The Theory of Parallel Realities: The NACP Sees a Mansion, Verbytsky Sees Friendship
Dmytro Verbytskyi, the controversial former Deputy Prosecutor General whom the National Anti-Corruption Bureau of Ukraine (NABU) suspects of illicit enrichment, has launched a campaign of self-exoneration through online media.
This self-exoneration effort was preceded by a loss in the Kyiv Administrative Court, where Verbytsky had filed a lawsuit against the National Agency for Corruption Prevention (NAZK) seeking to have the court declare the NAZK’s findings “null and void” and prohibit the agency from investigating his personal affairs. But the judges gave Verbytsky a categorical “no”: NACP has every right to account not only for the prosecutor’s own money but also for property he registers under the names of his mistresses, nephews, or mother.
Stunned by this “utter injustice,” the former prosecutor bought himself a self-exculpatory interview, having previously announced it on his Facebook page, where he also called on other journalists, saying, “I’m ready—finally ask me about the estates and the illegal millions in my declaration.” Although, the most logical thing would have been to contact directly those media outlets that had exposed the top official’s illicit enrichment.
Everyone is to blame. And the calculator too
But Verbytsky set out to provide explanations to a completely different media outlet and got so carried away that he nearly pushed legal science to the brink of a major overhaul. Criminal procedure and anti-corruption legislation aren’t enough. The art of staying “just close by”—that’s where the former prosecutor’s true talent lies.
First, there was an emotional Facebook post. Then—a lengthy phone interview. From it, we learned that Ukraine’s main problem lies not in corruption, not in offshore accounts, and not even in the defendants in criminal proceedings. The main problem is that the NACP doesn’t know how to use a calculator.
Verbytsky himself puts it almost tragically:
“Is this a basic inability to balance debits and credits, or deliberate action?” After hearing this, one feels like immediately summoning not NABU detectives for questioning, but an eighth-grade math teacher.
However, the further the conversation goes, the clearer it becomes: this is not just an attempt to defend oneself. It is an attempt to create an alternative reality in which any inconvenient questions are explained away either by a media conspiracy or by the incompetence of everyone around him. Moreover, the scale of this incompetence is staggering: journalists are mistaken, the NACP is mistaken, the court is mistaken, anti-corruption agencies are mistaken—perhaps even arithmetic itself is mistaken.
A super-mind. Only Verbytsky knows how it all works
And only one person in the country fully understands how to properly count apartments, houses, Porsches, and Turkish real estate. Dmytro Verbytskyi himself.
Captain of the High Seas: The White Cap Has Sailed Off Into the Fog
This story takes on a special sophistication when the former Deputy Prosecutor General moves on to explaining the origin of his family’s wealth. Here, the interview begins to resemble something between the memoirs of a sea dog and the script for a TV series about Odessa rentiers.
“My father was a captain of the merchant marine. He earned $10,000 a month.”
The reader then learns that his father spent eight months at sea, so he was a non-resident and did not pay taxes in Ukraine. The family, as Verbytsky explains, “was always wealthy.” His mother ran a business. Cars were imported from the U.S. Apartments were sold at “peak prices.” True, there are no documents. Because!
“My mother threw those documents away.”
And here, Ukrainian anti-corruption practices reach a whole new level of existential trust. Government agencies, apparently, would simply have to take the family archive—which tragically perished during a cleanup—at face value.
The residential complex is wrong
The story involving Turkish real estate is particularly intriguing. According to Verbytskyi, the NACP and journalists simply confused “the wrong residential complex.” That is, the apartment existed, but it wasn’t that expensive. And anyway, all they had to do was “just call the developer.”
At some point, one gets the impression that the main mistake of Ukrainian law enforcement was not failing to conduct expert examinations, but their unwillingness to work as sales managers for Turkish real estate.
Against this backdrop, the following statement sounds particularly poignant:
“I didn’t hide anything.”
True, a little later it turns out: “I have the right to keep the address confidential.” And this is probably one of the most accurate metaphors of the entire interview: nothing is hidden, it’s just that some details are impossible to see.
Porsche Etiquette
The real gem of the interview is undoubtedly Khristina Ilnytska’s Porsche.
It is here that Dmytro Verbytskyi, perhaps without realizing it himself, formulates one of the most subtle legal constructs of recent years.
“What I am being charged with is not ‘using’ the car, but simply driving it.”
One wants to cast this sentence in bronze immediately. It turns out there is an almost metaphysical difference between “driving a car” and “using a car.” A person can sit behind the wheel of a Porsche, drive around town, and be caught on surveillance cameras—yet have absolutely no connection to the car.
Because!
“She unlocks the car, and I just get behind the wheel. That’s the rule of etiquette.”
Ukrainian jurisprudence will take a long time to recover from this level of gallantry. This concept looks particularly touching against the backdrop of another line of defense:
“There has never been a single instance where I personally took her car and drove somewhere on my own.”
In other words, driving on one’s own would obviously be considered a certain form of relationship with the vehicle. But as long as the owner is sitting next to him—it’s just gentlemanly assistance.
A friend’s house, a friend’s money, and a very complicated friendship
No less subtle is the story involving the house in “Konik.” Here, Verbytsky effectively proposes that society accept another intriguing thesis: living in an expensive house does not imply any connection to that house.
Because:
- the house belongs to a friend;
- the friend’s money was with the friend’s father;
- the friend’s father had power of attorney;
- the NACP twisted everything;
- and Verbytsky himself simply rented the place out of fear for his own life after the Kolomoyskyi case.
At a certain point, the interview begins to resemble an intellectual game, where the main task is to distance oneself as much as possible from everything around.
The house isn’t mine. The car isn’t mine. The apartment in Turkey isn’t that one. The millions belong to my family. The documents were thrown away. The journalists were wrong. The NACP fabricated the case. The NABU is dragging its feet. The court is a formality.
And only one thing remains unchanged: Dmytro Verbytskyi himself is absolutely convinced of his own righteousness.
A man who doesn’t make excuses
There is even a certain aesthetic to this. After all, the classic Ukrainian figure in a corruption scandal is usually nervous, confused, or disappears from the public eye. Verbytsky, however, chose a different path—an aggressive philosophy of total innocence—and even joined a political party. He doesn’t just refute the allegations. He explains the world. A world in which luxury real estate is the result of an incorrect exchange rate; a Porsche is a manifestation of masculine etiquette; and any journalistic investigation is part of a large-scale conspiracy by those implicated in criminal proceedings.
And the longer these explanations go on, the more one wants to ask just one question. Perhaps the problem really isn’t about the property. Perhaps the problem is that Ukrainian reality simply isn’t ready yet for this level of legal quantum mechanics?
The UA.News editorial team continues to monitor developments in the case involving the former prosecutor and his associates. Unlike Verbytsky’s family archives, the documents in the journalists’ possession remain in place.
