After Harry Slan left Deke Sleder’s office, the German Industrialist sat in silence for a long time thinking. He was not a happy man at that moment, and he did not like doing what he had just done. However, he liked being rich and he liked being powerful, and he was intelligent enough to understand that a family’s empire does not always survive and prosper through three generations by putting ethics at the top of its list of priorities.

The man who had come to see him at his headquarters in Hamburg only a few months before hadn’t exactly had ethics at the top of his list of priorities either. He had introduced himself to Sleder’s personal assistant as one Walther Hauptmertz, stating that he had a business proposition that he wished to put to Herr Sleder in person; no one else in the organization would do. Intrigued, Sleder had granted him an appointment.

Hauptmertz was a stocky man, with a twinkle in his eye, and a face that was full of fun. He strode into Sleder’s office in a fashionable herring-bone suit, that flattered his figure, but did not have the preciseness of fit, nor of detail, that a personally tailored suit would have done. The back of the jacket rose up a little too high behind his neck; one of Hauptmertz’s shoulders was a fraction higher than the other, but the jacket did not compensate for this; there were buttons on the cuffs, but no buttonholes, not even fake ones; the jacket had a striped pattern, but the stripes did not match up at the shoulder seams, nor at the pockets. It was clearly an off-the-peg suit, and, judging from the good cloth from which it was made, had been bought from an expensive boutique. His narrow Cardin tie, and even narrower Etienne Aigner executive briefcase were further confirmation that he probably wasn’t on the poverty line. He struck Sleder as looking like a cross between an international arms dealer and a marketing manager for a French cosmetics house.

They shook hands and sat down. The size of this office made Sleder’s New York office look like a cupboard in comparison, but Hauptmertz did not show any sign of being impressed. He placed his briefcase on Sleder’s desk, popped it open, but didn’t remove anything, and leaned forward.

‘Herr Sleder,’ he said with a big smile, taking what appeared to be a gold Dunhill lighter from his pocket. ‘Have you ever before seen one of these?’ He held it up for inspection.

‘I think so – it’s a cigarette lighter, is it not?’ Sleder wondered if the man was weak in the head.