The secrets spilling out of the more-than-13-million so-called Paradise Papers recall the late CEO of a major newspaper, who regaled anyone he could buttonhole with stories about the number of times he had seen the owner of a rival chain in the Zurich street where many offshore banks hang out. “I go there only because my favourite chocolate shop is nearby,” he once added hastily as he caught the suspicious gleam in a listener’s eye.
Groaning under the burden of his virtues, the newspaper over whose fortunes he presided lingers on today like the Cheshire Cat’s disembodied grin. Given the CEO’s
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