The Reckoning

Destroying a corrupt system is easier than building a better one.

The Aftermath

Six months after the network was dismantled, Somaiya was struggling.

The immediate crisis was administrative. Leadership had been removed or discredited. Processes that had depended on compromised systems needed to be rebuilt. Trust—among students, faculty, and the public—had collapsed.

Enrollment dropped. Donations declined. Partnerships with companies were suspended pending "review."

The institution that had persecuted me was now fighting for survival.

The Paradox

I felt complicated about this.

The corruption deserved to be exposed. But Somaiya was also my college—or had been. Teachers I respected still worked there. Friends I cared about still studied there. The institution was more than its worst elements.

Watching it struggle, I understood something: destroying is not the same as healing. Exposure is not the same as reform. For the institution to truly recover, something had to be built, not just torn down.

The Invitation

Three months after the trials, I received an invitation.

The new leadership at Somaiya—appointed after the scandal—wanted to meet. They wanted my input on rebuilding the systems I had exposed.

I was suspicious. Was this genuine? Or an attempt to co-opt me, to use my credibility while changing nothing fundamental?

I decided to find out.

The Conversation

The meeting was not what I expected.

The new administrators were genuinely shaken. They had inherited a mess and understood its causes. They were not trying to restore the old system—they were trying to build something different.

"You understood what was wrong better than anyone," one of them said. "Help us understand how to make it right."

They offered me a role: consultant on digital security and integrity. Not a position of power—I was still a student—but a voice in decisions about how systems would be redesigned.

I accepted. With conditions.

The Rebuilding

Over the next year, I worked with a team on rebuilding Somaiya's digital infrastructure.

We implemented principles:

• Transparency: every system modification would be logged and auditable by independent observers
• Distribution: no single point of control that could be corrupted
• Verification: regular third-party audits of data integrity
• Access limits: strict controls on who could modify what, with multiple approvals required for sensitive changes

These were not revolutionary ideas. They were basic security practices that had been ignored in favor of convenience and control.

Implementing them was harder than designing them. Legacy systems resisted change. Some staff preferred the old ways. Budget constraints limited what was possible.

But gradually, the new systems took shape.

The Culture

Technical fixes were necessary but not sufficient.

The real problem had been cultural: an environment where corruption was tolerated, where questioning was punished, where convenience trumped integrity.

This was harder to change.

We implemented new training for staff and students—not just about security, but about ethics. We created channels for reporting concerns anonymously. We established policies protecting whistleblowers.

And we tried to model different behavior. When mistakes happened—and they did—we acknowledged them openly. When concerns were raised, we investigated genuinely. When hard decisions were needed, we explained our reasoning.

Slowly, the culture shifted. Not completely. But noticeably.

The Students

The most important changes were among students.

A generation had watched what happened when corruption was exposed. They had seen a peer take on an institution and win—at great cost, but win.

They were different afterward.

More willing to question. More likely to report anomalies. Less trusting of authority, but also more engaged in improving systems rather than just complaining about them.

They had seen that change was possible. That individual action could matter. That truth could win.

This shift in student consciousness was worth more than any technical system we built.

The Limitations

I want to be honest: the transformation was incomplete.

Some elements of the old culture persisted. Some powerful people who should have faced consequences escaped them. Some reforms were blocked or watered down by political pressure.

The new systems were better, but not perfect. Given enough time and determination, motivated actors could probably find new ways to corrupt them.

Progress is not permanent. It requires ongoing vigilance.

The Departure

After a year of consulting, I left.

Not because I was forced out. The work was done—at least, the phase that needed me. The institution had new leadership, new systems, new culture. They needed to own it themselves.

And I needed to move on.

The experience had defined me for years. It was time to become something else.

The Legacy

Before I left, I documented everything.

Not just the technical specifications, but the stories. Why the old system failed. How the corruption worked. What the rebuilding required. The lessons learned that might help other institutions facing similar challenges.

I compiled it into a file. The Somaiya Files—my complete record of what had happened and what we had learned.

I shared it with the resistance organization, with journalists who had covered the story, with anyone who might need it in the future.

Because the truth should not be lost. And the lessons should not be forgotten.

The Future

Where am I now?

I finished my education—eventually. Different institution, different timeline, but completed.

I work in security and integrity systems. Not always for educational institutions, but often. There are many organizations that need what I learned.

I am part of networks—legitimate ones—that monitor for corruption, that support whistleblowers, that work to make systems more trustworthy.

And I continue to watch. To notice anomalies. To ask questions when things do not seem right.

Because I know what I know.

Corruption exists. It is sophisticated. It protects itself.

But it can be defeated. By people who notice. Who investigate. Who persist despite the cost.

By people who believe that truth matters.

Reckoning is not a moment. It is a practice. We rebuild ourselves and our institutions day by day, choice by choice, each decision moving us toward or away from integrity.

The files are closed.

The work continues.

THE END