I'm writing to you from the interrogation rooms of Paris' financial police. I was first interviewed by a guy called Jean-Michel something-or-other who wanted to know what I'd done with 5 billion euros. I thought it was blatantly obvious what I had done, I'd misplaced it in the planets only global casino and gone tits-up.
They bought me my lap top and wanted to see what I had inside, thinking that maybe I'd wire transfered the money to an offshore account in the Cayman's. But this is where they slipped up. Jean-Michel is taking a break and the chap who was guarding me has sneaked off for a cigarette, or whatever it is policemen do when they sneak off. They've left me with my lap top.
It has already been reported what a dab hand I am at computers, so as soon I was left alone, I set to work. Wireless is a great invention by the way, I was able to hack in to the financial police's database of suspects in custody. Gives a whole new meaning to the term safe custody (Sorry, banking joke, just couldn't resist it) I learned that the guy in the cell next to me is called Pierre Pompadou and he was arrested for drunk and disorderly behaviour and stealing a policeman's kepi on the Champs Elysee. Well this was a no brainer. I quickly changed my cell number with his.
Monsieur Pompadou is set to be released in a few hours, just after the guards shift change. So as long as I get sent back before the new guards start their shift, what will happen is that when the time comes to release Monsieur Pompadou, in actual fact it'll be yours truly who gets to walk in to the Paris moonlight. While I get a fine and caution, poor Monsieur Pompadou is left owing 5 billion euros, give or take a few million. This is of course regrettable, but desperate times calls for desperate measures.
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