The Letter

The journey home had been horrendous and he thought that it would never end. But it had, and he was finally home. Closing the front door on the bitter winter wind that had cut through him only minutes previously, he turned on the hall light. He stood with him back against the door and rested for a minute. It had been a long day. In fact, it had been a long week. Monday seemed like a lifetime ago, even though only three days had passed.

He reached down to pick up the mail that was on the carpet and set off into the lounge. Pausing only to throw the letters in his hand onto the sofa, he quickly lit the fire and then went to fix himself a drink. He did not normally drink so early in the evening, preferring a large measure of brandy post-dinner instead. But he did not really care about routine. Not this week.

Drink in hand, he made his way to the sofa and sat down. He slowly sipped his drink and stare into the mock flame effect that dance before his eyes. He just sat there, staring at the fire and letting the minutes pass him by.

He was not sure how long his mind had wandered for before he came back to the present. He knew that he was hungry and should really fix himself something to eat. He could not face anything major. Truth be told, he had not really eaten properly all week. He would just have something light. Something to take the edge off the hunger pangs.

Five minutes later he returned to the lounge with some cheese on rustic bread. It was nothing fancy but it would serve its purpose. He turned the fire down a notch since the room was nicely warmed through and fixed himself another drink, before returning to the sofa and his necessary snack.

Whilst chewing on one of his open sandwiches, he started to flick through the mail opening each one in turn. Bill, Bill, Charity appeal, Bill. Then he saw the last letter in the pile, one completely different to the normal ‘run of the mill’ mail that he normally received. It was just a standard white envelope, with hand written address and a second class stamp on it.

He recognised the hand writing immediately. It was distinctive. He would know it anyway. Then he looked at the post mark that covered the stamp. Saturday, it had been post marked Saturday. It was post marked before.

He quickly ripped open the envelope and pulled out the sheets of writing paper inside. Each piece was hand written in the same distinctive handwriting.

He slowly took a drink from the glass that rested on the arm of the sofa and started to read.



Dear Tom,

You probably have been asking yourself why I did it. You probably have been wondering whether there was something that you missed, something that you should have seen. You probably have been wondering whether there was something that you could have done to prevent it. I want to explain. I want you to know why and also why I could never tell you before now.

It all started six months ago. Do you remember? You had had that meeting with the Finance Director and had come storming into the office afterwards. You had just found out that someone had been embezzling money from the company. Do you remember? That was when it all started.
The investigation was swift and the evidence was found on Mathew’s computer. The investigators found copies of all the fake invoices that had been processed by Accounts. They found evidence which linked him to the PO Box number that the cheques had been issued to.

I can still remember your anger when the Crown Prosecution Service said that they did not have enough to bring the case to trial. But did that really matter in the end? He had lost everything anyway. His job, his reputation, even his family left him. He had nothing left. That was why he killed himself.

But he had protested his innocence until the very end. Even in his suicide note he maintained he was innocent and that he had been framed for the fraud. But, in the end, this was not enough to keep him going. He had lost everything and had nothing to live for anymore. That was why he killed himself in the end.

You believed that his guilt had finally gotten to him. You believed that he could no longer handle the guilt of stealing all that money from the company. You believed that, in taking his own life, he had proven that he had done it.

It is hard to believe that it was four months ago that Mathew’s killed himself. Even now I can still remember every detail of the day that we found out. That day as haunted me ever since.

He went to the grave protesting his innocence and the truth of it is he was. Mathew’s did not do it. I did. I was the one that took the money. I was the one that perpetrated the fraud against the company.

I had been desperate for money. I was on the verge of losing the house because I could not afford to keep up the payments. I had been banking on a pay rise to help but it was not going to happen. Do you remember? The company had been going through a bad patch and no one was going to get a pay rise or a bonus that year.

I was desperate and so I came up with the plan. It was very simple really. Submit fake invoices, get Accounts to process them, and then cash the cheques. I remember my nerves the first time that I did it. I am surprised that I did not crack there and then. I was sure that you would have noticed at the time. But you didn’t and I got away with it.

I cannot say that I did not feel guilty about what I had done because I did. However, what choice did I have? I need the money and there was no other way of getting it.

Once business was better and I got that pay rise I did think of stopping. I did think of giving it up. Looking back with hindsight I wish I had. But I did not. After all, it had been a year and I had not been caught.

But I did stop taking the money for myself. I started to make donations to charity with it instead. I think donating the money helped ease my conscience a bit. After all, I was no longer doing it for my benefit. I was doing it for the benefit of others now. I felt like a modern day Robin Hood, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. I did start feeling good about myself. It is just a shame that it did not last that long.

I had always had a plan in place, just in case my scheme got uncovered. It was never actually meant to be Mathew’s who took the fall. It should have been Johnston. He was perfect for the role of fall guy, especially after how he humiliated you over the Franken fiasco. He deserved to be taken down.

It would have been Johnston if he had not had that heart attack which took him out of the picture. How could he be blamed for something when he was not around?

It was purely by chance that it was Mathew’s that got picked to be the replacement. If he had not gone back to the hotel room with Sandra at the Christmas Party then he might never have been picked. But he did and he was.

It was easy enough to befriend him really, to gain his trust. I think he was desperate to feel wanted. So, the squash games started, and then the nights out. Within a very short space of time I knew his computer password, which is all I ever really wanted from him.

So, when everything got discovered it was easy to plant the evidence on his computer. If only I had known then how it would have played out. If only I had known what would have happened. But I didn’t know and so I framed him.

I felt relieved when he was sacked. I was relieved that it was over with. I was relieved that I had gotten away with it. If only it had lasted.

Mathew’s death hit me hard. After all, I was to blame for it. I was responsible for what happened to him. If I had not done it, if I had not planted the evidence on his computer, then he would have been alive. But I did and he is not.

For four months I have had to live with the knowledge of what I have done. For four months I have had to live with the knowledge that I am responsible for his death. I have lived with this for four months and I cannot live with it any longer.

I am responsible for him taking his life. I am responsible for pulling the trigger. I am responsible for his death. I am responsible and I cannot live with the guilt any longer.

This is why I am going to end it tonight. Now you know the reason. You know the reason why I can no longer go on living with myself, and the reason why I could never have come to you to explain.

I am not sorry for starting the fraud. After all, it was only money. But I am sorry that I continued with it when I did not need to. I am sorry that I framed Mathew’s for it rather than taking responsibility for it myself.

I am sorry that I betrayed your trust. A part of me thinks that I should not be writing this letter, that I should not be explaining it to you. But
I know that I must. I know that you need to know the truth. You need to know what I have done and why I cannot live with the guilt any longer.

I hope that you can forgive me but I understand if you cannot. You deserve to know the truth. What you do with it I leave up to you.

I’m sorry.

David



Tom stared at the last page of the letter. He had no idea what his friend had done. He had no idea what he had been going through. He had no idea the secret that had been slowly eating away at him.

He finished the last of the drink that remained in his glass before going to fix another one, which he quickly downed.

David had always been a good friend to him. He had always been there for him, both at work and away from it. He had always been there when he need him.

Putting the empty glass down, he went over to ash tray that sat on the coffee table and started to tear the letter into little pieces. He dropped the pieces into the ash tray and lit a match, which he dropped on top of them. He watched the paper burn until all that was left was the blackened remains of David’s confession.

He may not have been therefore him at the end, but he could be there for him now.