The detective shrugged. ‘You know what? I don’t really care what the nature of your relationship was. I don’t care if you knobbed her halfway to next Wednesday. What is of interest to me, Mr Nicholls, is that you are on record as having given this young woman information, which, on the twenty-eighth of February, she told a friend was “going to bring us some serious profit”. And which her and her brother’s fund’s bank accounts show did in fact bring them some “serious profit”.’

An hour later, bailed for a fortnight, Ed sat in Paul Wilkes’s office. Paul poured them both a whisky, and they sat in silence while Ed drank his. He was becoming oddly used to the taste of strong alcohol in daylight hours.

‘I can’t be held responsible for what she told her brother. I can’t go around checking whether every potential partner has a brother who works in finance. I mean who does that? Surely they’re going to see that.’

Paul leant back in his chair and sighed, like someone well used to explaining the obvious. ‘The chain comes back to you. She and her brother made a barrow-load of money, and they did it illegally on information you gave her.’

‘I was trying to help her.’

‘Well, you certainly did that. But the SFA and the SOCA won’t care what your motives were, Ed.’

‘Can we stop talking in acronyms? I have no idea who you’re talking about.’

‘Well, basically, try and imagine every serious crime-fighting body that has anything to do with finance. Or crime. That’s basically who is investigating you right now.’

‘You make it sound like I’m actually going to be charged.’ Ed put the whisky on the table beside him.

‘I think it’s extremely likely, yes. And I think we may be in court pretty quickly. They’re trying to speed up these cases.’

Ed stared at him. Then his head sank into his hands. ‘This is a nightmare. I just … I just wanted her to go away, Paul. I want this to go away.’

‘Well, the best we can hope for at the moment is that we can convince them that you’re basically just a geek who was in over his head.’

‘Great.’

‘You got any better ideas?’

Ed shook his head.

‘Then just sit tight.’

‘I need to do something, Paul. I need to get back to work. I don’t know what to do if I’m not working. I’m going nuts down there in Nowheresville.’

‘Like I said, I know the prosecutors want to get this sewn up quickly. But if I were you I’d stay put for now. The SFA may well leak this and then the shit is really going to hit the fan. I’ve drawn up a statement saying you’re completely innocent and that we have every confidence your name will be cleared once this goes to court. But the moment this gets out, the media are going to be all over you like a bad suit. The best thing you can do is hide out down there in Nowheresville for another week or so.’ Paul scribbled a note on his legal pad.

Ed gazed at the upside-down writing. ‘Do you think this will get into the papers?’

‘I don’t know. Probably. It might be a good idea to talk to your family, anyway, just so they’re prepared for any negative publicity.’

Ed rested his hands on his knees. ‘I can’t.’

‘You can’t what?’

‘Tell my dad about all this. He’s sick. This would …’ He shook his head. When he finally looked up, Paul was watching him steadily.

‘Well, that’s got to be your decision. But, as I said, I think it would be wise for you to remain somewhere out of reach when it all blows up. Mayfly obviously doesn’t want you anywhere near its offices until it’s all sorted. There’s too much money riding on the product launch. So you need to steer clear of anyone associated with the company. No calls. No emails. And if anyone does happen to locate you, for God’s sake, don’t say anything. To anyone.’ He tapped his pen, signalling the end of the conversation.

‘So basically I hide in the middle of nowhere, keep schtum, and twiddle my thumbs until I get sent to prison.’

The lawyer just stood, closed the file on his desk. ‘Well, we’re putting our best team on it. We’ll do our best to make sure it doesn’t come to that.’

Ed stood, and made to leave, slowly digesting the fact that his lawyer had not denied any of it. Paul opened the door to show him out. ‘And next time, Ed? Just tell her you’re not really interested. Saves a whole lot of trouble.’

Ed stood blinking on the steps of Paul’s office, surrounded by office workers and lead-stained buildings, couriers tugging helmets from sweaty heads, bare-legged secretaries laughing on their way to eat sandwiches in the park, and felt a sudden pang for his old life. The one with his Nespresso machine in his office and his secretary nipping out for sushi, and his apartment with the views over the city, and the worst thing that afternoon being the prospect of having to lie on the couch in his office and listen to the Suits drone on about profit and loss. He had never really measured his life by that of anyone else but now he felt cripplingly envious of the people around him with their everyday concerns, their ability to get on a Tube back to their own homes, their families. The simple pleasures of going for a meal with friends, to stretch out in front of the television with his arm around someone. What did he have? Weeks of being stuck in an empty house, with nobody to talk to, facing the prospect of imminent prosecution.

He thought back to the previous week, to waking up on his sofa at Beachfront with no idea how he had got there, his mouth as dry as if it had been packed with cotton wool, his glasses neatly folded on the coffee-table. It was the third time in as many weeks that he’d been so drunk he couldn’t remember how he’d got home, the first time he had woken with empty pockets.