Franklin was struggling to catch his breath and felt as though he was experiencing a distorted nightmare. He glared at his mobile for a few seconds as if it had betrayed him, then snapped back to reality and placed it back inside his jacket pocket. He knew he had to buy himself some thinking time and that meant getting out of the media glare. His father owned a secluded sea ranch in Carmel that very few people knew about. It was situated on the beach and enjoyed spectacular one-hundred-and-eighty-degree views of the Pacific Ocean.

He’d stayed there many times with his own family and remembered his father kept a set of keys for it on a wooden rack in the main hallway. He grabbed them and made his way through the house to an internal door that led to a large triple garage, positioned to the side of the property. Inside were a Rolls-Royce, an Aston Martin convertible and a black Range Rover. He knew the keys for all three would be resting on the passenger side sun visors and opted for the relative anonymity of the Range Rover.

The mansion had a rear entrance, which he hoped the media scrum out front weren’t yet aware of. He gunned the four-litre engine into life and used the remote on the dash to open the garage door. A minute later, he hit the code for the rear electric gates and headed south on the coastal road to Carmel.

The one-hundred-and-thirty-mile drive took just under three hours and, during the journey, Franklin worked his way through more than twenty local radio news stations, desperately trying to escape the relentless media coverage of the BBC revelations. By the time he parked up on the drive outside the sea ranch, his mood had severely darkened and he was desperate for the sanctuary it offered.

As soon as he was safely ensconced inside, he helped himself to a large tumbler of his father’s favourite bourbon, and it took him less than an hour to drain the bottle. The alcohol started to kick in and, as his mind began to become slightly cloudy, his thinking became more confused. He wondered if he had the mental strength to emulate his father and take his own life, but realised he wasn’t brave enough. He decided he would try and reach out to Cathy once more. If he could get her back on side, he had a chance of mounting a fightback. He tried her continuously for the next hour but, every time, her voicemail kicked in.

Franklin found a second bottle of bourbon inside the antique walnut drinks globe and poured himself another glass. He stood in front of the curved floor-to-ceiling windows and gazed out at the sheer vastness of the ocean. The tide was in and the sea was rough but he suddenly felt an irresistible urge to be down on the beach, to be closer to the water.