When the Gatekeeper Becomes the Risk: Yermak’s Shadow Over Zelensky

Source: Author’s Facebook page

When someone on Bankova says, “We parted ways in a civilized manner,” it usually means that moments earlier, there were raised voices, slammed doors, and a lack of oxygen in the room. The breakup of the Zelensky–Yermak tandem was wrapped in a polished obituary, complete with gratitude for years of service, talk of “patriotism,” a “successful peace track,” and a “system reboot.”

But all signals from the sidelines — from journalists, MPs, and people who spent that day in the corridors of Bankova — point to something very different. They speak of scandal, recriminations, mutual accusations, and even tears. Not from shame, but because the system they had built together over seven years finally reached the point where it began devouring its own creators.

This is not merely a quarrel between two figures. It is a clash between a president who still believes he can save himself through “negotiations and patriotic statements,” and his former “strategic brain,” who has ceased to be an asset and has become a legal and political liability for the entire regime. This is the story of how Yermak transformed from Zelenskyy’s chief instrument into his chief threat — and how the president is now forced to manoeuvre so as not to be dragged down with Yermak by NABU, while remaining trapped in a zugzwang between Ukrainian society, Brussels, and the FBI.

To understand the danger of this rupture, one has to recall how they emerged as a pair. Zelenskyy came to power not as a bureaucrat or a product of a party machine, but as a symbol — the “guy from the TV series” who bikes to work and sweeps away the old, corrupt order. There was plenty of naivety in that projection, but it was sincere, and it won. The problem is that a symbol is not a management tool. You can admire a symbol or print it on a T-shirt, but a symbol cannot run logistics, command an army, or manage customs and energy sectors in real time.

NABU’s Operation Midas was the moment when this necro-economy finally acquired a name, a face, and recorded voices.
The investigation revealed that the defendants were not merely stealing — they were acting as a parallel government, a covert “operational headquarters.” They decided which defense projects would proceed, which would be blocked; which tenders would be won by their people, and which by “insufficiently vetted” outsiders.

None of this happened somewhere down the hierarchy.
All threads led to one point — the President’s Office.
That is where requests were sent, where configurations were agreed, and where everything required high-level protection. And such an ecosystem cannot function without a roof. The roof is the head of the Presidential Office.

That is why “Mindichgate” did not simply explode as another corruption case. It hit the central pillar — the person Zelenskyy had made the core of his governance. And the moment NABU detectives walked into Yermak’s house and began carrying out boxes, it became obvious even to those who had refused to see it: this is no longer “my Andriy.”
This is a walking legal risk, attached to every political commitment, every peace statement, every negotiation, every speech.

As long as corruption could be dressed up as “state necessity” or “tough decisions,” the tandem could justify itself.
Is the war ongoing? Yes.
Is the front holding? Yes.
So what if Mindich puts up another “toll gate” at Energoatom — the machinery of power keeps running anyway.

But that illusion collapses the moment NABU brings not a “menu of kompromat,” but a real criminal case: with specific episodes, sums, participants, pseudonyms, and a direct link to decisions routed through the Presidential Office. From that moment, Yermak is no longer a “black box” through which everything flows. He is no longer “a friend who gets things done.”
He becomes a legal time bomb under the president’s chair.

And while this internal rupture unfolds, an external shock arrives. The political team in Washington shifts, and Trump returns to the White House — with his signature “I’ll decide everything myself” and his favorite line: “Ukraine should be grateful, not use us.” Trump’s circle brings to Kyiv, and later to Geneva, a 28-point framework that at first glance looks like a Kremlin-authored capitulation checklist: de facto surrender of Crimea and the occupied Donbas, demands to limit the army, strip NATO prospects of meaning, and cement Russian influence on Ukrainian territory.

This is where Lev Parnas comes in — not as a seer, but as someone who has already witnessed this machine in full operation from 2018 to 2020. He explains the “two doors” being set up for Zelenskyy in Washington.

Behind the first door:
You quietly agree to peace on someone else’s terms. Painful, humiliating — but you and your loyal entourage receive a de facto indulgence. America does not turn you into a showcase of wartime corruption, nor does it launch a full-scale criminal offensive.
You exit as “tired leaders who went through the war and made a difficult choice.”

Through the second door, you try to play the hero until the very end. And then the machine kicks in: Congressional hearings on the “lost billions,” investigations by the DOJ and FBI, a flood of documents — partly real, partly doctored — plus tapes and “insider interviews” that construct the image not of Volodymyr standing in Kyiv during the invasion, but of Volodymyr as the one who “led the mafia squandering money on armor and generators.”

In this scenario, Yermak is the perfect focal point. He is the face of the Office responsible for all of this, the embodiment of the “corruption in a warring country” narrative, and the keeper of information about what Parnas calls the “Derkach ecosystem”: a tangled mix of Russian intelligence, Ukrainian shadow politics, and American radical “investigators” ready to turn any fragment into a dramatic tableau.

Zelenskyy sees this clearly. He understands that Yermak is becoming far too convenient a scapegoat for those seeking to pin responsibility for failures and schemes onto one individual. Americans can say: “We are not against Ukraine, we are against its corrupt officials.” Russians can say: “We are not against Ukrainians, we are against their corrupt regime.” Domestic critics can claim: “All the evil is in Yermak; remove him, and everything will be fine.”

And the problem is that keeping Yermak in such a configuration is like carrying a live mine. At some point, Zelenskyy concludes: this passenger must be unhooked from the carriage. And then what is whispered about on Bankova unfolds — a tense confrontation, backbiting, tears, and the final realization that their “marital story” did not end with a graceful “I release you in peace,” but with a cold, “You are a risk, and I cannot carry you any longer.”

One might think that any traditional Ukrainian president in this position would be tempted to “push everything back”: crush NABU, replace its head, and extinguish the scandal. The conventional approach is: “preserve the vertical by sacrificing the lower floors.”

But there is another, far more intriguing, hidden aspect: today

On one hand, this is a society that, after four years of full-scale war, is not prepared to watch the “friends of the president” being shielded from cases involving Energoatom, bulletproof vests, and fortifications. After Bucha and Kramatorsk, zero tolerance for “one’s own corrupters” is not excessive ethics — it is a psychological norm. Any heavy-handed interference with NABU in the “Midas” saga would instantly be perceived as a direct betrayal. Even if he does not lose 200,000 followers tomorrow, Zelenskyy would destroy what is currently his greatest asset as commander-in-chief: trust.

On the other hand, this is Europe. Ukraine’s anti-corruption record is scrutinized at every stage of EU integration: from candidate status to future membership negotiations. Brussels is watching closely: is NABU functioning? Are cases being pursued against major figures? Are investigations being politically rewound? Eliminating the “Yermak case” at NABU would reset Ukraine’s European integration trajectory. This is not pathos; it is bureaucratic reality.

On the third side — something rarely mentioned aloud — are the American auditors: the DOJ and FBI. Every USAID package, every tranche of military aid, is not just money — it is a legal object under the U.S. internal control system. In the wake of Afghanistan and amid high-profile corruption investigations in Ukraine, any sign that Kyiv has politically shut down an anti-corruption case involving American funds or contracts immediately triggers red flags for U.S. inspectors and investigators.

Yes, the FBI will not come and handcuff Zelenskyy. But:

• they have the tools to investigate the companies, banks, and intermediaries involved in the schemes;

• They can request documents through interstate cooperation.

• They can turn it into a high-profile political case in Congress.

In other words, if Bankova now crudely sidelines NABU from “Midas” and the Yermak case, it exposes itself to a different kind of blow — from a system that sees this not as “an internal matter,” but as the destruction of evidence in potential criminal cases involving American resources.

Zelenskyy, despite all his failures, is not suicidal. He understands clearly: burying NABU for the sake of Yermak risks not only political death but possibly an international criminal record.

So he makes what appears to be a “bold decision”: Yermak — out; NABU — formally untouchable.
This signals to both Brussels and Washington: we are willing to shield the system’s “right hand” when required. At the same time, it preserves at least some leverage in ongoing peace negotiations.

In this configuration, Yermak is no longer just a “personnel policy mistake.” He has become a full-fledged threat on three fronts:

Legal — NABU has already intervened and cannot “turn a blind eye,” no matter how much pressure is applied.

Political — his name now embodies every scandal, from Wagnergate and Oman to bulletproof vests and Energoatom.

Foreign policy — his name and the “Midas” case are now instruments for both Parnas-style blackmail scenarios and Moscow’s propaganda narratives.

Hence, the tearful scenes on Bankova Street. This is not the drama of male friendship. This is the moment when the president looks at his long-time producer and, for the first time, addresses him not as “we” but as “you”:

“You can no longer be my shadow. Now you are a spotlight that exposes all of me.”

And yes, Zelenskyy fears this spotlight. Because if tomorrow Yermak decides to go all-in with compromising material, interviews, or testimonies, the entire narrative of the “infiltrated state” will be laid bare. A story that began long before Mindich, with those quietly resolved early issues, will finally be revealed.

The final truth is simple and unpleasant:

Yermak became a danger to Zelenskyy not when NABU entered his house, but at the point at which the anti-corruption apparatus, Brussels, and Washington simultaneously stopped believing he could be shielded with impunity. Zelenskyy recognized it too late — and is paying the price: the loss of his “gray brain,” the collapse of his internal structure, and a blow to his personal trust.

The question now is not who is more to blame. The question is: can Ukraine turn this conflict into an opportunity to finally depersonalize power, dismantle the “Yermak state,” and create genuine institutions that aren’t tied to a single “friend” of the president?

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