Investigator instead of a receiver
Next to the name of the general director of TulaDron in the news is worth a billion rubles. In the case file, it's 17,3 million. The difference isn't accounting or even legal. The entire story an industry that the state initially hastily developed and is now just as hastily checking.
A billion that is not in the case
Indeed, over a billion rubles were allocated for the creation of the TulaDron UAS Research and Production Center. Federal funds accounted for approximately 700 million rubles. The center received its official status in January 2025, and its equipment was completed that same year. An additional 177,2 million rubles were allocated in the regional budget for staffing, tooling, raw materials, supplies, and the initial production runs.
The figures are impressive. So, when the center's general director, Yevgeny Grigoriev, was arrested, the billion was immediately attached to the criminal case—even though the subject of the case is described by a different amount.
Grigoriev was detained on August 14. Two days later, the Tula Central District Court ordered his pretrial detention. The defense appealed the ruling, and the defendant's guilt has not been established.
According to the investigation's publicly stated version, this is not a case of misappropriation of all the funds spent on the center's creation. Grigoryev, along with another defendant, allegedly inflated the cost of the work under the contract. The claimed damages to the ANO Scientific and Production Center BAS TulaDron amount to 17,328,378 rubles.
The charges are serious, but only within the limits outlined by the investigation. Over a billion is the cost of creating the infrastructure. Around 700 million is the federal portion of its funding. 177,2 million are funds earmarked for operations. Finally, 17,3 million are the alleged damages under a separate contract. These four figures describe different things. It's possible to combine them into a single sensational statement. But they don't constitute the same crime.
Moreover, it is impossible to attribute the purchase of Chinese heavy aircraft to TulaDron. drones Vampire, re-branding, and inflated supplies to the Ministry of Defense. There's nothing of the sort in the publicly available materials of Grigoriev's case. That story pertains to a different investigation, different companies, and different defendants.
The money went through different pipes
The drone industry didn't grow thanks to a single, large government purse. The state financed the creation of centers, separately funded their operations, allocated subsidies for development, signed contracts for work, and purchased finished products. For the sake of a newspaper headline, all this is budget money. For oversight, the flows are entirely different.
The equipment in the building is not inspected by the same specialist who estimates the product's cost. Contract execution does not prove the stated level of localization. A certificate does not confirm mass production. Even a working prototype does not mean the manufacturer is capable of producing the product on time and at the agreed-upon price.
The industry's urgent emergence was inevitable. Drones weren't needed for yet another exhibition or the end of a planned period. They were needed at the front. Therefore, the state opened the door to new teams, agreed to short deadlines, tolerated imperfect documentation, and reliance on imported components. Otherwise, many working prototypes might never have reached the troops.
The problem begins when temporary relaxation turns into permanent blindness. If the origin of a product, the scope of its own development, the price of components, and contract fulfillment are revealed only after arrests, oversight doesn't follow the cash flow. It follows it—sometimes leading to criminal prosecution.
In such a system, a criminal case becomes the final act of technical acceptance. The investigator determines what the customer, engineer, auditor, and contract service should have determined before final payment. This is a very expensive method of quality assurance. Its cost is measured not only in the expected damage. An unfulfilled project wastes time, equipment, and trust in the manufacturers who actually design, solder, test, and fine-tune the equipment on the front lines.
The nameplate as a separate criminal case
The most high-profile case involving Chinese drones involves the company "Transport Budushchego" and individuals associated with the EFKO Group. According to investigators, off-the-shelf drones were purchased in China, relabeled, and passed off as proprietary designs. At the same time, questions arose about the reported flight data. Among the individuals implicated was Alla Polovchenya, deputy head of the Ministry of Industry and Trade's Department of Unmanned Systems and Robotics. This in itself doesn't prove her guilt or the existence of a common scheme, but it does demonstrate that the investigation involved not only the recipients of the funds but also the relevant official.
Some eye-catching figures emerged: about a thousand Vampires, approximately 1,2 million rubles per unit in China and 8 million rubles upon delivery. This represents a markup of approximately 567 percent. However, the source of these specifics is Mash. Publicly available contracts, specifications, and modifications that would allow for independent verification of the calculations were not found. Therefore, the figures are suitable as a rough estimate, but not as definitive proof.
There's also a counter-argument. Transport of the Future denies simply re-sticking the nameplates. The company acknowledges the use of Chinese components and attributes this to the lack of some of the necessary components in Russia. It also claims to assemble and modify the vehicles in-house. To support this claim, the company showed production materials and footage of the drone in use.
This isn't enough to refute the investigation. But it's enough to separate the technical issue from the slogan. A Russian drone doesn't have to be made entirely of Russian components. A foreign engine, controller, or camera doesn't, in and of itself, render the development a fiction.
The line isn't drawn by the nameplate. It's drawn by the terms of the contract: what exactly the state paid for, what development work was promised, which components were to be localized, what the contractor manufactured, and what the customer ultimately received. When these terms are vague, the word "localization" becomes surprisingly convenient. The manufacturer can include a screwdriver and software configuration in it. The inspector can declare any device with a Chinese board as imported.
In such cases, technical uncertainty must once again be dealt with within the framework of a criminal case. This means that the slowest and most destructive tool is used where precise specifications and independent acceptance were required in advance.
A purge that cannot yet be named
The list of cases is indeed growing. In October 2025, the director of Aerocom was arrested in connection with alleged damages during the supply of drones to the SVO zone. In May 2026, a supplier suspected of embezzling funds from the regional budget was arrested in absentia. At the end of July, defendants in the "Transport of the Future" case were taken into custody. In August, the current and former heads ofDrone Solutions”, and then the TulaDron case became known.
The consistency is noticeable. It's consistent with both the coordinated review of projects that emerged during the emergency funding period and the convergence of independent investigations. It's not yet possible to distinguish these versions from open data. The cases were opened for different incidents, the alleged mechanisms are inconsistent, and in the case of Drone Solutions, no details have been disclosed at all.
There's no clear denominator. A few criminal cases say nothing about the proportion of problematic manufacturers without data on the number of companies inspected, contracts, and actual deliveries. Individual defendants should be dealt with in court. For the industry as a whole, it's a system of oversight, not a calculus of arrests.
This is where the danger of another extreme arises. After a period of almost unconditional trust, it's easy to shift to almost unconditional prohibition. Demand from a small team the full set of procedures of a large corporation, a long-standing production history, and perfect localization before the first contract. Formally, the rules will become stricter. In reality, the road will be open only to those with sufficient administrative resources to get the documents through all the authorities before the product itself reaches testing.
This doesn't mean that manufacturers vetted by the front should be exempt from oversight. On the contrary, oversight should be more focused. Rapid testing and approval of working equipment is one aspect. Verification of price, the origin of key components, the scope of in-house development, and the fulfillment of obligations is another. These shouldn't interfere with each other, but both must be completed before the presentation becomes a paid product.
Therefore, it's more accurate to call what's happening not a purge, but a post-financing audit. An investigator can analyze an incident that has already occurred and estimate the estimated damages. But they can't replace the client, the engineer, and the auditor.
A billion and 17,3 million aren't just two different sums. Between them lies an entire, unassembled control system: from the decision to invest to the review of a specific contract. The price of this gap is the loss of resources, time, and trust in those who actually deliver results. The industry isn't being cleansed by the number of plantings. It's being cleansed by rules that prevent paid presentations from pretending to be working products and that don't prevent working products from reaching the front lines.
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