‘We’re sending funds out to Savannah’s organisation.’ Dash was tapping his pen on his notepad. ‘The owners okayed that.’

Just as the Editor gets his definite article, so too in a newspaper do the owners.

‘But we still don’t know’ – Casey was fiddling with some treasury tags – ‘who is behind it all.’

‘Greystone, surely?’ Dash looked up, surprised.

‘Raz had never heard his name,’ said Casey. ‘Dylan didn’t behave as if Greystone was his boss. There is somebody else.’

‘And did you find out who that might be while you were in Chittagong?’ Dash asked briskly.

‘No.’ Casey was staring at the wall behind his head. ‘We never got anywhere near him.’

‘And can you think of any way of getting to that person?’

‘No,’ Casey admitted. ‘Not immediately.’

‘Well. There we go.’ Dash turned to Miranda, trying to move the conversation forward.

‘I wonder,’ Miranda pondered, ‘when Greystone’s people will start telling the prospective parents that the women have gone missing in Bangladesh? Presumably, the parents whose surrogates were pregnant will all go into meltdown.’

‘Honestly.’ Hessa dropped her head into her hands. ‘What a mess.’

‘If this gang hold their nerve,’ Casey persisted, ‘they can get things back to normal in a few months’ time. It’s a setback, sure, but if we don’t nail the key people now, they could just start up again. I imagine the parents don’t know each other. So they could tell each set of parents, “Terribly sorry, tragic miscarriage. It can happen, we did warn you.” And the parents won’t know the difference.’

Casey imagined the pockets of grief all over the world. For all those lost children, who weren’t lost at all, not really.

‘And those kids just grow up in Bangladesh?’ Dash asked. ‘Abandoned children growing up in that little safe house? They’ll never fit in.’

‘I don’t know.’ Casey stared blankly at him. ‘I don’t know.’

‘For fuck’s sake.’ Dash was angry, quite suddenly. ‘How can we ever fix this, Casey? These are children. Children.’

The room fell into silence, startled by his anger. A glance flickered between Casey and Miranda.

‘We could never just go in and fix it . . .’ Casey’s words fell away. ‘It’s not how it works. We know that . . .’

‘We will think of a solution,’ said Miranda. ‘For the time being, those women need medical care and a decent place to live. They’ve got that. As things progress, we can see what the women want – for themselves and their children – and we can work that out.’

‘It’ll be a nightmare.’

‘But for now’ – Miranda spoke smoothly into the hush – ‘the mastermind may think they can just get away with it. Carry on. Maybe even start up again, quite soon . . .’

‘So they won’t necessarily panic,’ Hessa chimed in evenly.