IN late November 2003, Conrad Black was under siege by Richard Breeden, a former chairman of the US Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) who had been conducting an independent inquiry into Hollinger International, his company.

On Saturday, November 23, Hollinger’s new board was united in a telephone conference to discuss Black’s offer to repay $7.2m (£3.8m) to the company and resign as chairman.

Black and his wife, Barbara Amiel, were in his Park Avenue apartment in Manhattan. Some words of regret about the circumstances were being uttered when Amiel interrupted. “Conrad won’t be bound by a kangaroo court,” she snapped.

“You don’t have to agree to all this,” she told her husband.

Agitatedly, she began questioning the agenda but was interrupted by a power cut. The conference was plunged into silence and darkness.

Once power was restored, Amiel again urged Black not to agree.

He ignored her pleas.

“Mrs Black, pull yourself together,” said the company secretary, irritated by her hysteria.

“It’s Lady Black, you bastard,” shouted Amiel.

Next day, Black signed the agreement. Hollinger’s directors assumed he would resign, repay the money and help the company to be either restructured or sold. In exchange, the SEC would take no action against him and he could enjoy the countless more millions of dollars believed to have been deposited in secret offshore accounts.

After all, Black and David Radler, his business partner, had been able to pocket more than $400m that belonged to the other 81% of Hollinger’s shareholders.

This scenario did not pan out, however. Ever since its creation, Hollinger had been established solely for Black’s benefit, and he was unwilling to change a lifetime’s habit while overseeing its demise, especially the loss of the company’s jewel, The Daily Telegraph.

For some weeks, he had been secretly negotiating the Telegraph’s sale. The potential buyers were Sir David and Sir Frederick Barclay, the then 59-year-old English twins.