but never actually paid out. Does that mean the scheme failed, or just that it was caught in time?
It suggests someone caught on before the funds actually moved. But the fact that it got that far—that it appeared in the national budget—shows how deep the penetration went. This wasn't a small con.
What about the three staff members? Were they complicit or duped?
That's still unclear. They were questioned, but we don't know what they knew. They may have believed they were working for a real agency.
And Adeyemi's claim about officials demanding bribes—is that credible?
It's a common defense in these situations. But it also points to something real: the vulnerability of the system to exploitation. Whether his specific allegations are true or not, the fact that such a scheme could work at all suggests corruption runs deeper than just one man's forgery.