Maxwell | Legacy Of Lies | 4
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So, Alice, this is the final episode. I am really relieved you said that because it's just been very tense. It kind of feels like a toxic environment, you know, it's just not working. No, I mean of the series. Yes, me too. Do we need to talk? Can't wait for the next one. Oh, God. Sunday, the 1st of December, 1991, 10pm, Hoban Circus. In his office at the Daily Mirror, Richard Stott answers the ringing phone.

There's nothing unusual about the paper's editor taking calls at this late hour, but there's nothing ordinary about what he's told by the mysterious caller. "The four horsemen are in the vanway." "The eagle has landed." Before Stott can reply, the line goes dead. The 48-year-old runs his fingers through his jet black hair, then anxiously wraps them on his desk. Strange as this message may sound, he's pretty sure he knows what it means.

The vanway is where the Daily Mirror's vans line up to collect copies of the paper for distribution. The messenger is letting him know that the agents of the apocalypse are upon them. Stott curses himself. He's been in denial for too long. He picks up a copy of the Daily Mirror, published the day after Robert Maxwell's sudden death. His heart sinks as he reads the headline he personally wrote. The man who saved the mirror. Now, nearly a month later, Stott feels like a damn fool.

He spent the days immediately following his proprietor's demise writing gushing tributes. He wasn't alone. Numerous politicians, business leaders and royals reacted with messages of sorrow. Russian President Gorbachev and British Prime Minister John Major among them. US President George Bush extolled his humanitarian endeavours and unwavering fight against oppression. Wow.

But soon rumours started circulating that Maxwell's business dealings had been far from scrupulous. This week, The Independent ran a story claiming the serious fraud squad is looking into Maxwell's finances. Word is, there's worse to come. Stott grabs his coat and heads to a favoured hacks hangout, Yeoldy Cheshire Cheese Pub on Fleet Street.

Making his way through the maze of wood-panelled rooms, cigarette smoke billowing around him, Stott reaches his destination, a small nook at the far end. It's the most private part of the pub. There, he shakes the hand of the reporter friend from The Guardian who's waiting. How worried should I be? I'm not going to sugarcoat it, Rich. We're about to run a story about your late boss stealing masses of cash from the Mirror's pension fund. Our sources are rock solid. It's going to stand up.

It's a bitter blow for Stott, but he thanks his friend for his honesty. Left alone to process the news, he knocks back a scotch, then another. Stott has a tough decision to make: do nothing and claim ignorance when the story breaks in every other paper,

or come clean to the Mirror's readers and risk the wrath of the management. Oof, that is not a nice choice. It's a no-brainer for Stott. He's a serious newsman, and regardless of what it might mean for his job, this is the story of a lifetime. Back in the office, he tries to reach Kevin Maxwell. He's questioned him over the company's financial affairs before and come up against a brick wall, but he has to give him a right to reply. As usual, though, he gets no answer.

Stott goes over to the production editor, who's about to put tomorrow's paper to bed. Don't send any more pages to press. We need to clear the splash and at least three spreads. Stott assembles the remaining editorial team. We're in for a late one, folks. This might be the most important issue we've ever run. Stott sits down at the production editor's large screen and types out a new front page headline. Millions Missing from the Mirror.

Maxwell's own newspaper is about to expose him for the fraud he really was.

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And I hope you know if you're ever part of a scandal, we'll do the same here. If I'm dead and gone, do your worst. If I'm still alive, go easy on me. OK, deal. From Wondery, I'm Matt Ford. And I'm Alice Levine. And this is British Scandal. British Scandal.

So, Alice, the last episode had quite an ominous ending. Yeah, that vivid image of Maxwell stood on the Lady Galane, staring out into the waves. It really felt like everything was about to unravel. We were sort of on the precipice of everything being revealed, weren't we? Yes, and oddly, at times...

You can see why people might feel quite sorry for him because this is a bloke on the edge. He's always wanted to be accepted by the establishment. He's doing everything he can to try and keep this thing afloat. There's something really pathetic and almost childlike about him.

that in a way makes you want to root for him. On one side, yes. On the other side, bully, a liar, horrible to his family, has stolen the pensions of loads of innocent people. So a bit of column A, a bit of column B, you know? Yes, well, if you're a column B person, this is the episode for you. This is episode four, Legacy of Lies. It's a month earlier, the 5th of November, 1991, Hoban Circus.

In his office at Mirror Group Newspapers, Kevin hangs up the phone in a state of shock. The captain of the Lady Galane has just informed him that his father is missing at sea, presumed dead. Nobody knows exactly what has happened, but Kevin knows one thing for certain. His life will never be the same again. I'm obviously really paranoid and suspicious now from doing this for a long time. And I'm thinking Canucon. I'm thinking just check the garage. Canucon on a grander scale.

Moments later, Ian arrives looking shaky and pale. Kevin briefly embraces his brother, but he doesn't have time for sentiment right now. If he is going to survive this, he has to be smart. Nothing's official yet. Once it is, all hell will break loose. I think we have to put off confirming Dad's missing for as long as we can. Imagine having to plan the PR in a moment like that. Kevin waits for Ian's response, but his brother looks at him like he's a monster.

Kevin doesn't care. Ian has always let emotion get the better of him, and right now they need to be practical. Kevin is sure that stalling is exactly what his father would do. Not necessarily the guiding light you should be following. But it makes no difference. Within the hour, news of Maxwell's suspected drowning is being reported on news channels across the world. To Kevin's surprise, the story brings him some much-needed respite.

He's hardly slept in days and is exhausted from fending off institutions like Goldman Sachs and Swiss Bank. But now, trading in the company's shares is suspended, and out of respect, the banks back off. Kevin suddenly thinks the unthinkable. Did his dad do this on purpose to give the rest of them some breathing space? He forces the idea out of his head. His dad was too proud to take his own life.

At 6pm, Kevin is chairing an emergency board meeting when his PA tearfully informs the room that Maxwell's naked body has been found at sea. Once again, Kevin tries to quash his emotions as he addresses the board, but he can't get out more than a stutter, and now the tears come. He can hardly bear the awkward glances around the table as Ian rushes to his side. No choice now, he lets his brother comfort him.

Returning to his office, Kevin calls Betty, who has already flown out to the yacht. Ian and I want to help in any way we can, Mum. Just let us know what to do. I will take care of the funeral and the autopsy, darling. You must make sure your father's businesses are safe. Promise me you'll do that. I promise. I won't let Dad down. Half an hour later, Kevin stands outside the MGN building, Ian beside him. He makes a statement to the gathered press.

Love him or hate him, Robert Maxwell touched the lives of many millions of people. I mean, that can be interpreted many ways. Through the fog of grief, Kevin is determined to stay focused and practical. He doesn't know what happened to his dad, whether it was an accident, suicide or something more sinister. All he knows is Robert Maxwell has left behind a terrible mess and it's down to him to clear it up.

It's 8pm on the same day, the 5th of November 1991, Gran Canaria. Stepping onto her father's yacht, Ghislaine Maxwell's knees buckle beneath her. She doesn't even feel it when she hits the deck, nor can she speak as her brother Philip helps her up. Despite the four-hour flight here, Ghislaine is still in shock. She can't comprehend that the most important man in her life is gone. Ghislaine is 29 years old, but she still feels every inch daddy's little girl.

The name of this boat proves how close she and her father were. While most of her six siblings were terrified of their dad's famous temper, he rarely raised his voice to Ghislaine. She saw a different, warmer side to him. For that, she's eternally grateful. Feeling stronger, Ghislaine picks herself up. "I need to be by myself for a while." She makes her way downstairs to her dad's stateroom, his private quarters.

Taking in the grandeur of the study, with its solid oak panelling and velvet furnishings, she feels bereft. It's simply not the same without him here. Ghislaine sits at the desk and idly looks at the papers in front of her. A mass of accounts she can barely make sense of. But suddenly, Ghislaine is gripped by the feeling her dad is sending her a message. When she spoke to Kevin earlier, he told her he promised their mum he'd make sure the businesses were looked after.

Now, surrounded by her father's documents, Ghislaine knows he wouldn't want anyone snooping into his private affairs, alive or dead. She has to get rid of this stuff. Oh, whoa, okay. The trouble is, the boat is teeming with people.

Docting Gran Canaria is playing host to a team of Spanish police, as well as a reporter and photographer from the Daily Mirror who accompanied Betty and Philip on their journey out. Not great. Overwhelmed by a new sense of determination, Ghislaine heads up onto the deck. The police officers are still milling around, taking statements from the crew.

The last thing Ghislaine wants to do is mess with the investigation into her father's death. That's reassuring. But she's convinced it was a terrible accident. Surely more questions can wait. She asks her mother to send them away, but Betty is unsure. We need to let them do their job, darling. Please, Mum, they can come back tomorrow. It's been such a long day. We need time alone as a family. Her mother nods, finally in agreement. But then she looks over Ghislaine's shoulder and sighs.

I wish someone would tell that to the press pack. Ghislaine had forgotten about the hordes of photographers and reporters on the shore. It's clear they're not going anywhere until they've had an update. Half an hour later, wearing a fitted tartan suit, hair scraped back into a ponytail, Ghislaine steps back onto the floodlit deck of the boat. Hundreds of cameras flash and reporters jostle for position. Her hand shakes as she holds her hastily written speech.

Somehow, she manages to sound calm as she speaks. First in fluent Spanish, then in English. I want to thank the military and police in Tenerife. I also want to thank the press for their courtesy and consideration at this time. But now we ask that you leave us alone to grieve in private.

It's hard to think of it now, but that was sort of her first proper public outing. And in that moment, she kind of became the unofficial head of the family. At that moment, the public are quite sympathetic to Ghislaine Maxwell. Yeah, she's just a young woman mourning her father. Heading back inside the boat, Ghislaine feels stronger, more in control. She hugs her mum and Philip and suggests they all get an early night. But Philip has already asked the kitchen to prepare a late supper.

Once again thwarted, Ghislaine silently picks at her food as they sit at the table. Grief and nerves overwhelming her. She can't eat her thing. It's gone midnight before everyone finally goes to bed. Watching her mum head off to her father's private quarters, Ghislaine inwardly sighs. She daren't even try to get near his documents now. His study is too close to the bedroom. She will have to wait a little longer.

The following morning, as the sun rises, Ghislaine hasn't slept a wink, but she's gripped with a fierce sense of purpose. She knows her mother is an early riser. She'll be up any minute now, and Ghislaine will be ready. Sure enough, Betty is soon awake and heading to the upper deck. Not knowing how soon she'll return...

Ghislaine rushes to her dad's study and removes every box of files, taking them to the other end of the yacht where the crew members sleep. Then she orders Gus Rankin to summon the crew. Do it quietly. I don't want anyone else woken up. Once the crew are assembled before her, Ghislaine picks up the first box and tips the paperwork onto the floor. I order you to shred everything you can see. Nothing suspect here. Just shred all these documents.

Ghislaine doesn't know what's been going on with her father's financial affairs, but she's heard on the rumour mill things might have been bad. Her last gift to her beloved daddy is ensuring his secrets are buried with him. It's two days later, the 7th of November 1991, Jerusalem, Israel. Outside the new city's grand King David Hotel, Betty Maxwell squints against the winter sun.

Dressed in a smart black dress, she steps into her waiting limousine and picks up the document on the empty seat beside her. Betty stares at it for a moment. It's the pathology report into her husband's death. She's not sure if she's ready to read it, but she knows the questions will keep circling around in her head if she doesn't. Betty still isn't certain Bob's death was an accident, not that anything had seemed amiss when she identified the body. In death, as in life, she felt Bob cut an impressive figure,

He seemed taller to her, with a look of extreme dignity, even defiance. But there was nothing abnormal. Even his hair dye hadn't run. It was the activity of the authorities on the boat that had puzzled Betty. The main cabin hadn't been sealed by the police, and nothing had been taken away for analysis. And despite the captain's assurances to her and Ghislaine that Bob's mood had been good during his last days, Betty was left with a strange sense of unease. She forces herself to open the report.

On reading its conclusion, she's overwhelmed with relief. It states firmly that Bob had a cardiovascular attack. That explains why the initial post-mortem found no water in his lungs, determining he didn't drown. He either had a heart attack then fell into the water, or else he fell and had a heart attack on impact. It makes total sense. That weight lifted, Betty finally feels she can concentrate on the reason she's here, her husband's funeral.

He's being buried on the sacred Mount of Olives, thought by Jews to be one of the closest sites to God on Earth. Wow. Arriving there with the children in a fleet of limousines, Betty is greeted by Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Shemir and several other cabinet ministers. This is unreal. Bob is receiving nothing less than a state funeral. She couldn't be prouder. Lights on the horizon of the old city twinkle in the moonlight as the Jewish ceremony gets underway.

But there's a problem. Bob had got so fat before he died, his body won't shift into the hole that's been dug. After some jostling from four rabbis above ground, Bob suddenly slides forward, tilts upright and headbutts the rabbi waiting below. OK, I'm not a spiritual person, but that is not a great omen. The rabbi then falls under Bob's enormous weight.

Eventually, after a commotion that seems to go on for hours, Bob's body lies in its final resting place. And sorry to be ignorant, that's not how it's supposed to go. No, that is not a traditional Jewish burial. Later, back at the hotel, Betty sits in bed sipping scotch, pondering the events of the day. Just as she's about to sleep, there's a knock on the door.

Betty answers to find a tearful Ghislaine on the other side. Oh, darling, I know it's been a hard day. Why didn't you say something on the way back? It's not that, Mum. Ghislaine sits on the bed. Betty now sees how scared her daughter looks. When I got back to my room, there were all these messages from reporters. There's a rumour during the rounds that Dad was murdered. It can't be true, can it? No, of course not. But even as the words leave Betty's mouth, she doesn't quite believe them.

The familiar sense of unease returns. Could it be true? Could Bob have been murdered? And if so, who by? Really? Who are they suggesting? What, someone on the crew? Well, because no one saw him die, there obviously is a vacuum into which conspiracy theories will flood. And Robert Maxwell, given the life he led, has his fair share of enemies. So it's not the hardest death in the world to suggest there might have been something amiss about.

It's nearly a month later, the 1st of December, 1991, New York. Kevin Maxwell steps out of the headquarters of Goldman Sachs Bank, breathes in the cold Manhattan air and smiles. He jetted in on Concord with his wife Pandora first thing for a whistle-stop tour of his dad's creditors. A whistle-stop tour of his dad's creditors? There are many tours in New York, but that one is very, very niche. Yeah, I prefer the film and TV tour.

Ghostbusters fire station, Central Library, the house from Sex and the City. He's just finished his sixth appointment of the day, and while he's exhausted, he's happy. Reactions so far have varied from sympathy to threats, but Kevin's sure he's won most of them over with his careful strategy. He's pleaded ignorance about the depth of his father's debts before his death, and promised that once he's given full reign by the financial authorities to act, a solution will be found.

He's also assured them that the family's debt to its own company, MCC, is down to £60 million. But it's actually £230 million. Naughty, naughty. If Kevin learned anything from his father, it's how to fudge the facts convincingly. What a lovely trait to pass down through the generations. Heading to his waiting limo,

Kevin notices a copy of Rupert Murdoch's New York Post hanging from a nearby newsstand. He burns it to the ground. The headline reads, Maxwell murdered by Mossad? Kevin smiles. The idea of Israel's Secret Service killing his dad is nonsensical.

Maxwell donated millions of pounds to the country over the years. Is that as wild as it sounds? Well, there was a widespread theory at the time that Maxwell was gun-running for Mossad, got to know too much and therefore had to be bumped off. And with any conspiracy theory, the grains in his past may have proved to be fertile for that. He'd spent time in Berlin where it is believed he might have been a spy and therefore that plus this made people believe that it was genuine.

Kevin won't entertain any of the conspiracy theories doing the rounds about his dad's death. And if anything, they've helped. Any weight given to these rumours casts doubt over him committing suicide. That means Kevin can argue company finances aren't nearly as bad as critics are claiming. He chuckles at the irony of his father's greatest enemy, Murdoch...

doing them a favour in their darkest hour. It's not the traditional floral arrangement, but what a generous gift. Guzzling down an energy drink, Kevin is primed for his next appointment, an interview with CBS Television. Asked by the host whether he can ever really fill his father's shoes, Kevin has no qualms about bigging himself up.

My dad didn't suffer fools and he certainly wouldn't have made me chief executive of MCC if he didn't think I was up to the job. I'm really picturing Kendall Roy now in his most kind of pumped up, big chested state. I hope he did it in a baseball cap. By the time he and Pandora reached the American Israel Chamber of Commerce for a drinks reception, Kevin feels he could take on the world. Oh dear. His father was due to appear tonight to receive a Man of the Year award.

Kevin believes that with all he's had to deal with over the past week, he's a worthy stand-in. Thank you all so much for your kindness. My father was a giant, both in life and business. I will take great care of this on his behalf. Getting back onto Concord later that night, Kevin feels a rare sense of calm. He's done a great job of convincing everyone he's an honest man. He's even enjoyed taking the spotlight today, stepping out of his father's shadow at last. For the first time since his dad's death...

Kevin believes he can ride out this storm. He's jolted by the stewardess handing him the phone. It's his PA calling from London. She sounds panicked. Mr Maxwell, the Guardian have been calling non-stop. They're planning to run a story saying your father stole £350 million from the Mirror's pension fund and you knew about it. What should I tell them? Respite from the stress is always so finite. Kevin's mouth goes dry. He feels the colour drained from his face.

He wants to deny all knowledge, but he can't. Since his dad died, the company's finance director, Laurie Guest, and several other members of the board have been asking him to locate the money. Damn them. His father had told him it was invested in gilts, but some quick checks revealed that it wasn't the case. Kevin forces the only words he can muster from his lips. Tell them no comment. Hanging up, Kevin feels dizzy. He puts his head between his legs, tries to breathe deeply.

But it's no use. His zen state is gone. Even if he gets back to London before the Guardian's pressers start rolling, the genie is out of the bottle. This story will change everything. Robert Maxwell's reputation, and his own, will be completely destroyed.

The denial is unbelievable. The fact that you would have any sense of calm or of pride knowing that you were sitting on this information is just grotesque. It's almost like there's just brief moments where he forgets and goes, I'm on Concord, I'm having a whiskey. Oh, God, 350 million quid.

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It's 8am the next morning, the 2nd of December 1991, High Hoban. Kevin strides onto the Daily Mirror's editorial floor, flings open the door to Richard Stott's office and slams a copy of that morning's Daily Mirror onto the desk.

Is there any possibility the story's about something else? Oh, so good! Gorgeous.

He'd expected the Guardian story to be harsh, but hadn't even considered his father's own paper turning on the family. Kevin expected their loyalty. To his fury, the Mirror's editor holds his gaze, unapologetic. We're a newspaper, Mr Maxwell. At least, we used to be before your dad came along. Taking in Stott's angry face, Kevin realises this is a waste of energy.

As far as the editorial teams of his father's beloved newspapers are concerned, the horse has already bolted. Every member of the Maxwell family is guilty. The Mirror Board should be Kevin's top priority now. They will want him and Ian out, but Kevin is determined not to go down without a fight. This sounds familiar. Returning to his executive office, Kevin picks up a stress ball and squeezes his fingers around it. Then he takes out his Sony Walkman, places the headphones over his ears and presses play.

Really sets you in a moment in time, that, doesn't it? I have a lot of affection still for Tony Walkman. I wonder what other executive toys he had, like one of those basketball hoops that went over the waste paper bin. Or the silver ball bearings on the string. Newton's cradle. Thank you. That afternoon, Kevin is feeling revitalised as he enters the boardroom. But when he catches sight of Ian, his confidence evaporates. Ian's eyes are hollow from lack of sleep. His skin is grey. He looks defeated. It doesn't take Kevin long to realise why.

He listens as the board members list his dad's many crimes. Maxwell had been sitting at the centre of several ever-changing private and therefore secret companies, and using them to move money around to make his businesses look more successful than they were. What the board was describing was basically a giant pyramid scheme, except the only person benefiting was Robert Maxwell.

Worst of all, the board remind Kevin and Ian that Maxwell rinsed the Mirrors pension fund of hundreds of millions to save his own companies from bankruptcy. Taking in the grey faces of the directors as these facts are reeled off, Kevin realises he doesn't have a single ally among them. Do you both realise that your father's actions mean thousands of hard-working employees will now retire with nothing?

This is the thing of all of the people he could have ripped off. Pensioners are a demographic that I think everybody feels very sympathetic and warm towards. People who have worked for their whole lives and gradually saved away. That's the victim of his greed. And not just any old pensioners that have worked and saved. People who've worked for the mirror. His own employees he's screwed over their retirement. Kevin nods shamefully.

He knows that he and Ian will have no choice but to resign. The Maxwell name is now synonymous with scandal. Outside, Kevin faces the press. Ian stands alongside him, head bowed, as Kevin speaks for them both. ''My brother and I know stepping down is the right thing to do. ''We want to co-operate fully with the pending police investigation ''and wish to avoid any conflict of interest between our roles here ''and the loyalty we feel towards our late father.''

It may be another lie, but like his dad, Kevin has become a pro at twisting the truth. Unlike Maxwell, however, he now has to face the consequences. It's three days later, the 5th of December 1991, Surrey. Laurie Guest has been lying low since the news broke about Maxwell stealing from the pension fund. But he knows it's only a matter of time before more questions are asked. He's been expecting a visit from one of the MGM board, maybe even Kevin Maxwell himself.

But he's thrown when he opens the door to find Richard Stott standing before him. Mr Guest, we've met a couple of times. I wondered if we could have a chat. Guest suspects whatever Stott is about to tell him can't be good. But curiosity gets the better of him. He invites Stott into his sitting room, where the editor informs him that earlier today the serious fraud squad raided MGN's offices.

Guest's heartbeat quickens. One of them tipped me off about what they found in your office. Guest listens solemnly. A stop tells him about their haul.

It includes transcripts of calls Guest made to Maxwell asking about the missing pension money, as well as a row with Michael Stoney where Guest outlined his suspicions the cash was being used to support other parts of the company. They also found a voice-activated wiretap. Maxwell must have known that despite all of his excuses, you were still onto him. Lighting a cigarette, Guest actually feels relieved. He wasn't being paranoid. Maxwell really was spying on him.

But then it dawns on him. If these transcripts are in the hands of the fraud squad, it will soon become public knowledge that he knew and did nothing for months. This is serious, Laurie. I need to tell the readers how it all happened. Can you give me your side? Guest wants to help. But if he talks now, he risks incriminating himself for any future trial.

I don't think it's appropriate for me to say anything, Richard. Sorry. I understand. But you stayed quiet for a long time before this got exposed, and look what happened. That money was the future for thousands of mirror pensioners. Guest knows he's right. He can never make up for the fact he took so long to blow the whistle. He's been dying to get this out for months. He thinks about his wife, Beverly, how she always encourages him to do the right thing.

Despite his best instincts, he starts talking, and he doesn't stop until he's told to stop everything. It actually feels cathartic, like Maxwell's foot has finally been lifted off his chest. Guest barely sleeps that night. In the end, he gives up and sits in the hallway, waiting for the sun to come up and the paperboy to deliver. When the daily mirror finally falls through the letterbox in the early hours, Guest rushes to pick it up. The headline reads, The Lie.

Stott's story is damning. There are no more excuses made for Maxwell. He's no longer portrayed as a desperate man resorting to desperate measures. Now he's the devil incarnate, who willfully pulled the wool over everyone's eyes, including Guest's. Guest has tried to do the right thing, but he fears it might be too late. With Stott's help, he's ensured the public see Robert Maxwell for what he really is. But Guest knows he also had a part to play.

And while Maxwell escaped being punished for his crimes, Guest may not. Oh, he's a bit of a problematic hero, isn't he, Laurie? Because he was the only one diligent enough to question the numbers and pursue it, but he could have taken it so much further. Yes, and I guess if you're him, you'd kick yourself for not listening to your better instincts and you'd feel very bitter that you might now face punishment when Maxwell, who is the sole cause of all this trouble, won't.

It's six months later, the 18th of June 1992, 7.30am, Chelsea. Kevin Maxwell is dragged from a deep slumber by Pandora, who is violently shaking him. Kevin wake up, someone's at the door! Slowly waking up, Kevin hears loud banging. Probably reporters. Kevin sleepily rubs his eyes as Pandora rushes to the window.

He can't help but smile. He married a real firecracker. He watches her push open the window and lean out. "Piss off! We don't get up until half past eight!" Kevin laughs as Pandora heads back to bed. "You were right, darling. They're all out there. Reporters, news crews, the works. I think they got the message." A feeling of impending doom creeps over Kevin. A few reporters he's used to, but whole TV news crews?

The thudding on the front door resumes. Right, that's it! Kevin leaps out of bed to stop Pandora going back to the window. But he's too late. She thrusts it back up, looking irate. I'm about to call the police! We are the police. This is an incredible... We watched this video. It is so good, worth getting up on YouTube. Kevin races to Pandora's side and slams the window shut. Now he sneaks a look below. A squad of detectives and a bunch of news crews await.

Kevin realises the whole thing has been caught on camera, but he suspects that's the least of his problems. Has the day of reckoning finally come? He's given his answer when he finally lets the officers in. Pandora tries to usher their four small children away as Kevin has read his rights. You do not need to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. To Kevin's growing despair, he is cuffed like a common criminal.

then led out to a waiting car in the full glare of the cameras. It's the cherry on the cake of six brutal months for his family.

First, there was the confirmation the Mirror pensioners had been totally rinsed. The New York Daily News has gone into receivership. The European has closed. Several major banks are out of pocket. US magazine Newsweek even dubbed Maxwell the crook of the century. I mean, it's harsh, but it's accurate. Kevin has to face facts. With his father gone, the public is demanding a fall guy.

The reporters know it, and they show no mercy. What about the pensioners, Kevin? Are you a criminal like your dad? That afternoon, as he enters the City of London Magistrates' Court with Ian, Kevin tries to put on a brave face, as they are both charged with multiple counts of conspiracy to defraud. But Kevin's not going to just roll over and take it. He's going to fight. He has Pandora and a young family to think about, their lavish lifestyle to protect.

He's only 32. Yikes. He vows to pull together the best legal team he can get and turn around the Maxwell name. He won't let his father's legacy be nothing but dishonesty and shame. Autumn 1992, Sotheby's, London. Sitting at the back of one of the famous auction houses' largest rooms, wearing dark glasses and a headscarf to disguise herself, Betty Maxwell flicks through a brochure of this morning's lots. The room is packed full not only with buyers but reporters too.

And Betty is desperate not to be spotted. And yet she's opted for the go-to disguise of anyone in a film who's going incognito. She shouldn't have come at all, but she couldn't help herself. The contents of Headington Hill Hall, her whole life, is up for sale today. How could she not be here to see it? This auction was put together at short notice, at the insistence of the receivers. None of the items even have reserves.

Watching the proceedings get underway, Betty's heart sinks. Our first lot is Mr Maxwell's double bed. We'll start the bidding at £500. Betty watches aghast as the bed barely makes its minimum estimate of £1,500. I'm not being funny, but I wouldn't really want Robert Maxwell's memory foam mattress. They paid twice that for it. It's not even about the money for Betty. It's such a personal item. She can't understand why anyone else would even want it. It only gets worse.

An armchair that belonged to her mother, that she'd shipped over from France, fetches only £200. A custom-made chaise longue goes for just £50. She supposes she should be used to such indignities by now. Since Bob died, not only has Betty been hit with the reality of his finances, she's had to read about his countless indiscretions in the tabloids.

The News of the World recently ran a tell-all splash headlined "Maxwell the Shagger". Even with Bob in the grave, Murdoch couldn't resist having a pop. That was hard on Betty, but nothing can top this. She bites her lip and fights back tears as Bob's military cross is held up. She wanted to at least buy that back, but the official receiver wouldn't allow her to. Unable to watch anymore, Betty quietly slips out of the room. Later, back at a near-empty Heddington Hill Hall,

Betty Huggs are visiting Kevin and Ian. Her sons have had an equally rough year, and with their trial date yet to be set, they're unlikely to have any let-up. Ian has been an emotional wreck.

Betty suspects he's racked with shame over his father's behaviour. Kevin, ever the pragmatist, has brazened it out. Despite being sued by several companies and declared Britain's biggest ever bankrupt with debts of over £400 million. He's just a positive mental attitude guy. Eyeing the kettle, one of the few things the vultures didn't take, Betty offers the boys a cup of tea. Filling it with water, she laughs to herself.

It's such a British thing to do, yet she's French and Bob was Czech. What Bob wanted more than anything was to be accepted here, to be as British as a nice cup of tea. But like this house, that was rented rather than bought, and that she has to leave soon, it was all a waste of time. Bob has been rejected by the establishment once again, and this time, even Betty has to admit, no-one can say he didn't deserve it. MUSIC

This season, Instacart has your back-to-school. As in, they've got your back-to-school lunch favorites, like snack packs and fresh fruit. And they've got your back-to-school supplies, like backpacks, binders, and pencils. And they've got your back when your kid casually tells you they have a huge school project due tomorrow.

It's December 1992, Selsey, the South Coast. Laurie Guest finishes unpacking the last of the boxes that surround him.

It's party night. That can't be taking the edge off that 7,000 a day habit, can it? Yeah.

He wasn't surprised when he was sacked from his role as MGN's finance director back in May. If anything, it was a relief. What was more of a shock for Guest was the fraud squad's decision to take no action against him. After Kevin and Ian Maxwell were charged, he was convinced he would be prosecuted too. Guest decided then and there he would start a new chapter, and Beverley agreed a change of scenery was a good idea.

But their love of the seaside wasn't the only reason they upped sticks. Without a job, Guest wasn't sure they could afford to stay in affluent Surrey. He was one of the thousands of people who invested their future in the Mirror Pension Fund. Of course, what a cruel irony. At 56, he was due to cash in sooner rather than later. Now, like the others, he doesn't know if he'll see a penny. That's why he's returning to London today, for a meeting with the Association of Mirror Pensioners.

Arriving in a vast church hall just off Fleet Street, Guest is overwhelmed by the number of people here. Hundreds of former and current employees fill the place, spilling out way beyond the main room. Kind of like a school reunion, but just full of fury and upset. So kind of like a school reunion. Have you ever been to a school reunion? Not yet. Should I? No.

I've never been. They don't really happen in this country, do they? Shouldn't we have been invited by now if they do? God, maybe we're losers. Maybe we're persona non grata. Guest recognises a few faces. Others are strangers. But it's clear those affected range from senior managers like him to lower paid workers with nothing to fall back on. He hovers at the back of the room and listens as one by one they share their stories.

To guests' relief, it's not all bad news today. The committee chairman announces they've drawn up a hit list of banks holding pension fund stock and are going to pressurise them to return it for the mirror pensioners.

The banks are holding over £217 million of pension fund assets used by Maxwell as security for loans. We've got a massive publicity campaign planned in the hope we can embarrass them into giving it back. Anyone who wants to get involved should put their name on the list as they leave. Meeting over, Guest joins the line to add his name. It's the least he can do.

He feels a tap on the shoulder, turns to see the face of a woman he doesn't recognise. She explains she worked in the communications division. You're the finance director, the one who spoke to the mirror after it all came out. I was, I don't work there anymore. You knew, and you didn't stop him. How could you? I completely agree, but if you could just keep your voice down. Guess doesn't know what to say. What words can possibly make it all right for any of them? He reaches for the only thing that comes to mind.

I'm sorry. Guest leaves the line and practically races from the room. He keeps up the pace all the way back to the train station, but he can't outrun the guilt he feels. Sitting on the train, catching his breath, guest rubs the patch on his arm. He's never wanted a cigarette more. Why do I feel like his whole body is covered in patches? He may have his new house on the coast and his new start. He may not be facing prison. He may even get some of his pension back, but he'll never stop wondering if he could have done more.

It's four years later, the 19th of January 1996, 10.40am. The Old Bailey, London. Standing in the dock of Court 22, his brother Ian by his side, Kevin Maxwell hides his nerves. After a 32-week trial to decide whether he and Ian are guilty of several counts of fraud, the jury is about to return its verdict. 32 weeks? It's a long old trial. Kevin glances across to the press pen.

Over 70 journalists are crammed in there, all as eager as he is to have this wrapped up. This trial has been miserable for all involved. Kevin spent 18 days in the witness box, where he was repeatedly asked to relive details of his difficult relationship with his father, including the constant bullying he suffered not only as a child, but as a grown man. He only answered as candidly as he did, in the hope of eliciting some sympathy from an overtly hostile press.

It didn't work. One commentator even mocked his testimony with the remark, there wasn't a moist eye in the house. Oh, it's savage. He can't understand the lack of sympathy. Even without this endless trial, he's been through hell these last five years. On top of the indignity of his family's possessions being sold off at auction, he's bankrupt. The Maxwell name is firmly associated with lies and corruption.

and his and Ian's case has hardly been helped by the daily presence of mirror pensioners in the public gallery. Kevin consoles himself with the fact that public opinion doesn't matter today. All that matters now is the opinion of the five men and seven women of the jury. They deliberated for 11 days, and watching them file back in, Kevin can't call it. He eyes Ian nervously as the four-woman rises to her feet. Mr Justice Phillips asks if the jury has reached a unanimous decision.

She confirms they have. Kevin practically holds his breath. Not guilty! There are gasps of shock from the press pen in public gallery. And the studio. Kevin himself can hardly believe it as the judge runs through all the charges. Both him and Ian are found not guilty of every single one. No way. He feels like punching the air as they walk through the grand doors of the courthouse into the crisp winter morning. It tastes like freedom.

Soon they are surrounded by news crews. While Ian looks contrite, Kevin gloats. Today, they won't get their pound of flesh. This is an enormous victory for common sense and humanity. I'm relieved and delighted. It's a hell of a moment. Pushing through the jostling reporters towards his waiting car, Kevin ignores the shouts from the mirror pensions in the crowd.

What about us, Mr. Maxwell? Kevin has to stop himself rolling his eyes. This guy. The pensioners got most of their money back. Why can't they move on? Another microphone is shoved into Kevin's face. The journalist is determined to get a response. Mr. Maxwell, if all your activities have been so honest, why did you tell so many lies before December 1991? Kevin looks her firmly in the eye. He doesn't even blink.

Telling lies is not dishonest. It feels like that foreshadows alternative facts. It feels like it's a post-truth comment. Yes, it reminds me of Nixon as well. I'm saying when the president does it, it's not illegal. In between Nixon and Trump, we have the Maxwells. Kevin feels defiant as he enters the safe cocoon of the car. More and more, he's coming round to his late father's way of thinking.

that no crime had been committed at all by either of them. This whole matter was too complex for the public to ever understand, and apportioning blame is pointless. As the driver starts the engine, Kevin hears another question being yelled. "What are your future plans, Mr Maxwell?" Kevin winds down the window and answers with a smile. "No idea." Kevin sits back and lets the car speed him across the city. He can do whatever he chooses now. The world is his oyster.

It's eerie, isn't it, how much this sounds familiar, how much he's emulating his father. He's turning into Robert, and that never ends well. It's December 2000, Sandringham, Norfolk. Arriving in the grounds of the vast estate, Ghislaine Maxwell greets Prince Andrew warmly. Oh, boy. Thank you so much for inviting me, Andy. Of course, not every day you turn 39.

This is all so ominous now.

but she has to admit to getting an extra frisson from rubbing shoulders with royalty. Her companion this weekend, on-off lover Jeffrey Epstein, loves it too. I was waiting for that, but still, it's shocking, isn't it, to hear his name? He gets on well with Andrew, and Ghislaine marvels at the easy way the American financier charms everyone else present. Jeffrey's charisma reminds her of her father. He also had a way of winning over the great and the good.

Walking into the grand ballroom, Ghislaine is handed a glass of champagne and introduced to more guests. She finds her thoughts drifting back to her dad, as they so often do. Ghislaine really struggled after his death. It's around that time she properly forged a relationship with Geoffrey, who she'd met once or twice previously. She felt lost without her beloved father, and Geoffrey was there, ready to fill the void. She doesn't know what she would do without him. Ghislaine stands beside Geoffrey and reaches out her hand.

But he doesn't take it. Instead, he eyes a much younger waitress across the room. Ghislaine puts her glass to her lips and takes a sip of bubbly, pretending everything is tickety-boo, just like her daddy used to. Oh, it sends shivers down my spine. In 2002, a Department of Trade and Industry report into Mirror Group newspapers concluded that while Robert Maxwell dominated the management...

Kevin Maxwell gave very substantial assistance to his father and knew about the pension funds being moved. It called his conduct inexcusable. With any consequences? In 2007, Kevin and Pandora divorced after 23 years together. They have seven children. Kevin now works with his brother Ian on a Greek charitable venture. The 2002 report gave Lawrence Guest a slap on the wrist, acknowledging the difficult position he had been in.

A Mirror pensioner himself, he only received two-thirds of what he was due. Guest died in 2016, aged 80. His Mirror obituary described him as a gentleman among sharks. A former colleague added his only enemy was Robert Maxwell. Although she pleaded poverty after the contents of Headington Hill Hall were sold off, Betty Maxwell continued to live a comfortable lifestyle. She paid Kevin and Ian's legal fees and owned homes in London and France.

She died on 7 August 2013, aged 92. After Betty left Headington Hill Hall in 1992, it was leased by its owners, Oxford City Council, to Oxford Brookes University, and now houses its law faculty. The swimming pool has been filled in, and the video cameras that were mounted in the trees have all been removed.

In January 2022, after a month-long trial in New York, Ghislaine Maxwell was convicted of grooming and trafficking teenage girls for abuse by Jeffrey Epstein. She's expected to be sentenced in June. Speculation over Maxwell's death shows no sign of waning. Conspiracy theories include him being murdered by Mossad because Israel refused him alone and he threatened to retaliate. His greatest rival, Rupert Murdoch, always believed that rather than face up to a life in prison, Maxwell committed suicide.

In 2017, Rupert Murdoch's ex-wife Anna bought a superyacht called the Mona Kay for £11 million. A few months later, Anna learned the yacht's name had been changed years before. It had originally been called the Lady Galane. This is the fourth episode in our series, Maxwell. Maxwell.

A quick note about our dialogue. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but all of our dramatisations are based on historical research. If you'd like to know more about this story, books include Fall by John Preston, Maxwell by Roy Greenslade, and Verdict by Tom Bauer. I'm Matt Ford. And I'm Alice Levine. Wendy Grandeter wrote this episode. Additional writing by Alice Levine and Matt Ford. Our sound design is by Rich Evans. Script editing by James Magniac.

Our associate producer is Francesca Gelardi Quadrio Corzio. Our senior producer is Joe Sykes. Our executive producers are Jenny Beckman, Stephanie Jens and Marshall Louis for Wondery. Wondery.

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