He strode to his rented windows and looked down, over the traffic, to the river glittering red and gold in the sunset. Perhaps things would all work out for the best. . . .

But somehow, he doubted it.

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

At first Sophie was shocked at what she found. It was more, much more, than a little corporate thievery: Gregoire Lazard and the directors with their hands in the till. There had been waste, inactivity, rot, in almost every area of House Massot. The same staff, free from any threats of firing, had been on the payroll for years, and without Pierre there, with Lazard uninterested, the decline had been steady and constant.

Every year since his death, revenues had fallen, market share slid, the share price stagnanted. The more she uncovered, the more Sophie understood it was only because the analysts were not paying attention that their shares hadn’t dropped through the floor.

The banks had been asked for more and more capital. They were now pressing for a repayment of their loans. It was debt that had already been restructured, more than once. Sophie was not technically minded, but she learned fast. Her intelligence was keen, although her personality was mild, and the more she bent her mind to it, the more incompetence she uncovered. Letters, reports, sales charts, banking summaries; the dry, precise figures, so unemotional on paper, told a shocking story: a great company, crumbling into dust.

If the truth be told, on the brink of destruction.

The first thing she did was to find herself some competent advisers. Judy Dean was a true support. She gave Sophie lists of executives she thought should be replaced. They were long lists; Sophie fired them all. M. Giles Keroualle, Judy’s boss in PR, was the first to go.

She hired independent lawyers and accountants and began a lightning-quick review. Every meeting confirmed it; House Massot was on the verge of ruin.

Sophie reflected that if she thought about this too much, she would be terrified. And she did not have time to be terrified. She had a company to rescue, for herself, and for her son.

There were still assets, still things House Massot had to offer. A brilliant, and underpaid, team of jewellery designers; stores in the best locations; pipelines to De Beers’ site holders; contracts with independent suppliers of the best gems in the world. And, of course, a handful of people she could trust.