The morning mist had barely lifted from the streets of Ankara when the heavy boots of the law began to thunder. A foul stench of corruption, thicker than the smog of a London alley, had long clung to the Çankaya municipality, and at last, the inspectors decided to scrub it clean.

In a sudden, sweeping raid that would make a Scotland Yard detective proud, the authorities pounced. Arrest warrants were issued for thirty-six souls, including none other than the Mayor, Hussein Can Güner. By the time the sun reached its zenith, twenty-seven of these wretched creatures had already been hauled off to the cells, their finery replaced by the cold grip of iron shackles.

These fellows are accused of the most sinister plot: the creation of a criminal gang, the taking of greasy bribes, and a shameful game of trickery with government tenders. It was a proper 'den of thieves,' where the public purse was treated as a private coin-purse for their own greed.

On the eleventh of July, the police stormed the municipality and the private dwellings of the suspects, tossing rooms and overturning desks to seize the evidence of their villainy. The remaining fugitives are still at large, likely shivering in some dark corner, praying their luck—their 'fortuna'—does not run dry before the constables find them.

Now, let us speak of the politics of the matter. This municipal house is held by the Republican People's Party, the chief rivals of President Erdoğan's camp. This is not the first time the law has clashed with them; only last March, the police stormed their headquarters with tear gas and fury, breaking through barricades to evict a disgraced leadership. The party leaders cried 'attack!', but the law, as it often does, cares little for the screams of the fallen when the evidence of crime is plain to see.