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Levine the Fordster. How's your rash?

Excuse me, that's my personal. No, you said you're getting a rash the other day from all the tension. Oh, right that rash.

Yes, no, it is a bit better. Thanks. Yeah. Okay. Good. I was slightly concerned. It was my link. Safracker in this small studio that was setting you off. You're very fragrant. Man. Thank you.

You're ready for the final part of the story. I think I am.

Singapore Thursday the 23rd of February 1995 930 PM. Simon Jones operations manager for South Asia.

Sit at Nick Leeson's desk on the 14th floor of Bearing's offices in Ocean Towers. The desk is littered with papers, packets of fruit pastels and Kinder Ectoys.

Because famously he's eight years old. Jones is Nick Leeson's immediate boss. He needs to find Leeson and quick.

We'll be down the playground.

He takes a screwdriver and forces the drawer open. He grabs a handful of printouts.

They're for an account called eight eight eight eight eight. His frown deepens as he reads none of the numbers make sense.

The printouts are showing tens of millions of pounds worth of losses.

Something in the desk drawer catches Jones's eye. It's a tube of glue and some scissors.

He picks up a draft of a letter to the auditors about the missing 7.78 billion yen.

A cutout signature is glued to the bottom. A bead of sweat breaks on his forehead.

Leeson has forged the letter and judging from these printouts, he's also forged his profits.

He feels a hand on his shoulder.

Mr. Jones, this just came for you.

It's Rizel, one of Leeson's backroom staff. She's holding a fax. It's from Nick Leeson.

It reads,

My sincere apologies for the predicament that I have left you in. It was neither my intentional aim for this to happen,

...