The accusation was printed in twelve-point font and read aloud in front of four hundred people. By the time the headmaster finished, seventeen-year-old Ione Bellamy was already crying. Her father, Merrick, stood at the back of the school auditorium, holding a folded newspaper and wondering how his daughter had managed to steal £12,000 from a scholarship fund without anyone noticing. The school claimed the money had been withdrawn using Ione's student identification number. The records appeared straightforward. Her signature was on the application. Her name was attached to the account. And she had recently complained that her scholarship payment was late. To Merrick, a divorced father who had spent the last three years trying to keep his daughter in a respectable school, the story seemed painfully simple. “You told me you were going to the library,” he said in the car. “I was.” “You told me you hadn't touched the money.” “I haven't.” “Then why is your name on the document?” Ione looked out of the window. “Because you never read anything before deciding what it means.” Merrick nearly stopped the car. That evening, he removed her laptop from her room and told her she wouldn't return to school until she explained herself. He expected tears, an argument, perhaps even a confession. Instead, Ione went to bed. Three days later, the school sent Merrick a letter warning that the case might be referred to the police. He read it twice, then noticed something he had overlooked at the assembly. The application was dated March 18. Ione had been in hospital that week, recovering from an emergency appendectomy. Merrick remembered because he'd slept in a plastic chair beside her bed and complained for days about the hospital coffee. He called the school.... .....