From Law Enforcement to Regulatory Pawn, Unveiling the Insider Story of Binance Executive's Arrest

Original Title: The Untold Story of a Crypto Crimefighters Descent Into Nigerian Prison

Original Author: Andy Greenberg, Wired

Original Translation: Tracy, Alvin, BitpushNews

As a U.S. federal agent, Tigran Gambaryan pioneered modern cryptocurrency investigations. Later, at Binance, he found himself caught between the world's largest cryptocurrency exchange and a government determined to hold it to account.

On the morning of March 23, 2024, at 8 a.m., Tigran Gambaryan woke up on a couch in Abuja, Nigeria, starting his day with pre-dawn prayers as he had been dozing off there since dawn. The house around him, often filled with the hum of a nearby generator, was unusually quiet. In that silence, the harsh reality of Gambaryan's situation had been flooding his mind every morning for nearly a month: he and his cryptocurrency company Binance colleague, Nadeem Anjarwalla, were being held hostage, unable to access their passports. Under the watch of military guards, they were detained in a compound surrounded by barbed wire owned by the Nigerian government.

Gambaryan rose from the couch. The 39-year-old Armenian-American was wearing a white t-shirt, built like a fighter with a muscular physique, his right arm covered in Eastern Orthodox tattoos. Normally bald-shaven, his neatly trimmed black beard had grown short and wild from a month without a shave. Gambaryan found the house's cook and asked her to buy him some cigarettes. Then, he paced anxiously in the interior courtyard of the house, making calls to his lawyer and other Binance contacts, resuming his daily effort to, in his words, "damn well solve this."

Just the day before, these two Binance employees and their cryptocurrency mogul employer were informed that they were about to be charged with tax evasion. These two individuals appeared to be caught in the midst of bureaucratic infighting, a conflict between an irresponsible foreign government and one of the most controversial players in the cryptocurrency economy. Now, not only were they forcibly detained with no end in sight, but they were also being labeled as criminals.

After over two hours on the phone, as the courtyard started to bake under the rising sun, Gambaryan finally hung up and returned inside, still without any sign of Anjarwalla. That pre-dawn morning, Anjarwalla had gone to a local mosque to pray, accompanied by his guards who kept a close eye on him. Upon his return to the house, he informed Gambaryan that he was going upstairs to sleep.

Several hours had passed since then, so Gambaryan went up to the second-floor bedroom to check on his colleague. He pushed the door open to find Anjarwalla seemingly asleep, his feet sticking out from under the sheets. Gambaryan called out to him from the doorway, but there was no response. For a moment, he was worried that Anjarwalla might be on the verge of another panic attack—this young Kenyan-British Binance executive had been sleeping in Gambaryan's bed for several days, too anxious to spend the night alone.

Gambaryan crossed the dark room—he had heard that the house's caretaker was behind on the electricity bill, the generator was out of diesel, so daytime power outages were common—he placed his hand on the blanket. Strangely, the blanket seemed to sink down as if there was no actual body underneath.

Gambaryan pulled back the covers. He found a t-shirt underneath with a pillow stuffed inside. Bending down to look at the foot protruding from the blanket, he now realized it was actually a sock with a water bottle inside.

Without calling out to Anjarwalla again or searching the house, Gambaryan knew that his Binance colleague and cellmate had escaped. He also immediately realized that his own situation was about to get worse. Little did he know then how much worse it would get—he would be thrown into a Nigerian prison, charged with money laundering, facing a potential 20-year sentence, denied medical care even as his health deteriorated to the brink of death, all while being used as a pawn in a multi-billion-dollar cryptocurrency extortion scheme.

At that moment, he simply sat silently on the bed, in the darkness 6,000 miles away from home, contemplating the stark reality of being completely alone now.

TIGRAN GAMBARYAN's intensifying Nigerian nightmare was at least partially rooted in a conflict that had been brewing for fifteen years. Since the mysterious Satoshi Nakamoto unveiled Bitcoin to the world in 2009, cryptocurrency has promised a libertarian Holy Grail: a digital currency free from government control, immune to inflation, able to transcend borders with impunity, as if it existed in an entirely different dimension. However, the reality today is that cryptocurrency has evolved into a multi-trillion-dollar industry largely operated by companies with lavish offices and well-paid executives—entities that can be pressured by the laws and enforcement agencies of nations, much like any other industry in the real world.

Prior to becoming one of the most globally recognized victims, a sacrifice in the chaotic intersection of fintech lawlessness and global law enforcement, Gambaryan had embodied this conflict in another way: as one of the world's most effective and innovative cryptocurrency dedicated law enforcement officers. Before joining Binance in 2021, Gambaryan spent a decade as a Special Agent in the IRS Criminal Investigation (IRS-CI), enforcing tax authority law. During his tenure at IRS-CI, Gambaryan pioneered a technology to track cryptocurrency and identify suspects by analyzing the Bitcoin blockchain. Through this "follow-the-money" tactic, he dismantled one network crime conspiracy after another, shattering the myth of Bitcoin's anonymity.

Starting in 2014, it was Gambaryan who traced Bitcoin following the FBI's seizure of the Silk Road dark web drug market, uncovering two corrupt federal agents who, during the investigation of the market, embezzled over $1 million—marking the first time blockchain evidence was included in a criminal complaint. Over the next few years, Gambaryan helped trace the theft of $500 million worth of Bitcoin from the first cryptocurrency exchange, Mt. Gox, ultimately identifying a group of Russian hackers as the masterminds behind the heist.

In 2017, Gambaryan partnered with blockchain analytics startup Chainalysis to create a clandestine Bitcoin tracking method that successfully identified and aided the FBI in seizing the servers hosting AlphaBay. AlphaBay was a dark web criminal marketplace estimated to be ten times the size of Silk Road. Shortly after, Gambaryan played a crucial role in dismantling the "Welcome to Video" encrypted child exploitation video network, the largest operation of its kind to date. This action led to the arrest of 337 users worldwide and the rescue of 23 children.

Finally, in 2020, Gambaryan and another IRS-CI agent traced and seized nearly 70,000 bitcoins stolen years earlier by a hacker from the Silk Road. At today's prices, these bitcoins are valued at $7 billion, making it the largest-ever confiscation of any currency type related to crime, flowing into the U.S. Treasury Department.

"He [Gambaryan] was involved in almost all of the major cryptocurrency cases at the time," former U.S. prosecutor Will Frentzen said, who worked closely with Gambaryan and prosecuted the crimes he exposed. "He was very innovative in the investigation, using many approaches that people had not thought of, and very generous in giving credit." In the fight against cryptocurrency crime, Frentzen stated, “I don't think anyone has had a bigger impact on this field than him."

After experiencing that legendary career, Gambaryan turned to the private sector, making a decision that shocked many government colleagues who had worked with him. He became the head of Binance's investigation team. Binance is a massive cryptocurrency exchange processing billions of dollars in daily transactions and known for its indifference to whether users are breaking the law.

When Gambaryan joined Binance in the fall of 2021, the company was already under investigation by the U.S. Department of Justice. Ultimately, the investigation revealed that Binance handled tens of billions of dollars in transactions that violated anti-money laundering laws and circumvented international sanctions against Iran, Cuba, Syria, and the Russian-occupied region of Ukraine. The Justice Department also pointed out that the company directly processed over $100 million in cryptocurrency transactions from the Russian dark web crime market Hydra, with some funds originating from the sale of child exploitation material and funding identified terrorist organizations.

Some of Gambaryan's former colleagues privately expressed their dissatisfaction with his career switch, even going as far as to believe he was "selling out." However, Gambaryan firmly believes that he is actually taking on the most critical role in his career. As part of Binance's effort to clean up its corporate image after years of rapid expansion, Gambaryan formed a new investigative team within the company, recruiting top agents from the IRS-CI and other law enforcement agencies around the world, and helping Binance engage in unprecedented cooperation with law enforcement.

Gambaryan stated that by analyzing data representing trading volumes exceeding the sum of the New York Stock Exchange, London Stock Exchange, and Tokyo Stock Exchange, his team successfully assisted in uncovering global cases such as child exploitation, terrorism, and organized crime. "We have assisted in thousands of cases globally. My influence at Binance may be even greater than when I was in law enforcement," Gambaryan once told me. "I am very proud of the work we have done, and I am ready to defend my decision to join Binance if anyone questions it."

Although Gambaryan has helped Binance create a more compliant image, this transformation does not erase the company's history as a rogue exchange, nor does it shield it from the consequences of past wrongdoing. In November 2023, U.S. Attorney General Merrick Garland announced during a press conference that Binance had agreed to pay a $43 billion fine and forfeiture, one of the largest corporate penalties in U.S. criminal justice history. The company's founder and CEO, Changpeng Zhao, was personally fined $150 million and sentenced to four months in prison.

The United States is not the only country dissatisfied with Binance. By early 2024, Nigeria began to criticize the company, not only for its compliance violations acknowledged in the U.S. plea agreement but also for exacerbating the devaluation of the Nigerian Naira. From late 2023 to early 2024, the Naira devalued by nearly 70%, prompting Nigerians to exchange their local currency for cryptocurrency, especially stablecoins pegged to the U.S. dollar.

Amaka Anku, the Africa Director at Eurasia Group, stated that the true cause of the Naira's devaluation was the relaxation of exchange rate restrictions between the Naira and the U.S. dollar by the new Nigerian president Bola Tinubu's administration, coupled with unexpectedly low foreign exchange reserves at the Central Bank of Nigeria. However, when the Naira began to devalue, cryptocurrency served as an unregulated means to sell off the Naira, further exacerbating the devaluation pressure. "You can't directly blame Binance or any cryptocurrency exchange for this devaluation," Anku said, "but they certainly contributed to the process."

For years, cryptocurrency supporters have envisioned Satoshi's invention as a safe haven for citizens facing an inflation crisis. That moment has finally arrived, and the government of Nigeria, the largest economy in Africa, is furious about it. In December 2023, a committee of the Nigerian National Assembly summoned senior Binance executives to a hearing in the capital city of Abuja to explain how they would rectify the alleged wrongdoings. To address this situation, Binance assembled a Nigerian delegation as a symbol of the company's commitment to cooperation with global law enforcement and governments, with Tigran Gambaryan, a former federal agent and star investigator, naturally becoming a member of the delegation.

However, before resorting to extreme measures such as coercion and kidnapping hostages, the criminals first made a demand for a bribe.

In January 2023, Gambaryan had just arrived in Abuja for a few days, and his trip was going smoothly. To show goodwill, he met with investigators from the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) of Nigeria. The EFCC is essentially the counterpart of Gambaryan's former agency, the US Internal Revenue Service, responsible for combating fraud, investigating government corruption, and discussed the possibility of providing cryptocurrency investigation training to the agency's staff. He then participated in a roundtable meeting with Binance executives and members of the Nigerian House of Representatives, where everyone pledged in a friendly atmosphere to resolve their differences together.

When Gambaryan arrived in Nigeria, he was received at the airport by EFCC detective Olalekan Ogunjobi. Ogunjobi had read Gambaryan's professional background and expressed great admiration for his legendary achievements as a federal agent. Throughout the trip, Ogunjobi almost dined with Gambaryan every night at the hotel—the Transcorp Hilton Abuja. Gambaryan shared his experience of cryptocurrency crime investigation with Ogunjobi, how to handle cases, how to set up task forces, etc. They exchanged a lot of investigation experiences. When Gambaryan presented Ogunjobi with his book "Tracers in the Dark" and signed it, Ogunjobi requested him to sign the book.

One night, while Gambaryan, Ogunjobi, and a group of Binance colleagues were dining at the table, a Binance employee received a call from the company's lawyer. After the pleasantries, the lawyer told Gambaryan that the actual meeting with Nigerian officials was not as friendly as it seemed. The officials now demanded a payment of $150 million to resolve Binance's issues in Nigeria—and requested payment in cryptocurrency, to be transferred directly to the officials' crypto wallets. What was even more shocking was that the officials implied that the Binance team could not leave Nigeria until this amount was paid.

Gambaryan was very shocked and didn't even have time to explain to Ogunjobi or say goodbye. He quickly gathered Binance's staff, hastily left the restaurant, and returned to the meeting room at the Transcorp Hilton hotel to discuss the next steps in response. Paying this blatantly obvious bribe would violate the U.S. Foreign Corrupt Practices Act. If they refused, they might be detained indefinitely. In the end, the team decided to take the third option: leave Nigeria immediately. They spent the whole night in the meeting room urgently planning how to get all Binance employees on a plane as soon as possible, change flights, and reschedule the departure for the early morning of the next day.

The next morning, the Binance team gathered on the second floor of the hotel with their luggage already packed. They tried to avoid passing through the lobby in case Nigerian officials were waiting there to stop them from leaving. Everyone took taxis to the airport, nervously passed through security, boarded the plane back home, and encountered no issues throughout the process. They all felt like they had narrowly escaped a disaster.

Shortly after returning to the suburbs of Atlanta, Gambaryan received a phone call from Ogunjobi. Gambaryan mentioned that Ogunjobi was very disappointed about the bribery request the Binance team faced and was shocked by the behavior of their Nigerian compatriots. Ogunjobi suggested to Gambaryan that he should report this bribery incident to the Nigerian authorities and request an anti-corruption investigation.

Finally, Ogunjobi arranged for Gambaryan to have a call with EFCC official Ahmad Sa'ad Abubakar. Abubakar was introduced as a trusted aide to Nigeria's National Security Adviser, Nuhu Ribadu. Ogunjobi informed Gambaryan that Ribadu was an anti-corruption crusader who had even given a TEDx talk. Now, Ribadu invited Gambaryan to meet with him in person to resolve Binance's issues in Nigeria and to uncover the truth behind the bribery incident.

Gambaryan shared the phone call situation with his Binance colleagues, and it sounded like an opportunity to resolve the company's dilemma in Nigeria. So, Binance's executives and Gambaryan began to consider that perhaps he could use this invitation to return to Nigeria, unraveling the increasingly complicated relationship between the company and the Nigerian government. Although this idea sounded very risky—after all, they had hastily fled the country just a few weeks ago—Gambaryan believed he received a friendly invitation from a powerful official and also had the personal assurance of his friend Ogunjobi. Binance's local staff also informed Gambaryan that, upon verification, they believed this solution was reliable.

Gambaryan shared the bribery incident and the invitation to Nigeria with his wife, Yuki. For her, this proposal was clearly very dangerous. She repeatedly asked Gambaryan not to go.

Now Gambaryan admits that perhaps he still retained the mindset of a former Federal agent—an identity imbued with a sense of duty and security. "I think that was a part of me that remained from before: when duty calls, you go," he said. "I was asked to go."

So, in what he now considers one of the most unwise decisions of his life, Gambaryan packed his bags, kissed Yuki and their two children goodbye, and set off early on the morning of February 25th, boarding a flight to Abuja.

The second leg of the journey began with a pick-up from Ogunjobi at the airport, where Ogunjobi once again reassured him on the drive to the Transcorp Hilton Hotel and during dinner. This time, the only one accompanying Gambaryan was Binance's East Africa Manager, Nadeem Anjarwalla, a recent graduate and British-Kenyan with a baby back home in Nairobi.

However, when Gambaryan and Anjarwalla walked into the meeting with Nigerian officials the next day, they were surprised to find that Abubakar was joined by staff from the EFCC and the Central Bank of Nigeria. Soon, the focus of the meeting became clear: this meeting was not about Nigeria's corruption issues. At the start of the meeting, Abubakar inquired about Binance's cooperation with Nigerian law enforcement, then swiftly shifted the discussion to the EFCC's request for Binance Nigeria user transaction data. Abubakar stated that Binance had only provided data for the past year, not all the data he had requested. Feeling blindsided, Gambaryan explained this was due to a last-minute request oversight and promised to promptly provide all the necessary data. Despite Abubakar's apparent displeasure, the meeting proceeded, and everyone eventually exchanged business cards amicably.

Gambaryan and Anjarwalla were left in the hallway, awaiting the next appointment. After some time, Anjarwalla went to the restroom. When he returned, he mentioned he overheard some of the officials they had just met with sounding angry from a nearby conference room, as Gambaryan recalls him saying.

After nearly two hours of waiting, Ogunjobi returned and ushered them into another meeting room. Gambaryan remembers that the officials in this room had solemn expressions, an unusually serious atmosphere, with everyone silently sitting, seemingly waiting for someone’s arrival—Gambaryan didn't know who that person was. He noticed a look of shock on Ogunjobi's face and dared not make eye contact with him. "What on earth is happening?" he thought.

At that moment, a middle-aged man named Hamma Adama Bello entered the room. He was an official of the EFCC, dressed in a gray suit, with a scruffy beard, looking to be in his forties. He did not greet them or ask any questions; instead, he placed a folder on the table and immediately began reprimanding them. Gambaryan remembered him saying, "Binance is 'crippling our economy' and providing funding for terrorism."

He then proceeded to tell Gambaryan and Anjarwalla what would happen: they would be taken back to the hotel to pack their belongings and then moved to another location. There, more EFCC officials and some central bank personnel would be present until Binance handed over all transaction data involving every Nigerian who had ever used the platform.

Gambaryan felt his heart race, and he quickly explained that he did not have the authority nor the capability to provide such a large amount of data—his actual purpose for this trip was to report the bribery situation to Bello's agency.

Upon hearing about the bribery, Bello seemed somewhat surprised, as if he were hearing about this for the first time, but he quickly dismissed it. The meeting ended. Gambaryan hurriedly sent a text message to Binance's Chief Compliance Officer, Noah Perlman, informing him that they might be detained. Then, the officials confiscated their phones.

The two were taken to a black Land Cruiser parked outside, with tinted windows. The SUV brought them back to the Transcorp Hilton hotel and escorted them to their respective rooms—Anjarwalla followed Bello and another officer, while Gambaryan was accompanied by Ogunjobi. They were instructed to pack their belongings. Gambaryan remembered saying to Ogunjobi, "You know how bad this is, right?"

Ogunjobi could hardly look him in the eye and replied, "I know, I know."

Subsequently, the Land Cruiser took them to a large two-story house situated within a walled compound, with marble floors inside, providing enough bedrooms for two Binance staff members, several EFCC officials, and a private chef. Gambaryan later learned that this house was the government-designated residence of the National Security Adviser, Ribadu, who chose to stay in his personal home, making this place available for official use—serving as a temporary holding location for them in this event.

That evening, Bello did not make any further demands. After Gambaryan and Anjarwalla had eaten Nigerian stew prepared by the house chef, they were informed they could rest. Gambaryan lay on the bed, feeling anxious and almost on the verge of panic as he did not have his phone to contact the outside world or even inform his family of his whereabouts.

It wasn't until 2 a.m. that he finally fell asleep, only to wake up a few hours later to the early morning call to prayer. Too anxious to stay in bed, he walked out to the house's courtyard, smoked a cigarette, and pondered his current predicament: he had become a hostage, embroiled in the very financial crime he had spent his life fighting against.

But beyond this sense of irony, what overwhelmed him even more was the complete sense of the unknown. "What will happen to me? What will Yuki go through?" he thought of his wife, filled with anxiety. "How long will we be here?"

Gambaryan stood in the courtyard, smoking, until the sun came up.

Next came the interrogation.

Breakfast was prepared by the chef, but Gambaryan was too stressed to eat. Bello sat down to talk with them, informing them that for their release, Binance must hand over all data regarding Nigerian users and prohibit Nigerian users from engaging in peer-to-peer trading. Peer-to-peer trading is a feature on the Binance platform that allows traders to post cryptocurrency sale ads at rates they partially control, which Nigerian officials believe has exacerbated the devaluation of the Naira.

In addition to these demands, there was an undisclosed request in the meeting room: Binance needed to make a substantial payment. While Gambaryan and Anjarwalla were being held, the Nigerian side communicated with Binance executives through a clandestine channel, informing the company that they were being asked to pay billions of dollars. According to sources familiar with the negotiations, government officials even openly told the BBC that this fine would amount to at least $10 billion, more than double the highest settlement Binance has paid to the U.S. (Several insiders have revealed that Binance did propose a "deposit" scheme based on the company's estimated tax liability in Nigeria, but these proposals were never accepted. Meanwhile, on the second day of Gambaryan and Anjarwalla's detention, the U.S. embassy received a strange letter from the EFCC stating that Gambaryan was being detained "solely for constructive dialogue" and was "voluntarily engaging in these strategic talks.").

Gambaryan repeatedly explained to Bello that he had no real power in Binance's business decisions and could not meet his demands. Despite hearing this, Bello did not change his tone and continued to accuse Binance of harming Nigeria, claiming that Nigeria should be compensated. Gambaryan recalled that Bello sometimes boasted about carrying a firearm and showed photos of himself training with the FBI at Quantico in Virginia, seemingly to show his authority and his connections to the United States.

Ogunjobi also participated in the interrogation. Gambaryan said that he was quieter and more respectful than Bello, but he was no longer the respectful student he used to be. When Gambaryan mentioned that he had provided a lot of assistance to the Nigerian law enforcement, Ogunjobi responded by saying that he saw comments on LinkedIn saying that Binance had hired him just to create a facade of legitimacy, a statement that shocked Gambaryan, especially after their previous long conversations.

Gambaryan, furious and unable to meet the demands of the Nigerian side, requested to see a lawyer, contact the US Embassy, and return his phone. However, all requests were denied, although he was allowed to call his wife in the presence of a guard.

Stuck in a deadlock with EFCC officials, Gambaryan told them that he would not eat unless allowed to see a lawyer and contact the embassy. He began a hunger strike, trapped in this house, guarded by government officials and security guards, spending his days sitting on the couch watching Nigerian TV. After five days of a hunger strike, the officials finally relented.

He and Anjarwalla had their phones returned but were told not to contact the media, and their passports were confiscated. They were then allowed to meet with a local lawyer hired by Binance. After a week of detention, Gambaryan was taken to a Nigerian government building to meet with local diplomats. The diplomats said they would follow up on Gambaryan's situation, but for now, they couldn't set him free.

They then began to live a Groundhog Day-like daily life, as Gambaryan later told his wife, going around in circles. The house was spacious and clean but dilapidated, with a leaking roof and many days without electricity. Gambaryan became friends with the cook and some caretakers, watching pirated episodes of "Avatar: The Last Airbender" with them. Anjarwalla, on the other hand, started doing yoga every day and drinking smoothies made by the cook.

Anjarwalla seems to be more struggling with the anxiety of their imprisonment than Gambaryan, feeling disheartened for missing his son's first birthday. The Nigerian authorities confiscated his British passport, unaware that Anjarwalla also holds his Kenyan passport. He joked with Gambaryan about escaping, but Gambaryan expressed that he never seriously considered it. He reminded himself that Yuki had warned him not to do anything foolish, and he had no intention of taking any risks.

One day, while lying on the couch, Anjarwalla told Gambaryan that he felt unwell and was shivering with cold. Gambaryan covered him with many blankets, but he was still trembling. Eventually, the Nigerian authorities took Anjarwalla and Gambaryan to the hospital in another black Land Cruiser and conducted a malaria test on Anjarwalla. The test came back negative, and the doctor informed Anjarwalla that he had actually experienced a panic attack. Since then, Gambaryan said, every night Anjarwalla would sleep beside him as he was too afraid to sleep alone.

During the second week of Gambaryan and Anjarwalla's detention, Binance agreed to a request to disable its peer-to-peer trading in Nigeria and halted all naira transactions. EFCC officials informed Gambaryan and Anjarwalla to pack their bags in preparation for their release. Both took this news seriously, with Gambaryan even filming a video of the house on his phone as a memento of this bizarre chapter in their lives.

However, just as they were about to be released, government minders took them to the EFCC office. The agency's chairperson requested confirmation that Binance had handed over all data related to Nigerian users. Upon learning that Binance had not complied, he immediately rescinded the release order and sent the duo back to the guesthouse.

At this point, the cryptocurrency website DLNews was the first to report that two Binance executives were detained in Nigeria, though no names were disclosed. A few days later, both The Wall Street Journal and Wired confirmed that the detained individuals were Anjarwalla and Gambaryan.

Bello was furious about the news leak, with Gambaryan recalling that Bello blamed him and Anjarwalla. Bello told them that if they handed over the requested data, they would gain their freedom. Gambaryan lost his patience and retorted to Bello, "Are you asking me to take it out of my right pocket, or my left pocket?" He recalled standing up, comically pulling something out of one pocket and then the other. "I simply cannot provide this data."

Several weeks had passed, and the negotiations were still at a standstill. As Ramadan began, Gambaryan would join Anjarwalla every morning to pray and fast together during the day as a sign of friendly solidarity.

However, after nearly a month of hardship, things took a sudden turn. One morning, Gambaryan woke up to find that Anjarwalla had already returned from the mosque. As he went to look for his companion, all he found in the bed were a shirt stuffed into the pillowcase and a water bottle inside a sock—Anjarwalla had escaped.

Later, Gambaryan learned that Anjarwalla had managed to board a flight to flee Nigeria. He speculated that Anjarwalla might have found a way to bypass the yard's fence, successfully evading the guards—who were often asleep in the morning—then paid for a taxi to the airport and ultimately boarded the plane using his second passport.

Gambaryan realized that his own situation in Nigeria was about to take a dramatic turn. He walked to the yard, recorded a selfie video, intending to send it to his wife Yuki and Binance colleagues, speaking to the camera as he walked.

“I have been detained by the Nigerian government for a month now, and I do not know what will happen after today,” he said calmly and composedly. “I have done nothing wrong. I have been a policeman all my life. I just ask the Nigerian government to let me go and request assistance from the U.S. government. I need your help, everyone. I do not know if I can make it out without your help. Please help me.”

Upon learning of Anjarwalla's escape, the Nigerian authorities confiscated Gambaryan's phone, and the guards and wardens began a frantic search of the house. Soon, they disappeared, replaced by new faces.

Sensing the more severe events that might follow, Gambaryan managed to persuade a Nigerian to lend him a phone discreetly, then went to the bathroom to call his wife, reaching Yuki late at night. Gambaryan said that it was the first time in their 17-year relationship that he had told her he was scared. Yuki cried, she went into the closet to talk to him, avoiding waking the children. Then, Gambaryan suddenly hung up—the arrival of someone was imminent.

A military officer instructed Gambaryan to pack his bags, telling him he was being released. Although he knew this couldn't be true, he still packed his things, walked out to the waiting car, and saw Ogunjobi sitting inside. When Gambaryan asked Ogunjobi where they were going, Ogunjobi vaguely replied that maybe they were going home, but not today—then silently looked at his phone.

The car finally pulled into the EFCC compound, not stopping near the headquarters but heading straight to the detention facility. Gambaryan angrily cursed the guards, no longer caring if he offended them.

As he was led into the EFCC detention building, he saw a group of people who had once guarded him in the safe house, now also locked up in cells, under investigation for possibly allowing Anjarwalla to escape or even suspected of colluding with him. Subsequently, Gambaryan was placed alone in his own cell.

As Gambaryan described, the cell was like a windowless "box" with only a timed cold-water shower and an untimely Posturepedic mattress. The room was crawling with as many as half a dozen cockroaches of various sizes. Despite the sweltering heat of Abuja, the cell had neither air conditioning nor ventilation, only the "loudest fan in the world" that Gambaryan remembered running day and night. "I can still hear that damn fan," he said.

Locked alone in that cell, Gambaryan said he began to feel disconnected from his body, the environment, and this hellish situation. On the first night, he didn't even think about his family, his mind blank, not even noticing the cockroaches in the room.

By the morning of the second day, Gambaryan had gone over 24 hours without food. Another detainee gave him some cookies. He quickly realized that his survival depended on Ogunjobi, who would come every few days to bring him food, sometimes even allowing him to use a phone during his brief release from solitary confinement. Soon, Gambaryan's former guards also began to share meals sent by family members with him, while Ogunjobi's visits became less frequent, sometimes even refusing to let him use the phone. He had met his once-admiring young man who picked him up at the airport, seeming to have completely changed. "It's almost like he enjoyed having control over me," Gambaryan said.

Just days ago his Nigerian guard, now became Gambaryan's only friend. He taught a young EFCC staff member to play chess, and they would play together during their brief leisure time before being locked back in their cells.

After being locked up for a few days, Gambaryan's lawyer came to see him and informed him that in addition to the original tax evasion charge, he was now also being accused of money laundering. These new charges meant he could face up to 20 years in prison.

In the second week at the detention center, Gambaryan's son turned 5. On his son's birthday, Gambaryan was allowed to use the EFCC's phone to call his family, and he even smoked a few cigarettes, which was usually not permitted. He spoke with his wife for 20 minutes—he said his wife was "falling apart" due to anxiety, and then talked to the children. His son still did not understand why he was not at home. Yuki told Gambaryan that their son had started crying for him at random times and would often sit in his chair in their home office. Gambaryan explained to his daughter that he was still resolving legal issues with the Nigerian government. Later, he found out that his daughter had searched his name, read the news, and knew more than she let on after two weeks of his detention.

In addition to occasional visits with fellow inmates, Gambaryan had two books to pass the time—a Dan Brown novel given to him by an EFCC staff member and a "Percy Jackson" young adult novel brought by his lawyer. He had almost nothing else to keep himself occupied. His thoughts cycled between angry curses, self-blame, and a sense of emptiness.

"It's torture, plain and simple," Gambaryan said. "I know if I stayed there much longer, I would definitely lose it."

Despite feeling extremely lonely, Gambaryan was not forgotten. While in the EFCC's custody, a loose group of friends and supporters had already begun responding to his distress calls in videos. However, he quickly realized that to achieve freedom, genuine help would not come from the Biden administration.

Internally at Binance, Gambaryan's first text about his detention immediately triggered endless crisis meetings, the hiring of lawyers and consultants, and reaching out to any government officials in Nigeria who might have influence. Former U.S. prosecutor from the Bay Area Will Frentzen, who had handled many of Gambaryan's big cases, took over Gambaryan's case upon moving to the private firm Morrison Foerster, becoming his personal defense attorney. Gambaryan's former colleague Patrick Hillman, who had worked with former Florida Congressman Connie Mack on crisis response, understood Mack's experience in handling hostage situations. Mack agreed to lobby for Gambaryan using his contacts in the legislature. Gambaryan's former FBI colleagues also immediately began to exert pressure, urging the FBI to push for Gambaryan's release.

However, at the highest levels of the U.S. government, some who supported Gambaryan said their entreaties were met with cautious responses. "From the first day of Gambaryan's detention, State Department staff have been working tirelessly to ensure his safety, health, and legal assistance, and to push for his release following his criminal prosecution," a senior State Department official told WIRED in an interview on condition of anonymity as per department policy. However, according to several individuals involved in the matter, the Biden administration initially seemed to take a somewhat ambivalent stance toward Gambaryan. After all, Binance had just agreed to pay a massive fine to the Justice Department, the government's attitude toward the entire cryptocurrency industry was unfriendly, and Binance's reputation was poor, "toxic"—as described by one of Gambaryan's supporters.

“They thought maybe there was indeed a case on the Nigerian side,” Frentzen said. “They weren't sure what Tigran had done there. So they both chose to step back.”

Gambaryan found himself in a precarious situation in Nigeria at an extremely dangerous geopolitical moment. The U.S. Ambassador to Nigeria was set to retire in 2023, and the new ambassador would not officially take office until May 2024. Meanwhile, Niger and Chad had requested the U.S. to withdraw its troops from their countries as they were strengthening their ties with Russia, while Nigeria remained a key U.S. military ally in the region. This made the negotiations for Gambaryan's rescue more complicated than dealing with other countries that had wrongfully detained U.S. citizens, such as Russia or Iran. “Nigeria was the only option left, and they knew that,” Frentzen said. “So, the timing was really bad. Tigran was truly one of the unluckiest people in the world.”

While Gambaryan was held captive in a safe house, it might have been clearer on the diplomatic front that he was a hostage, as former Congressman Mack, who had lobbied for Gambaryan's release, noted. However, the criminal charges brought against him complicated the situation. “The U.S. government went along with this narrative,” Mack said, “they wanted to let the legal process play out.”

Frentzen and his senior colleague at Morrison Foerster, former General Counsel of the National Security Agency Robert Litt, stated that they began reaching out to the White House to explain how weak Gambaryan's criminal case was. In the over 300-page “evidence” submitted by the Nigerian prosecutors, only two pages mentioned Gambaryan himself: one showing his work emails at Binance, and another showing a scan of his business card.

Nevertheless, over the next few months, the U.S. government still did not intervene in Gambaryan's criminal prosecution. For Frentzen, it was a shocking situation: a former IRS special agent who had worked in the federal government for many years, handling numerous significant cryptocurrency criminal cases and asset forfeiture cases in history, now received government support that was merely silence in what seemed to be a cryptocurrency extortion incident.

“This person helped the U.S. recover billions of dollars,” Frentzen recalled, “and yet we couldn't get him out of his predicament in Nigeria?”

In early April, Gambaryan was brought to court for an arraignment. He was dressed in a black T-shirt and dark green pants, publicly displayed as a symbol of the evil forces destroying the Nigerian economy. As he sat on a red sofa chair listening to the charges, local and international media swarmed in, with cameras sometimes just a few feet from his face, making it nearly impossible for him to hide his anger and humiliation. “I feel like a circus animal,” he said.

In this court hearing, the upcoming one, and in subsequent court filings, the prosecutor argued that if Gambaryan were to be released on bail, he would likely abscond, citing Anjarwalla's escape as an example. Strangely, they emphasized that Gambaryan was born in Armenia, even though he left the country with his family at the age of 9. More absurdly, they claimed that Gambaryan and the other inmates at the EFCC detention center had conspired to plot an escape using a stand-in, with Gambaryan dismissing this as a complete and utter fabrication.

At one point, the prosecutor explicitly stated that detaining Gambaryan was crucial for the Nigerian government as it was their leverage against Binance. "The first defendant, Binance, operates virtually," the prosecutor told the judge, "the only one we can get our hands on is this defendant."

The judge denied Gambaryan's bail application, deciding to continue his detention. After two weeks in solitary confinement, he was transferred to a proper prison—the Kuje Prison.

The guards—including the ever-present Ogunjobi—escorted Gambaryan into a van. Ogunjobi returned his cigarettes to him, and he smoked almost continuously during the hour-long journey from downtown Abuja, passing through what appeared to be a peri-urban slum area. During this journey, Gambaryan was allowed to make calls to Yuki and some Binance executives, some of whom had not heard from him in weeks.

This journey to the Kuje Prison, passing through a prison notorious for its abysmal conditions and having housed Boko Haram suspects, left Gambaryan feeling numb, "cut off from the outside world," and completely resigned to his fate. "I'm just living by the hour, by the minute," he said.

As they arrived and passed through the prison gates, Gambaryan saw for the first time the low-rise buildings of the prison, their walls painted in a light yellow hue, many structures still bearing scars from ISIS attacks, with an assault two years prior having seen over 800 inmates escape. The EFCC guard ushered Gambaryan into the prison and to the office of the prison warden. It later emerged that the warden was under strict instructions from the national security advisor Ribadu to keep a close eye on him.

Subsequently, Gambaryan was taken to the "segregation unit," a section set aside for high-risk inmates and VIP prisoners willing to pay extra for special treatment. This 6×10-foot room contained a toilet, a metal bed frame with a "simple blanket" as a mattress, and a window with metal bars. Compared to the EFCC dungeon, this room was considered an "upgrade": he had sunlight and fresh air—though tainted by a landfill burning several hundred meters away—could see trees, which at night would be swarmed by bats.

On Gambaryan's first night in prison, it started to rain, and a cool breeze blew in through the window. "Although the environment was very poor," Gambaryan said, "I felt like I was in heaven."

Shortly after, Gambaryan met his neighbors. One of them was the deputy vice president of Nigeria's cousin, another was a suspect in a fraud case awaiting extradition to the United States, with the amount involved reaching up to $1 billion; the third was former Nigerian Deputy Police Commissioner Abba Kyari, who was indicted in the United States on bribery charges, despite Nigeria rejecting the extradition request from the U.S. Gambaryan believed that Kyari's case was more about him crossing some corrupt Nigerian officials.

Gambaryan stated that Kyari wielded significant influence in prison, with other inmates essentially working for him. Kyari's wife would bring home-cooked meals for everyone, including the guards. Gambaryan particularly enjoyed a type of dumpling made by Kyari's wife from northern Nigeria, and she would make extra for him. In return, he would share takeout brought by a lawyer from the Kilimanjaro fast food restaurant with Kyari, who especially liked their Scottish eggs.

Gambaryan's neighbors taught him the unwritten rules of prison life: how to acquire a cellphone, how to avoid conflicts with prison staff, and how to steer clear of violence from other inmates. Gambaryan insisted that he never bribed the guards—although they sometimes demanded exorbitant amounts of money—but due to his close relationship with Kyari, he still received protection. "He's like my Red," Gambaryan said, likening Kyari to the character played by Morgan Freeman in "The Shawshank Redemption". "He's the key to my survival."

Over the next few weeks, Gambaryan's case continued, and he was regularly taken back to Abuja for hearings, where each time the judge seemed to favor the prosecutor. On May 17—his 40th birthday—he attended another hearing, and his bail request was ultimately denied. That evening, lawyers brought a large cake paid for by Binance, delivered to Kuje Prison, which he shared with his neighbors and the guards.

Every evening, Gambaryan would be locked in his cell early, usually starting from 7 p.m., several hours before the other inmates, and he was constantly watched by a guard who recorded his every move in a notebook, all under the orders of the National Security Adviser. He found he could do pull-ups on the windowsill at the entrance to the isolation unit's courtyard to exercise. Despite the large cockroaches, geckos, and even scorpions in his cell—he learned to shake out the tiny brown scorpions before putting on his shoes each time—he gradually adapted to prison life.

Sometimes, he would wake up from a dream, dreaming that he was still outside, only to suddenly realize that he was in this small, dirty cell, and then he would get up from bed, anxiously pacing in the cramped space until around 6 a.m. when the guards would let him out. However, Gambaryan ultimately said that his dreams also became filled with prison imagery.

One afternoon in May, Gambaryan started feeling unwell during a meeting with his lawyer. He returned to his cell, lay down, and for the rest of the evening, he was vomiting. He thought he might have food poisoning, but the guards conducted a blood test, which revealed he had malaria. The guards demanded cash from him, used that money to buy intravenous fluid, hung it on a nail on the cell wall, and gave him an anti-malaria injection.

The next morning, Gambaryan had a court hearing. He told the guards he was too weak to even walk, but they still removed the IV drip and forcibly put him in a vehicle, citing it as an official order. Upon reaching the courthouse, he struggled to climb the long steps, but as soon as he entered the courtroom, his vision began to blur, and the room started spinning. He then collapsed to the ground. The guards helped him up, and he sat slumped in a chair as his lawyers requested the court to order his transfer to a hospital.

The judge issued a hospitalization order, but Gambaryan was not taken directly to a medical facility; instead, he was returned to Kudja Prison. Discussions took place among the court, his lawyers, the prison, the National Security Adviser's office, and the U.S. State Department on whether to temporarily release him, as they were concerned he might pose a flight risk. For the next 10 days, Gambaryan lay in his cell, unable to eat or stand up. Eventually, he was taken to the Nizamiye Hospital in Abuja, where he underwent a chest X-ray, received a brief examination, was prescribed antibiotics by the doctor who said he was fine, and then inexplicably sent back to Kudja Prison.

In reality, Gambaryan's condition had worsened. His friend, Chagri Poyraz, a Turkish-Canadian, had to fly to Ankara to inquire with the Turkish government about Gambaryan's hospital records, only to discover that his X-ray revealed he was suffering from several severe bacterial lung infections. Months later, the judge in the case also summoned the medical director of Kudja Prison, Abraham Ehizojie, to testify as to why the hospitalization order was not followed. The prosecutor presented Gambaryan's medical records, claiming he had refused treatment and requested to be sent back to prison, which Gambaryan vehemently denied.

Upon his return to the cell in Kudja Prison, Gambaryan ran a high fever for several days, reaching a temperature of 104 degrees Fahrenheit. During a brief hospitalization, the guards searched his cell and found a hidden phone, leading to his complete isolation, cut off from contacting the outside world until a neighbor helped him obtain a new phone. His body grew weaker, breathing became difficult, and his temperature remained high. Gambaryan began to feel like he might not survive. At one point, he called Will Frentzen and told him he might be in critical condition. However, prison officials in Kudja still refused to have him taken back to the hospital.

Nevertheless, Gambaryan did not die. But he lay in bed for nearly a month until he could finally stand up and eat again. He had lost nearly 30 pounds of weight compared to when he entered prison.

One day, as he was recovering in his cell, a guard told him he had visitors. Despite still feeling weak, he slowly made his way to the office in front of the prison. Upon entering, he saw two U.S. congressmen—French Hill and Chrissy Houlahan, representing different parties. Gambaryan could hardly believe they were real—it had been months since he had seen any Americans, apart from occasional visits from low-level State Department officials.

Over the next 25 minutes, they listened to Gambaryan describe the harsh conditions of the prison and his near-death experiences between malaria and later pneumonia. Hill recalled that Gambaryan spoke in a very low voice, to the point where the two congressmen had to lean in to hear him clearly, especially amidst the noise of the fan.

At times, Gambaryan's eyes would fill with tears as the loneliness, suffering, and fear of death finally overwhelmed him. "He looked like a sick, weak, emotionally shattered person, really in need of a hug," Hill said. Both congressmen gave him a hug and assured him that they would work towards his release.

Then, he was taken back to his cell.

The next day, on June 20, Hill and Houlahan recorded a video on the tarmac of the Abuja airport. "We have requested our embassy to push for Tigran's humanitarian release, given the harsh conditions of the prison, his innocence, and his health condition," Hill said to the camera. "We hope he can go home, and let the rest be handled by Binance and the Nigerian people."

Connie Mack's conversation with his old friends had an effect: during a subcommittee hearing on Americans detained by foreign governments, Gambaryan's Georgia congressman, Rich McCormick, suggested that Gambaryan's case should be treated as a hostage situation by a foreign government. He referenced the Levinson Act, which requires the U.S. government to assist citizens wrongfully detained. "Is U.S. diplomatic intervention necessary to ensure the release of those detained? Absolutely, absolutely," McCormick said at the hearing. "This individual should be treated better."

Meanwhile, 16 Republican congressmen signed a letter urging the White House to treat Gambaryan's case as a hostage situation. Weeks later, McCormick introduced this request as a congressional resolution. Over a hundred former federal agents and prosecutors also signed another letter urging the State Department to intensify efforts to help resolve the issue.

According to multiple sources, FBI Director Christopher Wray mentioned Gambaryan's case during a meeting with President Tinubu when he visited Nigeria in June. Subsequently, the Nigerian tax authority FIRS dropped the tax evasion charges against Gambaryan. However, more serious money laundering charges brought by the EFCC still stand, continuing to threaten him with decades of imprisonment.

For months, Gambaryan's supporters have been hoping that Nigeria would finally reach an agreement with Binance to drop the prosecution against him. However, a representative of Binance stated that by that time, they seemed unable to propose conditions that would interest the Nigerian side, with Nigeria no longer even hinting at accepting any payments. Every time they felt close to reaching an agreement, the demands would change, officials would disappear, and the deal would fall through. "It was like Lucy and the football," said Deborah Curtis, a lawyer at Arnold & Porter and former Deputy General Counsel at the CIA, who was providing legal assistance to Binance at the time.

As the summer passed, Gambaryan's supporters began to believe that the negotiations between Nigeria and Binance had reached an impasse, with the criminal case progressing far enough that Binance alone could not secure Gambaryan's freedom. "It became clear that this could only be resolved through the U.S. government—otherwise, there is no hope," said Frentzen.

Meanwhile, Gambaryan's health deteriorated once again. Lying on a metal bed frame for extended periods exacerbated an old back injury he sustained over a decade ago during IRS-CI training, later diagnosed as a herniated disc—a rupture in the outer tissue of the spine, causing the inner cushion to protrude, compress nerves, and trigger intense, persistent pain.

By August, Gambaryan texted me that he was "almost paralyzed." He had not been out of bed for weeks, and due to lack of movement, he was also taking blood thinners to prevent leg clots. He described how every night the pain was so severe he could not sleep, often dozing off only around five or six in the morning, unable even to read. Occasionally, he would call his family, chat with his daughter, and listen to her play a Japanese role-playing game called "Omori" on the computer he had set up for her until she fell asleep in Atlanta. Then, a few hours later, he would drift off.

Despite visits from members of Congress and increasing calls for his release, Gambaryan seemed to be almost in despair, at the lowest point of his prison ordeal.

「I try to appear strong in front of Yuki and the kids, but the situation is really bad,」 he wrote to me. 「I am truly in a dark place right now.」

A few days later, a video appeared on the X platform showing Gambaryan limping into the courtroom with a cane, dragging one foot. In the video, he sought help from a guard in the hallway, but the guard even refused his request. Gambaryan later told me that court staff had received instructions not to provide any assistance, nor allow him to use a wheelchair, for fear of arousing public sympathy.

「This is fucking terrible! Why can't I use a wheelchair?」 Gambaryan angrily shouted in the video. 「I am an innocent man!」

「I'm fucking human!」 Gambaryan continued, his voice almost choking up. He took a few difficult steps with the cane, shook his head in disbelief, and then leaned against the wall to rest. 「I just can't do this.」

If the instructions at the time were to prevent Gambaryan from eliciting sympathy when entering the courtroom, then this approach backfired completely. The video quickly went viral online and was watched millions of times.

By the fall of 2024, the U.S. government finally seemed to have reached a consensus that it was time to bring Gambaryan home. In September, the House Foreign Affairs Committee passed a bipartisan resolution approving McCormick's proposed bill, calling for expedited handling of Gambaryan's case. 「I urge the State Department, I urge President Biden: to put greater pressure on the Nigerian government,」 Congressman Hill said in a hearing. 「We must recognize that an American citizen has been kidnapped and detained by a friendly country, completely unrelated to him.」

Some of Gambaryan's supporters revealed that they had heard the new U.S. Ambassador to Nigeria had also begun to frequently mention Gambaryan's situation to Nigerian officials, including President Tinubu, with at least one minister blocking the ambassador on WhatsApp.

During the United Nations General Assembly in late September, the U.S. Ambassador to the UN raised Gambaryan's case with the Nigerian Foreign Minister and stressed the need for his immediate release, as noted in the meeting records. Meanwhile, Binance hired a truck with a digital billboard displaying Gambaryan's face to drive around the UN and Midtown Manhattan, calling for Nigeria to stop his illegal detention.

Simultaneously, White House National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan spoke with Nigerian National Security Advisor Nuhu Ribadu on the phone, essentially demanding Gambaryan's release, according to multiple individuals involved in pushing for Gambaryan's release. One of the most influential messages was that several supporters indicated U.S. officials made it clear that Gambaryan's case would be a sticking point in discussions between President Biden and Nigerian President Tinubu at the UN General Assembly or other forums, which deeply unsettled the Nigerian side.

Despite all the pressure being exerted, whether to release Gambaryan still remains in the hands of the Nigerian government. "For a while, the Nigerian side realized that this was a very bad decision," a Gambaryan supporter who wished to remain anonymous said, requesting anonymity due to the sensitivity of the negotiations. "After that, the issue became whether they were giving in, or because of pride, or because they had gone too far to turn back."

On a day in October, during the long drive from Kuje to the Abuja court—by then, Gambaryan had lost count of how many court hearings he had been through—the driver received a phone call. After a brief conversation, he turned the car around and took Gambaryan back to the prison. Upon arrival at the prison, he was taken to the front desk and informed that due to his ill health, he could not go to court. It was a statement, not a question.

Back in his cell, Gambaryan called Will Frentzen, who told him that this might finally mean they were ready to send him home. After months of shattered hopes over the past eight months, Gambaryan did not easily believe this news.

A few days later, a court hearing was held, but Gambaryan did not attend. The prosecution told the judge that they had decided to drop all charges against Gambaryan due to his health condition. Officials at Kuje Prison spent a whole day processing paperwork, then took him out of his cell, brought him his suitcase he had brought when he went to Abuja, and escorted him to the Abuja Continental Hotel. Binance had booked a room for him, arranged for private security guards, and brought in a doctor to check his health to ensure he was fit enough to fly. For Gambaryan, all of this came too suddenly, after so many months of hopeless waiting, it was almost hard to believe.

The next day, on the runway at Abuja Airport, Nigerian officials returned his passport to him—though not before a dispute over a $2000 fine for his expired visa. U.S. State Department staff helped him stand up from the wheelchair and board the private plane equipped with medical facilities. Gambaryan had no idea that Binance staff had been preparing for this flight for weeks—the Nigerian officials had told them Gambaryan would be released, only to change their minds—they had even arranged a flight path over Niger, and officials from Niger signed the agreement less than an hour before takeoff.

On the plane, Gambaryan ate a few bites of salad, lay down on the couch, and fell asleep, waking up in Rome.

Binance arranged for a driver and private security to meet him at the Italian airport and take him to an airport hotel overnight before flying back to Atlanta the next day. At the hotel, he called Yuki and then called Ogunjobi — his former friend in Nigeria who had urged him to return to Abuja several months ago.

Gambaryan said he wanted to hear Ogunjobi's explanation. When he called, Ogunjobi started crying on the phone, apologizing repeatedly, thanking God that Gambaryan was finally released.

All of this was too much for Gambaryan to handle. He listened quietly but did not accept the apologies. While Ogunjobi poured his heart out, he noticed an American friend calling, a former Secret Service agent he had worked with before. Little did Gambaryan know at the time, this agent happened to be in Rome attending a conference along with his former boss — Jarod Koopman, head of the IRS-CI Cyber Crimes Unit, and they planned to bring him beer and pizza.

Gambaryan told Ogunjobi he had to hang up and then ended the call.

On a cold and windy day in December, former federal agents, prosecutors, State Department officials, and congressional aides gathered in a luxurious room in the Rayburn House Office Building to talk. One by one, members of Congress walked in, shaking hands with Tigran Gambaryan, dressed in a dark blue suit and tie, neatly trimmed beard, and shaved head. Despite limping slightly from an emergency spinal surgery he underwent in Georgia a month earlier, his stride was still firm.

Gambaryan posed for photos with each legislator, aide, State Department official, and engaged in conversations, thanking them for their efforts in bringing him home. When French parliamentarian Hill expressed delight in seeing him again, Gambaryan jokingly remarked that he hoped this time his scent was better than when he was in Kutaisi.

This reception was just one of several VIP welcomes Gambaryan received upon returning home. At the airport in Georgia, Congressman McCormick welcomed him and presented him with a U.S. flag that had flown over the Capitol building the day before. The White House also issued a statement, indicating that President Biden had called the Nigerian President to thank President Tinubu for facilitating Gambaryan's release on humanitarian grounds.

Later, I learned that this thank-you note was part of an agreement between the U.S. government and Nigeria, which also included assisting Nigeria in the investigation of Binance—a investigation that is still ongoing to this day. Nigeria continues to refrain from prosecuting Binance and Anjarwalla. A spokesperson for Binance stated in the note that the company was "relieved and grateful," Gambaryan had safely returned home, and thanked everyone who had worked to secure his release. "We urgently hope to put this episode behind us and continue to work towards a better future for Nigeria and the global blockchain industry," the note read. "We will continue to defend ourselves against unfounded accusations." Nigerian government officials did not respond to WIRED's multiple interview requests regarding the Gambaryan case.

After the reception ended, Gambaryan and I left in a taxi, and I asked him what he planned to do next. He said that if the new government was willing to welcome him back, he might return to government work—of course, depending on whether Yuki was willing to endure life in Washington again. Last month, cryptocurrency news site Coindesk reported that he had been recommended by some cryptocurrency industry figures with ties to former President Trump to serve as the SEC's cryptocurrency czar or in a senior role within the FBI's cyber division. Considering these opportunities, he vaguely said, "I may need some time to gather my thoughts."

I asked him how his experience in Nigeria had changed him. He responded in a strangely lighthearted tone, "I guess it did make me angrier, didn't it?" He seemed to be pondering this question for the first time. "It made me want to retaliate against those who did this to me."

For Gambaryan, revenge may not just be a fantasy. He is filing a human rights lawsuit against the Nigerian government, a case that originated from his detention, as he hopes to investigate the Nigerian officials whom he believes held him hostage for over half a year. He said that sometimes he even messages those officials whom he holds responsible for the incident, telling them, "You will see me again." He said their actions "have shamed the badge," and while he can forgive them for what they did to him, he cannot forgive what they did to his family.

"Was I foolish to do this? Perhaps," he told me in the taxi. "At the time, I was in intense back pain, lying on the floor, it was just too boring."

As we got out of the car and arrived at his hotel in Arlington, Gambaryan lit a cigarette. I told him that despite his own assertion of being angrier than before he was imprisoned, in my view, he seemed calmer and happier than he had been in the past few years—I remember reporting on him relentlessly taking down corrupt federal agents, cryptocurrency money launderers, and child abusers, and he always gave me an impression of anger, determination, and relentless pursuit of investigative targets.

Gambaryan responded by saying that if he now appears more relaxed, it's only because he's finally back home—he's grateful to see his family and friends, to be able to walk again, to be free from the conflicts between powers larger than life that had nothing to do with him. To be alive and out of prison, not dead in there.

As for the past kind of angry drive, Gambaryan disagrees.

「I'm not sure that was anger.」 he said. 「That was justice. What I wanted was justice, and I still do.」

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