And now I’ll…

… bring you up to date with my situation.

The Making of a Fugitive – Episode Four
By September 2004, I was the key witness to the involvement of Shimrod in a proposed bank fraud. I had lost my job and reputation. I was in a miserable, leaky witness protection programme that had plainly not protected the other witness.

The Bank was rid of Melancthe and me, they had appointed a new security manager, and they were hoping to forget it all. It would suit their book if Shimrod never came to trial. Bad publicity.

The police were still voraciously keen, and utterly determined to prosecute, especially after Melancthe’s suspicious demise, so there was no chance I’d be off the hook. Trial set for July 2005.

It was about this time that my mother’s inheritance came through. I had been so preoccupied with my own troubles, I had hardly thought about it, but the sale of the family home in Surrey turned out to result in a large sum of money, even after Inheritance Tax. Witness protection had effectively removed my former life, no loose ends.

I’m not going into detail about what I did next, because it might leave a bit of a trail for someone to follow. In summary, after a few intermediate transactions involving “brass plate” companies based in Northern Cyprus, I am now the senior director of a little Athens company which was up for sale with virtually no assets, but a respectable reputation. Together with legal and accountancy fees it cost me some nine percent of my wealth. My money is in a bank account under the company’s name, but I am the sole signatory now.

I still have my own passport, but I call myself something different now, and different from my witness protection identity. My little Greek company sends money as director’s fees every month into the local bank here, I have a credit card in the company’s name, the company owns my house and boat. In due course, I dare say I shall be paying tax in Greece, but my sleeping partner in the company – a reasonably-priced lawyer – will deal with that. I’m feeling a lot safer than I did in Glasgow.

It’s my hope that no-one can find me now. Will the police be looking? You’d better believe it. They are probably dragging The Clyde at this very moment. Will I go back for the trial? I doubt it. I value my skin too much to care whether Shimrod goes free or not.

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