Juma refused to create a new group chat. A large room full of frightened people would turn questions into conclusions before anyone knew what had happened. Instead he wrote six names and called them one by one.
Omari, a former driver now selling building supplies, had sent Hassan money three times. He had never logged into a broker account. Twice, money described as “profit” had come from Hassan’s personal account.
Stella did not want to talk. “I already took my money out. I have no problem with Hassan.”
“Did it come from a broker or through Hassan?”
“I received it. That’s all.”
“Can you check the sender?”
“I don’t want drama.”
“All right. I won’t name you.”
He marked only *not participating*. Silence was not evidence.
Peter, a former cashier, admitted he had assumed there was a group account. He had sent the money directly to Hassan and received screenshots in return.
Mariam and Juma designed neutral questions: Did you send funds into a plan managed by Hassan? Do you have a record of where the funds were held? Did you ever withdraw directly from that institution? They deliberately avoided, *Did Hassan defraud you?*
Omari sent a redacted statement that preserved only the relevant transaction. Juma stored it under *shared with consent*. Peter sent an old screenshot but warned, “This is what I received. I can’t prove where it came from.” Juma wrote exactly that beneath it.
They also noticed that participants used different words—*group, portfolio, Hassan’s account, fund*. Mariam added a column for the exact description each person remembered. They would not pretend everyone had been told the same thing.
Then Musa called. He had heard from Omari that Juma was asking questions.
“I put money in,” he said. “And tomorrow I’m selling my father’s plot to add more.”
Juma stood up. “Tomorrow?”
“Hassan says the window closes this week.”
“Before you sell, ask him to identify the account holding your money and show a small withdrawal directly from it.”
“Juma, you’re the reason I trusted him.”
The accusation hurt because it contained truth. Juma had never ordered Musa to invest, but he had praised Hassan’s “returns” in the old chat.
“I have responsibility for what I said,” Juma answered. “That’s why I’m telling you not to make the next decision on a screenshot alone.”
“Have I lost my money?”
“I don’t know. I will not say that without proof. I’m saying there are unanswered questions.”
They arranged to meet at the land office the next morning. Musa had already accepted a small deposit and risked losing it if he withdrew from the sale.
Before ending the day, Juma dated their working table and saved a version. The next version would show what they learned later, instead of silently rewriting what they knew today. Peter asked for a total loss figure. Juma refused to invent one. They knew only the transfers a few people had documented.
Uncertainty written down was not weakness. It was cleaner than a dramatic number that changed every day.
They also agreed on a consent rule for every document. If a participant showed something on a phone but did not authorize a copy, Juma would not photograph it. If a person sent a redacted statement, only the visible transaction would enter the working table. The rule slowed them down, but it prevented the investigation from becoming another system built on informal access. Juma noticed the irony: he was trying to repair a trust problem by refusing to take information on trust alone. The method felt almost painfully ordinary, which was precisely why he liked it.
Mariam reminded him that nobody on the list owed them an answer. The list was not a summons. If all six refused, Juma would still have to make decisions using his own records. That kept participation voluntary and stopped fear from becoming a tool for collecting private information.
Musa was about to sell land the next morning.
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