It's not my fault, by Peter Morford

A message found on Mr Gould’s smart phone.

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Dad,

I know you’ll be surprised to receive this attachment as we never write to each other. Since Mother divorced you there seemed to be nothing to say. So I’ll say it anyway.

I heard through the grapevine that you are moving to an open prison and release is imminent.

Don’t come back.

You may not know that Mum married a coach driver – yes, the one who drove us on a tour of the Dolomites in 2017. George is a decent man. He will never be rich.

Thanks to you, Molly and I were privileged kids. Private schools prepared us for University and great careers. We had summer holidays in exotic places and ski resorts at Christmas. Home was always full of guests, friends and clients. We had a paddock for Molly’s horses, swimming pool and a fleet of cars. We lived the life.

To celebrate my A Level results we four plus Molly’s boyfriend and my girl were off  to Sri Lanka. First class of course. After that I would start my studies towards an MBA at Harvard. And then? I expected something powerful in business and politics.

Three weeks later, sated by the sunshine, sights and smells of that beautiful island, we landed in the dark at Heath Row, tired and happy. We cleared customs and Immigration and headed for the exit. We could see our hotel limo waiting for us and the courier’s sign with our name on it.

Standing right by the exit were four policemen, line abreast. One officer stepped towards us.

“Mr. Gould, Mr Jeremy Gould?”

“Yes.”

“You are under arrest. Come with us please. The rest of your party can go.”

You were handcuffed and thrust into the car and driven away. You know the rest. A few weeks awaiting your trial. Then the trial itself when your finance and investment company was revealed to be a fraud. Investors had lost millions. You were damned by the contents of your phones and computers, revealing money laundering, embezzlement and tax evasion. You were sentence to ten years. Your assets would be seized and our nightmare had begun.

What assets? Our elegant house was mortgaged for more than its market value. All the cars are leased. Your only asset was a few thousands in the bank. Your company would be worthless. Where was the alleged £35m which the court decided you had stolen?

Mother, Molly and I were, crammed into a 7 th floor flat in - but you don’t need to know where. I lost my place at Harvard. At eighteen I had to find a job and use my computer skills. Mother applied for a nursing post. Molly moved to a nearby Comprehensive school.

And what am I doing now, six years after your conviction? I suppose you’d call me a computer hacker working for the Police. I’ll find out where you have hidden “your” money.

Traitor, am I? It’s not my fault.