Dark to Enlightenment True Story By the Author

Chapter 1: The Verdict**

It was the last day in the High Court, and the air was thick with a foreboding silence. For three long months, I had endured the gruelling process of daily court appearances in London, each day filled with anxiety and uncertainty. The weight of my reality settled heavily on my shoulders; I was part of a massive V.A.T fraud operation that had siphoned over 500 million pounds from the government. The enormity of my actions now loomed over me like a dark cloud.

When the judge pronounced the verdict—guilty—I felt my heart drop. Six and a half years. First-time offence. The words echoed in my mind, overshadowing everything else. I could hardly grasp the gravity of my situation. I heard whispers in the courtroom, the gasps of disbelief from my family and friends, but all I could focus on was the crushing sensation in my chest.

As I stepped into the lift, descending from the courtroom, my mind raced. What had I done? The shock washed over me, an icy tide that rendered me paralysed. My body started to tremble, and I grasped the railing of the lift to steady myself. This couldn't be happening to me. 

A montage of memories flooded back—moments of greed, ambition, and a sense of invincibility that had led me down this path. I couldn't help but replay the decisions that had brought me to this very moment. Each choice felt like a brick in the wall I was now trapped behind.

As the doors opened and I stepped out into the cold, harsh reality of the outside world, I realised this was just the beginning of a long, uncertain journey

As I stepped out of the lift, I caught sight of my solicitor. They assured me they would be in touch very shortly, but before I could process what that meant, a prison officer suddenly grabbed me. The cold metal of the handcuffs clamped around my wrists, and I was marched toward the waiting van.

Inside, I found myself confined in a tiny space, my knees pressing against the bulkhead. It was eerily quiet, except for the muffled sounds of others being loaded on board, treated like cattle herded into a pen. I was acutely aware of my surroundings; I could feel the tension in the air, the uncertainty thick enough to cut.

I glanced around and realised I was the only white man among about six others, all of us now branded as criminals. In that moment, the weight of the labels imposed upon us settled heavily on my shoulders. We were no longer individuals with stories; we were simply our charges, stripped of our identities and reduced to mere numbers.

As the van lurched forward, I couldn’t help but ponder what lay ahead. I was heading into the unknown, my mind racing with questions and fears. What awaited me? What kind of world was I about to enter?

As we drove through the streets of London towards the prison, I pressed my face against the dark black window, searching for any glimpse of the outside world. The scenery flickered by in shades of sepia, giving everything a nostalgic, almost dreamlike quality. It felt surreal, like I was peering through a time capsule instead of a van headed for the unknown.

Suddenly, the van’s radio crackled to life, and I heard the unmistakable voice of Robbie Williams singing "Angels." I couldn’t believe my ears. As someone who considered themselves a bit spiritual, I recognised signs when they appeared. And this? This felt like a message from the universe. A gentle reminder that someone—or something—was watching over me.

While the melody floated around me, my gaze lingered on a shop window just up ahead. The words “Angels” were emblazoned across it, almost as if mocking the situation I found myself in. I chuckled softly to myself; could I get any more cliche? But strangely, it gave me a sense of comfort, a fleeting feeling that maybe everything would turn out alright.

However, the reality of my situation hung over me like a heavy cloud. Despite the warm, fuzzy vibes from the song and the serendipitous shop, I was still headed into the unknown. The van pulled up outside Wands worth Prison, and as I looked up at the imposing structure, I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. It appeared Victorian and old, practically oozing history and a certain grim charm that was downright intimidating.

As we parked, the atmosphere shifted. The chatter of the streets faded, and silence enveloped us. All I could hear was the faint sound of my own heartbeat, each thump a reminder of the gravity of what lay ahead.

All was quiet; a heavy silence hung in the air as we sat parked outside the towering structure of Wands worth Prison. I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. In a moment of defiance, I started whistling "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" from Monty Python's Life of Brian. It was perfect—an anthem for the hopelessly optimistic.

Before I knew it, my spirits lifted a little more as I began to sing softly. “If life seems jolly rotten, there’s something you’ve forgotten…” I looked around at my fellow passengers in the van, and to my surprise, a few of them joined in! It was a ragtag choir of misfits, belting out lines in the most unexpected of places.

The atmosphere changed as we all chimed in, our voices filling the cramped space with a surprising sense of solidarity. It was as if we were all in it together, embracing the absurdity of our circumstances. “Always look on the bright side of life,” we sang, and for a moment, we were not just criminals heading to prison; we were a group of strangers finding joy in an unusual predicament.

I couldn’t help but smile at how laughter and camaraderie could spark a little light even in the darkest moments. It was a reminder that sometimes, when life throws you into unexpected situations, all you can do is laugh and lighten the load for those around you. We may have been headed into the unknown, but at least we were doing it together, armed with humour and a song.

The prison door swung open with a heavy creak, and I thought, “Here we go. It’s my turn.” As I was pushed out of the van by the jobsworth driver, who yelled a barrage of abuse at us, I could only shake my head. Seriously? Contributing to the morale of the criminals in transit wasn’t exactly part of his job description.

As we shuffled forward, I heard my name being called by the checking-in officer. I braced myself for the encounter, wondering why they felt the need to be so unpleasant while addressing a fellow human being. This guy was built like a silver back gorilla, and I could swear he sported a permanent scowl as if he’d just bitten into a sour lemon.

“Are you okay with the sentence you got?” he barked, looking at me with an expression that screamed “This is your fault, not mine.” Honestly, at that moment, I thought he was taking the piss. What a ridiculous question! I nearly shot back with a sarcastic, “What a stupid question, you stupid cunt,” but I managed to rein it in. Instead, I mustered a feeble “Yes, I’m fine.” Apparently, you’re not supposed to say no in this situation; they probably have a policy against it.

The officer grunted, jotting something down, and I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a hidden rule book somewhere, filled with guidelines on how to be as unfriendly as possible when dealing with newcomers. But as I stood there, facing the daunting reality of my new surroundings, I reminded myself that even in this place, I’d find a way to keep my spirits up—one ridiculous encounter at a time.

I was finally given my number, and the officer said, “That’s your name now.” I tried to repeat it in my head, but it slipped away almost immediately. Honestly, that was probably for the best—I didn’t want a string of digits defining me.

We were herded into a resettlement area, where we’d be held for 24 hours under close watch before being transferred to the main prison. The whole process felt alien, like stepping into a dark force that loomed overhead, ready to swallow me whole. The ground floor area was bleak and uninviting, and I found myself struggling to recall specifics, my mind swirling with processing the overwhelming reality.

All I could think about was making a phone call. It hit me hard: I had nothing on me—no belongings, not even a pen to write down any contact information. The only number I could cling to was my girlfriend's, etched into my memory through sheer repetition.

When I finally managed to dial her number, I felt a wave of relief wash over me, even though our conversation was brief and filled with silence punctuated by soft sobs. There wasn’t much we could say. I had only two minutes, and those moments felt like they evaporated in an instant. Every second was precious as I tried to relay what I might need and where I was heading—details that seemed so insignificant compared to the emotions swirling around us. As I hung up, I felt a mix of sadness and determination. Even in my new home, I knew I had to keep that connection alive—the only thread tying me to the outside world.

The cacophony around me was overwhelming: men screaming, doors banging, and keys rattling in a harsh symphony of chaos. As I stood there, a whirlwind of thoughts raced through my mind. How did I end up here? Six and a half years stretched before me like an impenetrable fog. How was I going to get through this situation? Panic threatened to creep in, but I knew I had to remain strong. A positive mindset was essential; otherwise, this place would consume me.

Just then, a kind-faced nurse approached, trying to engage me in conversation about how I was feeling. I found myself at a loss for words, the weight of my predicament rendering me speechless. She must have sensed my turmoil because she handed me a sleeping tablet for the evening, promising that in the morning, I’d be transferred deeper into the prison system.

As I was shown to my room, I cast wary glances at the other inmates around me. They moved like shadows, hunched and distant—zombies, come to mind. It struck me that fear was in control here, a palpable force lurking beneath the surface. I observed their vacant expressions, the numbness etched into their features, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

In that moment, I realised I had to cling to my humanity, to resist the oppressive gloom that permeated these walls. This was just the beginning, and I had a long way to go. But I wouldn't let this place break me; I was determined to fight back, one day at a time.

​I drifted off into a deep sleep, the kind I hadn’t experienced in ages. It felt like a small blessing amidst the chaos of my new reality.

Chapter Two

How did I get Here..

 You might be asking yourselves, “How the hell did I get here?” Well, let me take you back to the late 90s, around the year 2000—a time when the internet and mobile phones were really kicking off. These were the days when a .com domain name could shoot up in value overnight, worth millions at the drop of a hat.

I was about 33 years old back then, living a comfortable life with my own house, nice things, and a decent car. I was single and enjoying life to the fullest, savouring the freedom that came with it. That was until I met a lady through an online dating site. “Great,” I thought, “a potential connection right on my doorstep!”

We arranged to meet that evening for a drink. Looking back, it was probably one of the worst decisions I could have made. Don’t get me wrong; she was nice enough at first. But as the conversation flowed, we started discussing business. That’s when she revealed she was running a well-known .com company I had actually heard of, valued at over 10 million pounds.

At the time, I was intrigued but also cautious. It felt exciting to be sitting across from someone with such ambition and success, yet I had no idea that this encounter would lead me down a path that would forever change the course of my life.

About two weeks went by, and just like that, the bubble burst on the .com boom. Suddenly, overnight, her company was barely worth the paper its website was printed on. It was shocking how quickly fortunes could change in that volatile market, and this seismic shift altered everything.

At the time, I was sitting reasonably comfortably regarding my finances. I had my own savings, and I never imagined I'd find myself in the midst of such chaos. But with her company going under, I could sense the weight of uncertainty hanging in the air.

One thing led to another, and we arranged a business meeting to discuss her plans moving forward. I was genuinely interested—after all, we’d gotten to know each other a bit during our initial encounter. Who would’ve thought that a casual drink would evolve into discussions about the fate of a company valued at millions?

As we sat down together, I could see the stress etched across her face. The air was thick with tension, and the future she once envisioned was now shrouded in doubt. I felt a mix of concern for her and curiosity about what this meant for both of us moving forward.

Let's call her Jenny. A little backstory about Jenny: she had two partners in the business that had just crashed—a father and son duo. The son had a deal on the table for 10 million, but the greedy, cocky bastard insisted on 20 million. Their delusion cost them everything, plunging not only Jenny but also their whole enterprise into chaos.

However, Jenny possessed something invaluable: a database filled with contacts from well-known corporate businesses. This was our opportunity, and together we crafted a plan. Overnight, I found myself transformed into a mobile and commodity trader. Jenny guided me through the ins and outs of the trade, teaching me what I needed to know to navigate this new venture.

Our main business involved buying Nokia phones from Finland. It felt strangely exhilarating as we sold them, primarily to the high street phone shops. At first, everything seemed to go smoothly. We moved thousands of units, and I felt like I was finally part of something dynamic.

However, this initial success led us to make one of our biggest mistakes. A few months into the business, we decided to rent a shop spanning three floors. It seemed like a step toward success, but soon, the costs began to mount up, and business started to quiet down. It wasn't long before the weight of financial pressure began pressing down on us.

Then came September 11, 2001. I will never forget what I saw that day in my office at the shop. The world seemed to shift as people rushed to the news, glued to their screens. The horrific events unfolding in New York City created a sense of panic that rippled through the markets and beyond.

As I stood in that office, watching the images flash across the television, I could feel an ominous shadow creeping over our burgeoning enterprise. The world had changed in an instant, and I knew we were about to face challenges we hadn’t anticipated..... 

One day, a glimmer of hope arrived for Jenny in the form of an email. It seemed almost serendipitous—a new contact, a trading partner named Steve, was reaching out from a home office. He offered his help and mentioned that he had business connections that could help us prosper. At that point, we were willing to grasp at any opportunity.

Meeting Steve seemed promising. He conveyed a sense of confidence that we desperately needed, and we quickly agreed on the terms of our collaboration. He joined us at the shop, eager to dive into work alongside Jenny and me. His enthusiasm was contagious, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of optimism.

In my opinion, the shop was a solid venture that Jenny and I had built together. The ground floor operated as a mobile phone shop, servicing all networks with a wide range of devices. Customers came and went, and for a while, it felt like things might be on the upswing. The first floor was our trading floor—a bustling hub where deals were struck, and phones were bought and sold at an impressive pace. The top floor housed our offices, where we strategist and coordinated our next moves.

With Steve on board, we began to expand our network. He brought in contacts who opened doors we hadn’t even known existed. We developed relationships with suppliers who could provide inventory at competitive rates, and for a time, everything seemed to be falling into place.

For the first time in months, we dared to dream again. We envisioned a thriving business and began to plan for the future, thinking about ways to capitalise on our revitalised momentum. But little did we know, beneath the surface of this newfound success, currents were shifting—currents that would soon lead us into choppy waters.

Meeting Steve seemed promising. He conveyed a sense of confidence that we desperately needed, and we quickly agreed on the terms of our collaboration. He joined us at the shop, eager to dive into work alongside Jenny and me. His enthusiasm was contagious, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of optimism.

In my opinion, the shop was a solid venture that Jenny and I had built together. The ground floor operated as a mobile phone shop, servicing all networks with a wide range of devices. Customers came and went, and for a while, it felt like things might be on the upswing. The first floor was our trading floor—a bustling hub where deals were struck, and phones were bought and sold at an impressive pace. The top floor housed our offices, where we strategized and coordinated our next moves.

With Steve on board, we began to expand our network. He brought in contacts who opened doors we hadn’t even known existed. We developed relationships with suppliers who could provide inventory at competitive rates, and for a time, everything seemed to be falling into place.

For the first time in months, we dared to dream again. We envisioned a thriving business and began to plan for the future, thinking about ways to capitalise on our revitalised momentum. But little did we know, beneath the surface of this newfound success, currents were shifting—currents that would soon lead us into choppy waters.

Money was finally flowing in our direction, and bills were getting paid—thankfully, including Jenny’s two children’s school fees. Yes, Jenny had two kids, and as I became more involved in their lives, I felt an odd mixture of responsibility and joy. Life felt different now, almost vibrant with possibilities.

Our business was picking up, and additional areas where I was earning money began to reveal themselves (details to be uncovered later). With this newfound financial stability, Jenny and I decided it was time to take the plunge and moved in together, renting a spacious five-bedroom house in the Surrey area. So there I was, in a relationship with her and her two kids, trying to adapt to a new family dynamic.

As our income increased, it was hard to resist the temptation to indulge in the good life we had once only dreamed about. I upgraded my nice car to a Bentley Turbo, which made me feel like a king gliding down the road. I also invested in a Harley-Davidson—nothing quite like the thrill of the open road on two wheels. A Rolex watch from the iconic luxury brand became my pride and joy, serving as a reminder of how much I had achieved.

Then, of course, there was the classic V12 Jaguar Sovereign, a stunning car that turned heads wherever it went. And let’s not forget the Corvette—a true beauty that roared with power. Life was good, and I revealed in the moments of luxury and the sense of accomplishment that came with it.

But as they say, the good times can often lull you into a false sense of security. It was all fun and games until one day, something happened to the Corvette and I nearly got killed.

Month by month we were earning more and more money so much money and did not know here to save it and i don't believe in banks (a little bank story for you) https://rumble.com/v20gpke--the-banker-we-control-you.-we-control-your-children.-we-keep-you-in-fear-b.html At this time we made more contacts. We were now dealing with a northern circle and a southern circle of traders that never ever crossed each other's path in any deals that are not to be done. Let's get back to Steve. He became very greedy and we parted company, but Jenny had his contacts turned out to be rogue dealers.

Majority of all the contacts that we had worked with in these high street phone shops were Asian. Turns out these were the big boys within this business, always someone at the top running his minions that serve him. Jenny met him as the controller of the northern mafia. Yes and by this time I knew something was going on I was not privy to the meeting. 

One day, a glimmer of hope arrived for Jenny in the form of an email. It seemed almost serendipitous—a new contact, a trading partner named Steve, was reaching out from a home office. He offered his help and mentioned that he had business connections that could help us prosper. At that point, we were willing to grasp at any opportunity.

Meeting Steve seemed promising. He conveyed a sense of confidence that we desperately needed, and we quickly agreed on the terms of our collaboration. He joined us at the shop, eager to dive into work alongside Jenny and me. His enthusiasm was contagious, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of optimism.

In my opinion, the shop was a solid venture that Jenny and I had built together. The ground floor operated as a mobile phone shop, servicing all networks with a wide range of devices. Customers came and went, and for a while, it felt like things might be on the upswing. The first floor was our trading floor—a bustling hub where deals were struck, and phones were bought and sold at an impressive pace. The top floor housed our offices, where we strategist and coordinated our next moves.

With Steve on board, we began to expand our network. He brought in contacts who opened doors we hadn’t even known existed. We developed relationships with suppliers who could provide inventory at competitive rates, and for a time, everything seemed to be falling into place.

For the first time in months, we dared to dream again. We envisioned a thriving business and began to plan for the future, thinking about ways to capitalise on our revitalised momentum. But little did we know, beneath the surface of this newfound success, currents were shifting—currents that would soon lead us into choppy waters.

Money was finally flowing in our direction, and bills were getting paid—thankfully, including Jenny’s two children’s school fees. Yes, Jenny had two kids, and as I became more involved in their lives, I felt an odd mixture of responsibility and joy. Life felt different now, almost vibrant with possibilities.

Our business was picking up, additional areas where I was earning money began to reveal themselves (details to be uncovered later). With this newfound financial stability, Jenny and I decided it was time to take the plunge and moved in together, renting a spacious five-bedroom house in the Surrey area. So there I was, in a relationship with her and her two kids, trying to adapt to a new family dynamic.

As our income increased, it was hard to resist the temptation to indulge in the good life we had once only dreamed about. I upgraded my nice car to a Bentley Turbo, which made me feel like a king gliding down the road. I also invested in a Harley-Davidson—nothing quite like the thrill of the open road on two wheels. A Rolex watch from the iconic luxury brand became my pride and joy, serving as a reminder of how much I had achieved.

Then, of course, there was the classic V12 Jaguar Sovereign, a stunning car that turned heads wherever it went. And let’s not forget the Corvette—a true beauty that roared with power. Life was good, and I revealed in the moments of luxury and the sense of accomplishment that came with it.

But as they say, the good times can often lull you into a false sense of security. It was all fun and games until one day, something happened to the Corvette and I nearly got killed.

Month by month, we were earning more and more money—so much that we hardly knew where to save it. I’ve never been a fan of banks, a notion that stemmed from a little bank story from my past that left a sour taste in my mouth. As we navigated our financial windfall, I determined to keep our earnings close to home, away from institutions that had once failed me.

During this time, we expanded our network and made numerous contacts. We found ourselves entrenched within two distinct circles of traders: a northern circle and a southern circle. The odd thing was, these circles never crossed paths when it came to deals. Each side had its own unspoken rules, and straying into the territory of the other was strictly forbidden.

Things took a turn with Steve. Greed began to cloud his judgement, and we eventually parted ways. I remember feeling a mix of relief and concern. While he was driving us forward, his thirst for profit began to pose risks that we simply couldn’t afford. However, Jenny managed to keep his contacts, which, unbeknown to us at the time, turned out to be rogue dealers.

The majority of our connections came from the high street phone shops, with most of them being Asian. These traders were the big players in the market, operating under the radar, always with someone at the top calling the shots and controlling the minions who served them.

It wasn’t long before Jenny met the man at the helm—the controller of the northern mafia. I could sense something was brewing behind the scenes, but I wasn’t privy to the details of her meetings. Each time she left for a late-night conversation about "business," a knot of unease twisted in my stomach. She would return with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and I began to wonder what deals she was making in those shadowy circles.

That feeling of uncertainty grew as I tried to keep pace with the rapidly changing dynamics. I wanted to trust her, but the atmosphere was thickening with unspoken secrets. Gradually, it became clear that we were treading on dangerous territory—ours was a world where loyalty could easily wither in the face of greed.

Read Next 1.1