“Discipline is necessary. Cruelty is a failure. Treat them as human beings.”
Back at the palace, Emmanuel opened a letter addressed to him.
My name is Austin. I served as a prosecutor in more than 300 cases. I was pressured to convict people I was not sure were guilty. I want to help make this right.
Emmanuel brought the letter to the president. Traoré read it and nodded.
“They are coming,” he said softly. “It is time for justice to come from both sides—the wounded and the healer.”
By the third month of Operation Light of Justice, chains were breaking in cells and in hearts, minds, and laws.
Before the National Assembly, Traoré spoke again.
“We are not freeing criminals. We are freeing the truth. Let no one sleep peacefully while another suffers unjustly. Burkina Faso must rise—and it begins with justice.”
Ouagadougou buzzed. Markets, mosques, classrooms, late-night radio—families who had given up hope began to believe again.
Then the work cut deeper.
Old files pointed to powerful names—judges, politicians, business magnates.
One name froze Emmanuel’s hand as he turned a page.
Lauron Guillard.
The man who had framed him seven years earlier.
He read the line twice.
Complaint by Guillard Companies against five former workers.
“It’s him,” Emmanuel whispered.
His assistant looked up. “Who?”
“The man who destroyed my life.”
He rushed the file to the cabinet room. Traoré was in the middle of a meeting when Emmanuel entered, breath quick, the folder pressed tightly to his chest.
“Forgive the interruption, sir, but you must see this.”
The president skimmed the first page.
“Lauron Guillard?”
“Yes, sir. He is still doing it—accusing innocent people, just like he did to me. Why was he never investigated?”
“He has connections,” Emmanuel said bitterly. “He bribed the judge, paid the police, and now he is doing it again.”
Traoré rose, eyes hard.
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