Michael Robotham - The Wreckage

“When?”

“That Saturday he came here. He said that he’d traced some of the money to a postbox in Luton… something about a Muslim charity. And he was prattling about earlier transactions in Madrid. The Spanish police had contacted him about some ATM withdrawals prior to the train bombing in 2004. North managed to fob them off by saying the accounts didn’t exist at Mersey Fidelity, but he knew where the money had come from.”

Bach stands, straightening his back, gazing across the pond towards the house, which is wreathed in ivy. A castle fit for a king.

“He should have kept his mouth shut. The audit would have blown over.”

“Don’t you feel any responsibility?”

“What’s done is done.”

“I’m going to tell the authorities.”

Bach laughs. “Good luck with that. Nothing is going to happen. They know already. Why do you think I haven’t been charged? I’m an old man. They’re not going to prosecute me. They can’t risk damaging confidence in the banking system.”

There’s no hint of triumphalism in Bach’s voice, yet he was right all along, thinks Ruiz. People might hate him or question his morals, but when the economy picks up and the banks grow strong again, they’ll envy his wealth and his power. They’ll want to be just like him.

“Can I ask you one favor, please, Vincent?”

“What’s that?”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Lizzie about Polina. She’s been through so much. Family is all she has left.”

His arrogance is astonishing; hubris on a grand scale. Ruiz can feel the skin tighten across his face.

“If it’s a question of money,” says Bach, “I’m sure I can find some honey in the pot to sweeten your medicine.”

The buzzing in Ruiz’s ears has grown louder. “I’m not the only person who knows.”

“Polina won’t say anything. She’s been too well paid.”

Ruiz has already turned away, in sudden need of fresher air. After several steps, he stops and spins.

“By the way, Elizabeth has a new nanny who knows all about dysfunctional families and their secrets. She can even tell when someone is lying.”

“My sins have been confessed.”

“But they haven’t been forgiven.”

Ruiz leaves, walking up the slope towards the house, the turf soft beneath his worn leather shoes. Beneath the canopy of a fig tree he notices a rope swing dangling from a lower branch and can picture Elizabeth as a young girl, her hair flying, pushing herself from the shadows into the sunshine.

Although reality can sometimes corrupt the fairytale and alter our ambitions, some things remain unalterable. From richest to poorest, we start and end with family.