Gary Foley might not have sunk many beers but when he woke his hangover was not the hair-of-the-dog type. Sleep had largely eluded him as the machinations of his mind made him restless beyond that. He was weary past imagining.

Torn between simply doing the deal and working it to advantage;

Torn between taking the business at face value, or looking beneath the surface where there quite obviously was a very big rat;

Torn between going all-out in the biggest risk/reward deal he had ever been confronted with, or settling for mediocrity in a run-down, failing brokerage.

Foley knew his friend Jason Cavanagh would be wanting to milk this thing dry, and for the first time he was forced to examine the depth of their relationship. Could Jason really be trusted to hold the story-line when the ASX and ASIC came knocking on their door, as they surely would?

And what of the future ...?

How would they explain the money they would make, or even conceal it, or even access it if things went wheels-up?

He dragged himself through to the ensuite and washed his face. Staring back at him from the mirror was the face of a man who looked depressed and flat - instead of the face of the vigorous youthful man in the prime of life that had greeted him just twenty-four hours earlier.

"Bugger you Jason." he said out loud, surprising even himself by the sheer anger with which he spat out the words. In fact, it was not Jason he was angry at but himself. Jason had merely come up with an idea ... the beginnings of a plan. It was up to him to take it or walk.

He still had that choice.

Shrugging off the feelings of self-pity at his own gutless indecision, he made coffee and showered and dressed. As he tossed back a short black, his thoughts were interrupted by his mobile phone belting out Metro Station's "Shake It" hit.

"Yo Jase! Z'up mate?"

"You dressed?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"We gotta talk Gary. Soon. I've organised our Girl Friday to hold our calls except for JL if he calls. Those will come through to mobile. What say we have coffee at Platters in the mall ... say twenty minutes?"

" 'K mate. Be there. Au revoir!"

Unsure if he liked the pace or even the direction things were beginning to move, Foley grabbed his coat and headed out. Again felt that little excited buzz - and this time the hair began to prickle a little on the back of his neck. He had offered no resistance to what Cavanagh had suggested the night before, and now he was setting himself up to get seriously involved in the plan.

As things stood, he was staring at a fork in a road leading three ways:

Straight ahead - a life of same old - same old

To the left - a possible 5 year gaol term for fraud and manipulation

To the right - a successful sting on the ASX involving the region's wealthiest investor, and a very different future from the boring style of life he tolerated now.

He knew which of the choices was the most attractive ... and dangerous.

Jimmy Lee didn't get to hold his immense wealth through his involvement in the local Meals-on-Wheels service group! Lee had his share of skeletons in the closet, but as long as things were going his way there was no problem ... no risk!

Cross him and you joined the others in the closet! The unwritten "Lee's First Law of Business."

Foley kicked his 300ZX-TT into gear and sped off for the ten-minute drive to the mall.

It wasn't the coffee that attracted him - rather the excitement of what he was about to do, as a moth is attracted to a candle flame.

To be continued ...