Who was it that said: ‘An honest confession is good for the soul, but bad for the reputation.’?
Sam was sitting solemnly at the deathbed of his business partner, Bernie.
With his last reserves of strength, Bernie raised his head from the pillow. “Sam … Sam …”
“Rest, rest, Bernie,” Sam counselled. “Save your energy.”
“No,” insisted the dying man. “I can’t. I must clear my conscience before I die. I’ve been a lousy partner, Sam. A lousy partner. It was me who sold the secret formula to Birmbaum; it was me who stole the $100,000 from the safe; it was me who reported you to the tax inspectors … It was me!”
“Don’t bother yourself, Bernie,” said Sam. “Don’t worry. It was me who tampered with the brakes on your car.”