once I’d forged these two documents, I knew that I was damned. These
were forgeries. Up until now I had prevaricated, been economical with
the truth, refused to separate out numbers which others could have
easily found, and made outrageous claims for funding from London. If
I had to stand in front of a jury, I’d have confessed to false accounting
and probably obtaining property by deception. But now I’d added a
new crime to this catalogue. I couldn’t say that anyone else was responsible.
I couldn’t pass it off as a white lie, needed at the time. I had
physically cut out somebody’s signature, glued it to a piece of paper,
taken it to my flat, faxed it back to myself, and now I was going to hand
it to Rachel Yong to pass on to the auditors. (Leeson with Whitley,
1997: 238–9)