It was all too much, too overwhelming, to contemplate. What did he want to think of? The best answer. Or was it the right answer? And was the best and right answer the easiest way out? Or the most difficult? He’d examined George Northcote’s argument from every which way and from every which way what the older man had said about bringing the house down around him – throwing his own words back at him – made the only logical sense. Of course he would prove his professional integrity and rectitude by disclosing the indications of crime to the SEC – to every governing authority – but in so doing he’d bring about the collapse of one of Wall Street’s most prestigious and internationally trusted financial names. Every sort of criminal and governing-body investigation would take months, during which they would most likely be suspended and during which any proper work would in any case be impossible. And there would also be the personal fallout. No matter how right and correct his actions, he would publicly be seen – and despised – as a man totally destroying his own father-in-law by exposing the man at the age of sixty-seven to inevitable imprisonment and an inevitable multimillion-dollar fine. And even if George Northcote accepted every responsibility, in Wall Street – in the global financial village – the mud would stick and those clients who didn’t despise him personally would rush to wash their hands of all and every association. George W. Northcote International would be relegated as another greed-driven, illegally operating financial pariah.

‘Hello. My name’s Jane and I’m your wife.’

So engrossed was he that Carver physically started at his wife’s voice, smiling apologetically across the dinner table. ‘Sorry. I was thinking.’

‘Darling, you were so deep in thought you were out of sight! You haven’t said a word for at least the last thirty minutes. Or eaten a thing!’