In the high-stakes, smoke-filled arena of Philippine politics, a “bombshell” revelation is the ultimate weapon. This past week, businessman Zaldy Co lit a fuse, dropping an accusation of such magnitude it threatened to shake the very foundations of the current administration. The claim? That he was personally ordered by President Bongbong Marcos (PBBM) and Department of Budget and Management (DBM) Secretary Amenah Pangandaman to insert a staggering ₱100 billion into the national budget.

It was a confession wrapped in an accusation, a cinematic portrayal of a man caught in a web of corruption, forced to do the bidding of the most powerful people in the land. Co painted himself as a subordinate, a mere follower of orders, who now, allegedly fearing for his life, had no choice but to tell the “truth.”

The story was explosive. It had all the elements of a political thriller: a sitting president, a loyal cabinet secretary, a threatened businessman, and a mind-boggling sum of money. But almost as quickly as the “revelation” went viral, a powerful and systematic counter-narrative emerged. Political commentators and analysts immediately began to dissect Co’s statement, not as a brave confession, but as a “very problematic” and “completely scripted lie.”

According to a blistering video commentary that has since gained its own massive traction, Co’s story isn’t just flimsy; it’s a desperate, last-ditch gambit by a man facing his own legal reckoning. This article delves into that systematic takedown, exploring the motives, logical fallacies, and gaping political holes that, according to this analysis, expose Zaldy Co’s bombshell as a carefully constructed fabrication.

Chapter 1: The Motive of a “Desperate Man”
To understand the lie, the speaker argues, you must first understand the liar. The commentary’s central premise is that Zaldy Co is not a whistleblower experiencing a crisis of conscience. He is a cornered man, and cornered men do desperate things.

“We have to ask, why now? Why is he talking only now?” the speaker begins. The timing, he argues, is everything. This isn’t a random exposé. It’s a calculated move by a man whose legal walls are closing in—and fast.

According to the analysis, Zaldy Co is on the verge of incarceration. “He is about to be jailed,” the commentator states plainly, pointing to a case that is reportedly about to be filed at the Sandiganbayan, the country’s anti-graft court. An imminent warrant of arrest is allegedly hanging over his head like the Sword of Damocles.

This is the context. This is the motive.

“That’s why he’s finding a way now. He will point fingers at whoever he wants to,” the speaker claims.

Co’s entire “revelation” is framed as a strategic legal maneuver. By admitting to the crime but shifting all blame, Co is not seeking truth; he is seeking a deal. His performance, the commentator argues, is an audition for the Witness Protection Program (WPP). He is trying to trade up. By implicating the President and a high-level cabinet secretary, he is offering the prosecution a target so big, so politically valuable, that they might be tempted to overlook his own massive role in the scheme in exchange for his testimony.

He is, in short, trying to save himself. His confession is not an act of patriotism; it’s an act of self-preservation. This desperation, the speaker insists, taints every word he says and forces us to question the entire narrative he is attempting to sell.

Chapter 2: The “Common Sense” Test
Beyond the alleged motive, the commentator argues that Co’s story simply “defies common sense.” The entire plot, when examined, collapses under the weight of its own internal contradictions.

The first and most glaring logical failure is this: Why would President Marcos initiate the very investigation that would lead back to himself?

The speaker points out that this entire scandal began to unravel because of an investigation into anomalous flood control projects—projects directly linked to Zaldy Co. “If PBBM was the true mastermind, why would he order an investigation into his own corrupt scheme?” the commentator asks. “It makes no sense. You don’t start a fire in your own house and then call the fire department.”

This “common sense” argument paints a picture of a president who was, in fact, blindsided by the corruption, not one who orchestrated it. The investigation was presumably launched to root out corruption, and in doing so, it snared Zaldy Co. Co’s “revelation,” therefore, is seen as a retaliatory strike—an attempt to drag his investigators down with him.

The second logical failure is the “follow the money” principle. In any criminal enterprise, the mastermind is the one who reaps the rewards. The speaker poses another critical question: If Co was just a “pawn” and PBBM was the “king,” why are all the assets—the fruits of the crime—affiliated with the pawn?

“They talk about private planes, about immense wealth,” the speaker says. “But where is all of it? It’s linked to Co. It’s in his name.”

A true mastermind, the argument goes, would never allow a subordinate to control the assets. The person who holds the money is the mastermind. Co’s story, where he does all the work, takes all the risk, and holds all the assets, only to claim he was just a “follower,” is fundamentally unbelievable. It’s an attempt to enjoy the perks of being the boss while claiming the legal immunity of being an errand boy.

Finally, the commentator dismisses the melodramatic claim that Co’s life was threatened. In a clip, Co alleges PBBM told him, “He will shoot me if I will talk.” The speaker scoffs at this, calling it “pure theater” and “inconsistent” with the President’s public personality. It’s seen as a cynical ploy to paint himself as a brave, sympathetic victim, rather than the desperate suspect he allegedly is.

Chapter 3: The 2016 Elephant in the Room
This, according to the analysis, is where the “scripted lie” truly and completely falls apart. The timeline.

“When did this foolishness happen?” the speaker demands. “This didn’t start in 2022. It started during Digong’s time, in 2016!”

This is the political jugular. The commentator asserts that Co’s corrupt activities, particularly concerning the questionable budget items, began as far back as 2016.

This simple date changes everything.

In 2016, Bongbong Marcos was not president. He was a private citizen who had just lost the vice-presidential election. In 2016, Amenah Pangandaman was not the DBM Secretary. The administration in power was that of former President Rodrigo Duterte.

This raises the single most damning question of the entire affair: “Why is there no mention of Digong or anything about the Digong administration? Why is everything blamed on PBBM?”

This “lie of omission,” the speaker argues, is the most telling part of Co’s entire statement. If he were a genuine whistleblower intent on exposing the “truth” about systemic corruption, he would have to start his story in 2016. He would have to name the people who were in power when it all began.

But he doesn’t.

Co’s narrative conveniently starts only after the 2022 election. He surgically removes the entire previous administration from his story, focusing his accusations with laser precision on the current one.

This omission, the analysis concludes, is no accident. It is the entire point. It suggests that Zaldy Co is not just trying to save himself; he is also protecting his former masters. He is being deployed as a “political weapon” by the President’s opponents, who are, by implication, figures from the previous administration.

The timing of Co’s “revelation” is again highlighted, noted as suspiciously close to planned anti-Marcos rallies. He is providing the political “red meat” for the opposition to feast on. The commentator also points out the bitter irony of the situation, noting how Duterte Diehard Supporters (DDS), who had previously condemned Co, are now championing him as a truth-teller. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” the speaker muses, perfectly capturing the strange political bedfellows this affair has created.

Chapter 4: The “Brown Leather Bag” and a Lie About the Law
If the motive is desperation and the timeline is a lie, then the “evidence” Co presents is, according to the speaker, utterly “nonsensical.”

What is Co’s primary “proof” that the order came from the President himself? It’s not a document. It’s not a recording. It’s an anecdote.

Co recounts a story where he was allegedly in a meeting with Executive Secretary Adrian Bersamin. He claims Bersamin took a list of projects from a “brown leather bag” that Co believed belonged to President Marcos.

How did he make this connection? Because, Co claims, he remembered a separate trip to Singapore where PBBM allegedly joked to his staff, “Leave everything else, just not the brown leather bag.”

The commentator dissects this “proof” with ridicule. “So, let me get this straight,” the speaker says. “You saw a brown bag. You remembered a joke about a brown bag. And from that, you concluded that the President of the Philippines was ordering you to commit a ₱100 billion crime? What is that? Is that evidence?”

This flimsy, almost comical, connection is presented as the cornerstone of Co’s belief. The speaker dismisses it as an insult to public intelligence, a story so thin it’s transparent.

But Co’s most fundamental lie, the speaker argues, is his misrepresentation of the budget process itself. Co’s entire claim rests on the idea that DBM Secretary Pangandaman (part of the Executive branch) ordered him (part of the Legislative branch) to “insert ₱100 billion” into the budget.

This, the commentator explains, is a procedural impossibility. “That is not how the budget is made,” the speaker insists.

The DBM’s role is to propose the budget (the National Expenditure Program). Once it’s in Congress, it becomes the legislature’s territory. The “insertions” that Co is talking about, the speaker clarifies, are the work of legislators—congressmen and senators—during the Bicameral Conference (Bicam). This is where they add, remove, and realign funds for their various “pet projects.”

The DBM does not “insert” projects at the Bicam stage. That is a legislative function.

Therefore, the speaker concludes, Co’s claim is a fabrication designed to shift blame. The “insertions” were his own legislative actions. Now that those insertions have been exposed as corrupt, he is trying to blame the DBM, claiming he was just “following orders” to do something that, procedurally, the DBM couldn’t have ordered him to do in the first place.

Conclusion: A Challenge and a “Scripted Lie”
The commentary concludes with a final, damning assessment: Zaldy Co’s statement is a “completely scripted lie” from start to finish.

It is, the speaker summarizes, the act of a desperate man about to be jailed. His story fails the most basic “common sense” test. His timeline is a deliberate fabrication that suspiciously omits the six years of the Duterte administration, where the corruption allegedly began. His “evidence” is a laughable anecdote about a leather bag. And his understanding of the budget process is fundamentally flawed, designed to shift blame for his own legislative actions onto the executive branch.

He is a man, the analysis finishes, who is selectively targeting the current administration while steadfastly protecting figures from the past.

The speaker leaves Zaldy Co with a final challenge. If he is truly a sincere whistleblower, if he is genuinely overcome with remorse and wants to tell the truth, the path is simple.

“If you are really telling the truth,” the speaker challenges, “return all the money. Return all the assets you stole from the Filipino people.”

Until that day, the commentator concludes, his ₱100 billion “bombshell” is nothing more than the sound of a desperate man trying to blow up the whole building to avoid being caught in his own fire.