At dawn, a secure call summoned Pope Leo XIV to the Vatican’s secret archives, where Cardinal Secretary of State Proin’s urgent voice revealed a disturbing discovery.

Inside a sealed wooden box, marked with Pope John Paul I’s sigil, lay documents and photographs of a bleeding statue of the Virgin Mary—an alleged miracle from August 1978, just before Albino Luciani’s election.

The statue, an 18th-century wooden carving, appeared to weep dark liquid.

But forensic expert Dr. Marco Bellini’s tests showed the “blood” was theatrical stage blood mixed with glycerin, released through an ingenious hollow mechanism activated by heat.

The journal of Pope John Paul I detailed a rigorous investigation concluding the phenomenon was “orchestrated deliberate fraud” involving at least four cardinals aiming to manufacture a sign from heaven to influence the conclave.

Despite the evidence, Pope John Paul I chose silence over exposure, prioritizing institutional stability amid the Banko Ambrosiano scandal.

Successor popes upheld this secrecy until now.

Pope Leo XIV, shaped by his mission work in Peru, saw the manipulation as a weaponization of faith for political gain.

He ordered full transparency: forensic reports, documents, and a public statement explaining the fraud and its concealment.

The Vatican prepared for fallout.

Cardinal Benedeti, one of the surviving conspirators, confessed to ambition-driven deceit and expressed remorse, hoping the truth would one day be revealed.

Leo faced fierce backlash from conservative cardinals and some bishops urging caution, fearing scandal among the faithful.

Yet many lauded his courage, including advocates for institutional repentance and communities remembering his honesty from Peru.

The pope insisted truth was paramount—even at great cost.

“Truth delayed is truth denied,” he declared.

He launched a historic transparency initiative, granting independent investigators unprecedented access to archives.

The fraudulent statue was displayed openly in the Vatican Museums as a teaching tool, accompanied by detailed explanations and a video demonstration of the deception.

The exhibition drew crowds—skeptics, believers, and those wounded by past scandals—all confronting the painful reality of human failure within the Church.

Among visitors was Claudia Rosetti, a teacher who had lost faith amid scandals but found renewed hope in Leo’s honesty.

Their private conversation underscored the pope’s commitment to authenticity over comfort.

Despite internal opposition and threats of emergency meetings, Leo pressed forward.

He issued instructions for global dioceses to review and publicly disclose historical corruption, barring victim privacy concerns.

His vision was clear: a Church purified by truth, not preserved by lies.

“If the Church is to survive, it will be through truth,” he said.

The scandal reignited debates about faith, authority, and transparency.

Media worldwide covered the revelations, some with respect for Leo’s radical honesty, others with skepticism.

In quiet moments, Leo reflected on his mission, remembering the poor in Peru whose faith endured despite hardship.

He sought strength in a simple wooden cross from his mission days, praying for humility and honesty.

This unprecedented papacy challenges centuries of secrecy, inviting believers to confront wounds openly and rebuild trust authentically—reminding all that faith must never be manipulated, but lived with courage and truth.