Chapter 6: The Inquisition

The United Nations headquarters loomed before Darren, its glass facade reflecting the early morning sun. As he approached the entrance, a group of protesters caught his eye. Their signs bore slogans like "UN = Godless Globalists" and "Defend the Faith, Fire Melvik." One protester, a middle-aged woman clutching a rosary, made eye contact with him and crossed herself, as if warding off evil.

Inside, the security check seemed more rigorous than usual. The guard scrutinized his ID badge with unusual intensity, turning it over several times under the harsh fluorescent light.

"You're expected in Conference Room B," he said finally, handing back the badge. "Eleventh floor." Something in the guard's tone made the simple directions sound like a sentence being handed down.

The elevator ride felt endless. Darren watched the floor numbers tick upward, each chime bringing him closer to what felt increasingly like a trial. When he stepped out onto the eleventh floor, the corridor stretched before him like a gauntlet.

As he approached the conference room, he spotted a familiar face - Thomas, his former colleague who now worked for Médecins Sans Frontières. The sight of a friendly face amid the institutional hostility almost made his knees buckle with relief.

"Thomas! Thanks for coming," Darren said, his voice betraying more emotion than he'd intended.

Thomas gave him a reassuring smile, though concern flickered in his eyes. "Of course, mate. I've got your back. Just remember, stay calm and stick to the facts."

They entered Conference Room B together. The room's austerity was intimidating, dominated by a long table where Elisabeth Salum and Lorenzo Nesti from the IGO sat waiting. Elisabeth, blonde and barely thirty, wore her youth like armor, compensating with an air of rehearsed authority that seemed almost comical in its intensity. Her cheap blazer and meticulously maintained expression spoke of someone who had climbed the UN ladder quickly, probably through a combination of ruthless ambition and careful alliance-building.

Beside her sat Lorenzo Nesti, a balding, middle-aged man whose pale complexion suggested someone who rarely ventured outside the fluorescent-lit corridors of bureaucracy. His short stature seemed to shrink further as he adjusted his position, forever trying to find the perfect posture that would keep him safely invisible within the system. He clutched his pen like a talisman, ready to document every word with the fearful precision of someone terrified of making mistakes.

"Mr. Melvik," Elisabeth began, her tone carrying the smug certainty of someone playing at authority, "this is an initial fact-finding interview regarding allegations of misconduct. Before we begin, I need you to take an oath."

Darren raised an eyebrow. An oath? What was this, an American courtroom drama? He half expected her to pull out a Bible next.

"Please repeat after me," Elisabeth continued, either missing or ignoring his skepticism. Her voice took on an almost theatrical quality, as if she'd practiced this moment in front of her mirror. "'I, Darren Melvik, swear that I will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth during this interview.'"

Darren hesitated, glancing at Thomas, who gave him an encouraging nod. The whole thing felt absurd - this young bureaucrat playing at being a judge, the nervous Lorenzo scribbling in his notepad, the fluorescent lights casting everything in an artificial glow. This wasn't justice; it was institutional theater.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Melvik?" Elisabeth asked, her tone carrying that special kind of condescension that only the deeply insecure can master.

"No," Darren replied, suppressing an urge to roll his eyes. "I just wasn't expecting quite so much... ceremony."

Lorenzo shifted uncomfortably in his chair, glancing at Elisabeth as if seeking permission to exist.

"The oath is a standard part of our process," Elisabeth stated, her voice brittle with authority. "Now, shall we proceed?"

Darren took a deep breath. Better to play along with their bureaucratic pantomime. "I, Darren Melvik, swear that I will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth during this interview." The words felt hollow in his mouth, a meaningless ritual designed to give artificial weight to what was essentially an institutional witch hunt.

Elisabeth nodded with the satisfaction of a small-time functionary who'd successfully executed a minor procedure. Lorenzo dutifully noted something in his pad, probably checking off "oath administered" from some internal checklist.

"Let's discuss your social media activities," Elisabeth said, her voice carrying that particular tone of someone who'd recently attended a management seminar on assertiveness. She pulled out a stack of papers with exaggerated precision, arranging them before her like exhibits at a trial.

"You have a Facebook account, yes?" she asked, though she was already pushing a printed screenshot across the table.

"I happen to have one," Darren replied, matching her formality with just enough irony to make her eyes narrow slightly.

"And you're a member of a group called..." she paused, consulting her notes with staged thoroughness, "Trīspadsmitais Apustulis?"

Darren noticed how she stumbled slightly over the Latvian words, her attempt at pronunciation both careful and completely wrong. He could almost see her practicing it beforehand, determined to demonstrate her preparedness.

"The Thirteenth Apostle, yes," he translated, watching her mask of authority flicker momentarily at being denied the chance to showcase her research.

Elisabeth straightened her cheap blazer, regaining composure. "Would you characterize this as an appropriate forum for a UN spokesperson?"

"I would characterize it as a private space for intellectual discourse," Darren replied, watching her fingers tighten around her pen at his refusal to be cowed.

"Intellectual discourse?" Her voice rose slightly, betraying her eagerness to pounce. "Let's examine some of this... discourse." She pulled out another paper with the theatrical flourish of a prosecutor revealing damning evidence. "This poll about Christian sexual practices - would you consider this intellectual?"

She began reading aloud: "Is oral sex allowed for Christians? Option A: Only if it leads to conversion. Option B: Yes, but confess immediately after. Option C: Only during group sex if all other orifices are occupied. Option D: Only for priests with altar boys. Option E: No, sex is for procreation only."

The silence that followed was deafening. Thomas shifted uncomfortably beside Darren.

"Would you care to explain the theological basis for this survey, Mr. Melvik?" Lorenzo asked, his pen poised above his notepad.

"It was meant to be satirical," Darren began, but Elisabeth cut him off.

"Satirical? Is that the standard you believe UN spokespersons should uphold?"

"The poll was satirical commentary on religious institutions' attempts to control human sexuality. Something that, as I'm sure you're aware, often forces people to flee their countries and seek refuge."

Elisabeth's nostrils flared slightly - he'd touched a nerve by reminding her that he actually understood refugee issues beyond procedural checkboxes. "Mr. Melvik, please limit your responses to the questions asked."

"I thought I was sworn to tell the whole truth," Darren replied mildly, earning a slight cough from Thomas that might have been covering a laugh.

Elisabeth's cheeks flushed. "Let's move on to the burning church post." She practically thrust the paper across the table. "Do you consider images of religious buildings in flames appropriate content for someone representing UNHCR?"

"The post referenced pyrotheology, a theological concept about-"

"Yes or no, Mr. Melvik," Elisabeth cut in, clearly pleased to reassert control.

Darren met her gaze steadily. "I'm afraid theological discourse doesn't lend itself to yes or no answers. Much like refugee issues, wouldn't you agree?"

The implied criticism hit home. Elisabeth's carefully maintained expression cracked for a moment, revealing the insecurity beneath. She shuffled her papers, buying time to recover her bureaucratic armor.

"Did you know," Darren continued, his voice deceptively calm, "that last week three gay teenagers from Uganda sought asylum after their church threatened to out them to authorities? They reached out to UNHCR's Facebook page because they'd seen our posts about LGBTQ+ rights."

Elisabeth's jaw tightened. "Mr. Melvik, that's not relevant to-"

"Or perhaps we should discuss the Christian converts from Iran who contacted our office after seeing debates about religious freedom on our social channels? The same kinds of debates you're now investigating me for engaging in?"

"This interview concerns your personal social media conduct," Elisabeth stated, her voice brittle with forced authority. "Not operational matters."

Darren let out a short, harsh laugh. "Operational matters? Is that what we're calling actual refugee work now? Tell me, how many asylum cases have you handled? How many religious persecution claims have you evaluated?"

Lorenzo shifted uncomfortably in his chair, suddenly very interested in straightening his papers.

"Your experience in the field is not in question here," Elisabeth said, her tone suggesting she was reciting from some internal affairs manual. "We're discussing your violation of social media protocols-"

"Protocol." Darren spat the word like it tasted bad. "Let me tell you about protocol. Last month, I had to tell a family fleeing religious persecution that they didn't have the right paperwork to prove their conversion was genuine. That's protocol. Their church was burned down - with all their documentation inside - but hey, protocol is protocol, right?"

Thomas placed a warning hand on Darren's arm, but he shrugged it off.

"Do you know what that family said to me?" Darren continued, leaning forward. "They said they understood. Because in their experience, bureaucrats caring more about papers than people was exactly why they had to flee in the first place."

Elisabeth's face flushed. "Mr. Melvik, if you continue to be uncooperative-"

"Uncooperative?" Darren's voice rose slightly. "I've spent years cooperating. I've followed every protocol, filled out every form, attended every sensitivity training. And you know what? While we're sitting here discussing my Facebook posts, there are people dying because they dared to question religious authorities. The same kind of questioning you're now investigating me for."

"That's enough!" Elisabeth's composure finally cracked. "This is an official investigation, not a platform for your personal views on refugee policy."

"And there it is," Darren said quietly. "That's exactly the problem, isn't it? We've become so obsessed with maintaining the appearance of neutrality that we've forgotten why we're here in the first place."

He gestured at the stack of papers before them - printouts of Facebook posts, policy documents, social media guidelines. "All of this - this performance of accountability - while actual refugees are being told their persecution isn't properly documented? While religious minorities are being told their suffering doesn't fit our protocols?"

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, filling the silence that followed. Elisabeth's face had gone from flushed to pale, her carefully maintained authority crumbling in the face of Darren's raw frustration.

"I think," she finally managed, her voice strained, "we should take a brief recess."

When they reconvened after fifteen minutes, Elisabeth had visibly recalibrated. She'd reapplied her lipstick, straightened her blazer, and arranged her papers with mechanical precision. The bureaucratic armor was back in place.

"Mr. Melvik," she began, her voice now artificially pleasant, "let's approach this from a different angle. We understand your commitment to refugee rights. However-"

"Do you?" Darren cut in quietly. The brief break had given him time to realize just how much he had to lose. Years of work, relationships with refugees who trusted him, the ability to actually make a difference - all of it hanging by a thread. Yet something in him refused to back down. "Do you really understand?"

Elisabeth's smile remained fixed, but her eyes hardened. "Your posts show a pattern of behavior that could compromise UNHCR's ability to work with religious communities. Surely you see how that might affect our mission?"

Darren felt the trap in her words - she was trying to use his own commitment to refugees against him. It was cleverly done, he had to admit. Make him choose between his principles and his ability to help. The system's favorite false choice.

"Let me be very clear," Elisabeth continued, her confidence growing as she sensed his internal conflict. "Your position as spokesperson requires absolute neutrality. These posts, regardless of their intent, demonstrate a bias that-"

"No," Darren interrupted, the word quiet but firm. "What these posts demonstrate is an understanding of why people become refugees in the first place. The same religious persecution, the same systemic oppression, the same bureaucratic indifference that we're displaying right now."

Thomas tensed beside him. Even Lorenzo looked up from his notepad, eyes widening slightly.

"Mr. Melvik," Elisabeth's voice took on a warning tone, "I strongly advise you to consider your next words carefully."

Darren did consider them. He thought about the refugees he'd worked with, the stories they'd trusted him with, the lives hanging in the balance. He thought about the system that was supposed to protect them, now more concerned with protecting its own image.

"I've considered every word carefully," he said finally. "Just like I considered every word in those posts. Because unlike this proceeding, those words were actually about helping refugees, not just maintaining appearances."

Elisabeth's artificial smile finally cracked. "Have you had any unauthorized communication regarding this case since the investigation began?"

The abrupt change in topic caught him off guard. He thought of the Anonymous email, the Cardinal's call, Zara's warnings. "No."

The lie felt like acid in his mouth, but the truth would only give them more ammunition.

"I see." Elisabeth's tone suggested she very much did see. "Well, I think we have enough for today." She began gathering her papers with sharp, angry movements. "You'll be notified of the next steps in this process."

"Process," Darren echoed softly. "Always process."

As they left the conference room, Thomas pulled him aside. "That was intense. Are you okay?"

Darren shook his head. "I don't know, Thomas. I feel like I've just been through a modern-day inquisition."

Thomas's expression hardened. "This is exactly why I left the UN. The bureaucracy, the politics, the way they try to control every aspect of your life - it's oppressive. At MSF, we focus on actually helping people, not policing our employees' private thoughts."

"But the work the UN does is important," Darren argued weakly, feeling the weight of his principles colliding with pragmatism.

"Sure, but at what cost?" Thomas retorted. "They talk about human rights and freedom of expression, but look how they treat their own people. It's hypocritical."

As they walked toward the elevators, Darren's phone vibrated in his pocket. A message from an unknown number: "They know about the leaks. Watch your back."

The message disappeared as soon as he finished reading it, leaving him staring at his blank screen, the fluorescent lights humming overhead like a swarm of angry wasps. He thought about all the refugees still waiting for help, all the lives hanging in the balance. The system might be flawed, but it was the only system they had.

The real question was: could he do more good from within a broken system or by burning it all down?

The elevator doors closed with a soft chime, leaving him alone with his reflection in the polished steel - and no easy answers.