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‘What do you…’ he began, before the penny dropped.

He brushed his wrist across his nose instinctively before his face transformed into a mild snarl.

I heard the computer start-up sound and snapped my head back to enter my password as Steve’s footsteps receded, probably to get the station security to escort me out and make sure they cancelled all of my entry ID.

When my computer had fully loaded, I slipped the USB into the docking station, typed the case number, and whacked the ‘schedule send’ button before strolling over to Vivian’s office.

I hoped she hadn’t just gone to the bathroom, or I’d really be screwed with this plan I had concocted whilst in a half-daze watching teleshopping last night.

I pressed ‘record’ on my phone before slipping it into my pocket.

I pushed open Vivian’s door as gently as all the adrenaline coursing through my veins would allow, and plonked myself down in the seat before Vivian had even looked up from her paperwork.

After a solid ten seconds, she finally did a double-take, noticing it was me.

‘Gareth? Should you be here? And you know the rules about knocking into my office, I?—’

‘Vivian. Let’s not play games,’ I said, remembering what I had read about how to be intimidating.

Intense eye contact, short sentences, strong posture, and consistent voice tone.

‘I want the name of the man who saw Fran throwing limbs into the river, and I want the full unredacted version of the case files about O’Neill and Clark. Give me that, and I’ll be on my way.’

She swirled her tongue across her front teeth before speaking, sounding slightly bemused. ‘Say that again for me, please? I didn’t hear you.’ She seemed almost enchanted by my gall.

‘You heard me the first time.’

Vivian smiled, appearing to enjoy this newfound confidence I possessed, as if she couldn’t wait to crush it in the palm of her hand.

‘Or what, exactly, Gareth? What are you going to do?’

This was the uppercut. This was where my plan could all go disastrously wrong.

‘Or I forward an email chain between you and Cis about the police wanting to keep this whole thing under wraps because of Macleod.’

Vivian’s face dropped far faster than I was expecting, but I was too into the flow of my monologue to stop. I had practised to Mep as my audience too many times. I had to keep going, or I’d lose the rhythm and have to start all over again.

‘You know, I don’t think Cis thought I’d see it, but I had a lot of time on my hands.

I read how your predecessors protected Macleod to save yet another Met Police corruption scandal, how they turned a blind eye to his and his friends’ activities because he was the Director of the SFO.

How O’Neill was already known to the police for all his past embezzlement and they had done absolutely nothing about it.

I’ve compiled it all in a nice, tidy email, ready to release to a hundred news outlets.

I’ve had a lot of spare time over the past few months.

Now, how do you think that would affect Fran’s trial?

Or the police’s public standing? Or your standing?

’ I said, lifting the piece of paper Cis had given me a few weeks ago with her login details.

Vivian’s face transformed before my eyes from cold, mocking indifference to a nervous, bubbling anger. She snatched the paper out of my hands to verify.

‘You wouldn’t dare…’ she murmured, skimming over the paper to make sure what I was saying was legit.

‘You got me – it’s only ninety-two news outlets.

I thought the Financial Times wouldn’t really want to report on it.

It’s all just the gross tabloids and snotty broadsheets that you’re so afraid of, with all the details about O’Neill, the Heart of Hope Foundation, the embezzlement – I particularly liked your quote to Cis in your email of the twelfth of November: “It’s best we just find someone we can throw to CPS for them to eat. ” How charming.’

I inched my chair closer to her. ‘You were told to make this all go away by the chief superintendent. They’re worried Fran might spill all their secrets, and what, you think if she confesses “guilty” as part of a plea bargain, she’ll keep quiet?

Is that what you’re banking on? Or better yet, she says nothing so as to not incriminate herself? You make me sick, Vivian.’

Vivian launched herself out of her chair and charged towards me. I thought she was going to knock me out in one swift punch to the face, but she rocketed past me, slamming the door to her office shut just as I saw Steve and a few security officers turning around the corner to chuck me out.

‘Piss off,’ she yelled at them through the door, before shoving her face right into mine, teeth bared, nostrils flared.

‘Do you know what you’re doing? I gave you a break after everything with your wife, but this is a new level of stupid,’ she growled.

Crikey, she really was quite scary. I tried to look as unbothered by it as possible. Telling myself to maintain eye contact, confident tone, relaxed hand movements to show that it was me who was in control of the situation.

‘You have four minutes before it schedule-sends, by the way,’ I remarked, edging my head slightly closer to hers, trying not to seem the least bit frightened.

I saw her eyes practically launch upwards. She twisted her feet again towards the door, ready to charge across the office towards my desk and bust my desktop to smithereens.

‘Oh, only I can stop it, you know. It’s in the cloud,’ I remarked.

I had no idea if that was actually how the cloud worked, but Vivian seemed to believe it, slamming her palm against the body of the door in frustration and then throwing another kick into it for good measure.

Through the foggy glass, I saw a few people careening over, including Steve and security, wondering what I had said to piss her off this much.

‘It was a clever crime, really,’ I rambled on.

‘There are so many local council grants, donations from big corporations, government sponsored funding…And when you assemble the dream team of the master financial fraudster, the Director of SFO at the Met, and some household-name political chap who probably dines with all the bigwigs with the cash and the connections, you’ve got a business that just flows money.

All with the perfect image of actually being three men giving back to the community they love so dearly.

You want to know how much they lined their own pockets with, Vivian?

Over the 90s, they pocketed ￡4.2 million for themselves.

Just think how much that would be in today’s money. ’

Vivian just shook her head at me. It was like she was aghast at my actions but not at those of her predecessors or superiors.

‘But of course, that’s not just it, is it?

’ I asked rhetorically as I yanked a few of the other files I had stolen from Cis’s office out of my bag and slapped them onto the table.

They were copies, of course; I needed to cover my back somehow.

‘See, maybe it would be forgivable if the police had let this slip past them once, maybe even twice. But no. There wasn’t just one children’s home, there were three.

Three children’s homes across London that didn’t get the funding they needed for vital repairs and work.

And it wasn’t just children’s homes. Hospital clinics.

Soup kitchens for the homeless. Housing for the vulnerable…

and all those people came forward. All those people tried to take legal action, and through the power of police and politics, somehow it never made it to any courthouse. ’

I leaned forward, fixing her with a cold hard stare, determined to drive the point home.

‘These community funds, grants and donations were created to help people, and Macleod, O’Neill and Clark used them as a way to line their own pockets.

Nothing more to it than that. There was no political motive, no social objective; they did it purely out of greed.

So, they could sit on a portion of the proceeds, while the world showered them with praise for being the good men they were. ’

I thought I had maybe broken Vivian. I stared at the woman with her head firmly sat in her hands.

She was partly to blame for all of this.

She had taken the police oath just like everyone else at the station, and had betrayed a good portion of the vows she’d sworn by keeping all of Macleod’s corruption under wraps.

‘You really think you’re going to have a career in any police station after this, Gareth?’ she murmured, head still in hands.

‘I don’t want a career in the police. I want those two things, the name of the witness and the unredacted case files. Agree to them, and I’ll cancel the emails and go.’

Vivian repeatedly exhaled, puffing out small bursts of air as she walked back to her chair, clutching onto her dry, clumped strands of hair. I didn’t really have a contingency plan for what would happen if she had a heart attack.

‘How long do I have?’ she asked, almost pleadingly now.

‘Two minutes. I scheduled it to go out at 11.55, unless – of course – I cancel it from my phone.’

‘And why should I believe you?’

‘I mean, give it two minutes if you want. I’m sure your phone will be ringing off the hook after that, and then you’ll have your answer about whether I’m telling the truth.’

I could see her weighing up the options, small beads of sweat beginning to form on her forehead as she stood with her arms planted on the surface of her desk.

‘How do I know that you won’t just send it to the press after you’ve got what you want?’ she asked, going through all the possible options in her head.

‘Why would I do that? How would that help me? After this, you’ll have my letter of resignation on your desk, and you’ll never see me again.’

‘Even if Fran is still found guilty?’

‘A deal’s a deal.’