Stockton stared. “Yeah, nice try, fucker. I read that sucker eight times over. Three million in Bagatelle Inc.”

“I told you that Bagatelle was incorporated in Switzerland. You are the proud owner of three million shares in Bagatelle Inc., S.A. Bagatelle, South Africa.” The young man shrugged. “Which has no assets.”

Stockton gasped; a huge wave of nausea rocked through him.

“You little bastard! You cheated me!”

“The same way you cheated me when you promised me the management of House Massot.”

Stockton blundered towards the door. Horribly, he remembered the lawyer saying he was going to rush the deal through. And Tom asking the press release to be issued . . .

“Fuck you,” he hissed. “You’re not stealing this company!”

“That’s right. I’m buying it, for thirty million euros. The discount is deep, but not irrational. It will stand up in any court.” Massot smiled. “And I’m doing the shareholders a favour. Those who will own shares in the new House Massot will make a large amount of money. Those who own Mayberry may take a short-term hit, but once you are fired, management will improve. In the long run, this will benefit everybody.” He paused. “Except, of course—you.”

“You asshole!” Stockton screamed. “And you too, Montfort, and you, you goddamned—”

“I would be very careful how you address my wife,” Hugh Montfort said quietly.

Pete backed away, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. “I’ll cancel the deal. Call it off. Say I was threatened . . .”

“Say you accepted a bribe?” Hugh Montfort smiled. “I don’t think so, Pete. You can sell your house, and give back your cars, and sell your wife’s jewellery—and then maybe there’ll be enough left over to rent a two-bedroom apartment in the Valley. But I’m sure you’ll agree, that’s a hell of a lot better than jail.”

“The deal’s done,” Tom Massot informed him. “By now, it is all over the press. I suggest you try to resign with the shreds of your dignity.”

“Go to hell!” Stockton screamed. “Go to hell!”

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and stumbled, blindly, from the room. Montfort and Sophie stood aside to let him go.

“That was fun.” Tom smiled broadly, watching Stockton’s flight. Relief and the vindication washed through him. He had Papa’s company back. And this time, he wouldn’t mess it up.

“Good work, Tom.” Montfort said.

Sophie walked over to her son and hugged him. “I’m so proud of you, darling. I’m sure you’ll manage House Massot beautifully.”

“I’ll certainly try.” He kissed her on the cheek. “We might do a deal with Montfort Jewels, if you play your cards right. You could do mass-market pieces, and we will make the bespoke.”

“You want to merge?” Sophie asked.

“No. Massot will be Massot. But perhaps we can forge an alliance.”

Montfort said, “I don’t see why not.”