Sources confirm that Ukraine’s anti-corruption dragnet has snared another high-profile figure: Andriy Bohdan, President Volodymyr Zelensky’s former chief of staff, appeared in court yesterday facing charges of illicit enrichment and abuse of office. The hearing, held behind closed doors at the Kyiv Pechersk District Court, marks the latest escalation in a decade-long battle against systemic graft that even the war with Russia has failed to pause.

Bohdan, a lawyer who became Zelensky’s gatekeeper in 2019, is accused of funnelling state funds into shell companies linked to his family. Uncovered documents, shared with this desk, detail payments totalling 8.7 million hryvnias from a infrastructure project in Odesa. The money, sources claim, was routed through a Cypriot firm before landing in accounts controlled by Bohdan’s wife. He denies all charges, calling it a political vendetta.

This follows the arrest of former Supreme Court chief Vsevolod Knyazev last year, who is awaiting trial for bribery. The pattern is clear: no one is off limits. But critics warn the drive is selective. Bohdan’s prosecution comes as Zelensky faces mounting pressure from Western allies to clean house or risk losing billions in aid. Two weeks ago, the IMF delayed a $1.5 billion tranche citing corruption concerns.

Inside the courtroom, Bohdan was granted bail of 30 million hryvnias, roughly £650,000. He will wear an electronic tag. His legal team called the evidence a fabrication. “This is not justice but revenge for private grudges,” Bohdan told reporters outside the courthouse, flanked by men in dark suits.

But the National Anti-Corruption Bureau of Ukraine (NABU) insists otherwise. Its chief, Semen Kryvonos, told this publication: “We have traced the money. The documents speak for themselves. This is routine work, not politics.” NABU’s track record is patchy: while it has jailed dozens of mid-level officials, the big fish often swim free. Bohdan is a big fish.

The timing is awkward. Tomorrow, EU officials arrive in Kyiv to assess progress on judicial reforms. Bohdan’s appearance could be a sign of good faith. Or it could be a sacrificial offering. Either way, the 8.7 million hryvnias unearthed represent a fraction of what is lost annually to graft. Studies suggest Ukraine’s shadow economy accounts for 30% of GDP.

Zelensky’s office released a terse statement: “The law applies equally to all citizens. The president trusts the investigation.” But off the record, aides admit the case is a double-edged sword: it burns bridges with a former ally, but proves to Washington and Brussels that Ukraine is serious.

The trial resumes in March. By then, Bohdan may have to answer for more than his bank accounts. Sources hint at a second criminal inquiry into his role in drafting legislation that benefitted a family-owned media group. The clock is ticking for Kyiv: the West is watching, and the money tap may be turned off.

For now, Bohdan walks free, his ankle bracelet hidden beneath a trouser leg. But in a country where war and corruption feed each other, no one is above suspicion. And no one is safe.