• How a senior project professional navigated bribery attempts and ethical dilemmas
• The shock of being investigated by a forensic audit team
• The hidden politics behind a training program gone wrong
• The emotional toll of leadership when integrity is questioned
• Lessons learned about corporate systems, human behavior, and personal resilience

I once had a supervisor, a man I’ll call Mr. M, who lived by a mantra that has stayed with me through every twist and turn of my career. He would say, almost casually but with a weight that lingered long after the words left his mouth, “You will be tried.” He explained that early in his own journey, a mentor had advised him to approach every task with the mindset that one day he might stand before a court of law, questioned relentlessly about his decisions. “Always ask yourself,” the mentor had said, “what will be your defence when that day comes?”

I adopted that mantra as if it were carved into stone. It became a quiet companion, whispering reminders during moments when the easy path beckoned. And over the years, I found myself tested in ways I could never have imagined.

One of the earliest tests came in the form of a contractor who called me from London. He wanted to know what he could bring back for me — a gift, a token, something to “appreciate” me. The implication was clear: if I accepted, I would be expected to overlook the inconsistencies and questionable claims in his monthly catering invoices. These invoices covered meals for a large contingent of our houseboat personnel, and they often came with receipts that didn’t add up. I declined, politely but firmly. It was a small moment, but it reaffirmed the mantra. You will be tried.

Another test arrived when an EPC contractor requested a meeting outside the office gates. When I got there, one of their visiting executives — an Asian gentleman — held out an envelope containing U.S. dollars. I refused again, informed my managers, and moved on. But the universe wasn’t done with me.

The next challenge came disguised as a simple invoice line item: “Maria Costs.” Curious, I dug deeper. What I found was both absurd and troubling. The Korean workers, stationed in the remote project site for two-month stretches with little leisure, were being taken to Warri every two weeks to “unwind.” There, they engaged with call girls whose names they didn’t know, so they simply called them all Maria. The costs of these escapades had been bundled into reimbursable project expenses. As if that wasn’t enough, I discovered payments made to a local traditional ruler to facilitate river convoy movement — payments made without the required FCPA approvals.

If I had looked the other way, no one would have known. The invoices would have sailed through. But I reported it. And that decision, though correct, set off a chain of events that would test me in ways I never anticipated.

It happened on a day that should have been joyful. I had taken the afternoon off to celebrate my wife’s birthday. We were shopping on Awolowo Road in Ikoyi when I received a call from my boss asking for the key to my office. A duplicate key was with our team secretary, so I didn’t think much of it. What I didn’t know was that a team in Houston had remotely cloned my hard drive — a full image copy of everything on it.

Two days later, Legal summoned me. A forensic audit team was flying in, and I was to present myself before them. No explanation. No context. Just a date and a time.

I walked into the conference room early that morning and immediately felt a knot tighten in my stomach. The room was filled with unfamiliar faces with only one person from Legal, a woman I’ll call Ms. S. They sat across from the lone chair reserved for me. The interrogation began with a question about an email I had written two years earlier while stationed in outside Nigeria.

“Did you write this?”
“Why did you write it?”
“Were you accusing your project manager of colluding with the contractor?”
“Did you suspect kickbacks?”

To understand the email, we must go back to that period.

I had noticed a Nigerian trainee repeatedly using the photocopy machine outside my office. At first, I thought nothing of it. But then I noticed another trainee. Then another. Soon, all four Nigerian trainees — each assigned to different engineering disciplines — were spending most of their time photocopying documents. I called them into my office, and what they told me was disheartening. They had been relegated to the back office, given no real work, no training, no mentorship — despite the contract clearly requiring the contractor to train them. Nigerian Content obligations were being ignored, yet milestone payments tied to those obligations were still being claimed.

I reviewed the contract again, confirmed the obligations, and wrote to my counterpart at the contractor demanding compliance. I warned that I would begin withholding payments for non-performance.

The contractor’s representative was furious. Instead of responding to me, he marched straight to my Project Manager’s office and asked whether my email represented the company’s position or my personal opinion. My PM, instead of backing me, told him it was not the company’s position. I was stunned. He later called me to ask why I had written the email. I was so angry I excused myself and went home. The next day, still fuming, I wrote a long email expressing my disappointment in his leadership and stating that if he didn’t trust my judgment, he should appoint someone else.

His response was a single line: “You are too emotional.”

That only made things worse. I escalated the matter to my Business Manager — a decision that taught me another lesson about corporate politics, but that is a story for another day.

What I didn’t know then — but learned years later — was that the selection of those four trainees had been corrupt. All four were relatives of our joint venture partner’s representative responsible for selecting candidates through a supposedly competitive process. The PM knew. The trainees knew. The contractor knew. I was the only one in the dark. It explained the PM’s actions, though it didn’t justify them.

Back in the interrogation room, the forensic auditors pressed me on whether I believed my PM was compromised. By then, I had learned enough about corporate landmines to tread carefully. I simply said, “Your guess is as good as mine.”

I had nothing to hide. I had acted with integrity, based on the information available to me. When they asked about the FCPA issues, I told them everything — the Maria Costs, the unapproved payments, the warnings I had issued. They continued with a barrage of emails pulled from my hard drive. No explanations. No context. Just questions.

After two sessions, they moved on to interview my superiors. I was never told the findings, but since no one was removed, I can only assume they were cleared.

Before this incident, I didn’t even know a forensic audit team existed. I didn’t know hard drives could be cloned remotely. I didn’t know how deeply corporate systems could reach into your digital life. From that day on, I took seriously the warning that appears when logging into the company’s system: the machine and all data on it belong to the company. I learned to separate my personal and professional digital worlds.

But more importantly, I learned that integrity is not a quiet virtue. It is loud. It is tested. It is uncomfortable. And sometimes, it puts you in rooms you never imagined you’d be in. Yet, when the dust settles, and you look back on the choices you made, you find that the only true defence you ever needed was the truth — and the courage to stand by it.

Summary & Lessons Learned

• Integrity will always be tested — often when you least expect it.
• Doing the right thing does not guarantee comfort; sometimes it brings scrutiny.
• Corporate politics can obscure the truth, and leaders must navigate with caution.
• Not everyone will have your back, even when you are right.
• Transparency protects you, especially when decisions are questioned years later.
• Cultural and political undercurrents shape workplace dynamics, often invisibly.
• Leaders must learn to separate emotion from action, even when deeply provoked.
• Documentation is your shield — emails, reports, and written decisions matter.
• Ethical leadership is lonely, but it is the only leadership worth practicing.

This is the second part in the Multi‑Part Reflection Series: “Journeys of a Global Project Leader.” Please be on the lookout for the continuation parts