One hundred and five

The members of the board were seated in their usual positions, all except for Hamza Harass. He had helped himself to the chairman’s seat, the only one with armrests.

A long Montecristo cigar was clenched between his front teeth, an accessory as much as it was a smoke. In his own time, he clipped one end, lit the other, and exhaled a lungful of dense grey smoke.

‘My dear friends and fellow directors,’ he said, ‘I now have the papers for you to sign in order for the future to begin. And it’s a future which bodes very well for us all.’

He glanced over to Patricia Ross, for her to hand out the documents. Finding her chair empty, he thrust the papers towards the middle of the table.

He was about to congratulate himself, when the door to the boardroom swung open wide.

Ghita Omary entered quickly, Patricia Ross behind her.

She strode over to where Harass was reclining, Montecristo in hand, and motioned for him to move.

A moment later she was seated in her father’s chair, hands on the armrests, eyes locked onto the stupefied members of the board.

‘Good morning to you all,’ she said aggressively. ‘First, I would like to thank you all for your support in these trying times, and Mr. Harass for keeping my father’s seat warm for me.’ She smiled, allowing the smile to dissolve into a scowl. ‘Forgive me, but the situation is so precarious that I shall dispense with pleasantries. As you are fully aware, Globalcom stock is in a tailspin. We have to act fast to steer this ship around.’

‘Miss Omary,’ said Harass, inspecting the end of his cigar, ‘thank you for your interest, but I do believe your presence is not permitted, let alone required.’

Ghita winked at Patricia Ross.

Rooting through her attaché case, the American PA pulled out the legal document.

‘Article 72 of the company code clearly states that Miss Omary has the full and inalienable right to lead Globalcom in lieu of her father.’

Harass held up his hands as though he were about to be shot.

‘I do believe we are well past the point at which we might be saved by your efforts, Miss Omary,’ he said. ‘I assume you are not cognizant of the JFT bid?’

‘JFT?’ Ghita repeated in a voice so shaped by anger that it was barely comprehensible.

‘A consortium of industrialists,’ Harass replied, ‘formed for the purpose of acquiring Globalcom.’

François Lassalle held up the document that had just been circulated.

‘The firm will be stripped of its remaining assets,’ he said, ‘and sold off piece by piece to the highest bidder.’

Ghita dug her long fingernails into the leather upholstery.

‘And who exactly is the leader of this cowboy outfit?... J...F...’

‘T... JFT,’ Hamza Harass broke in. Sucking hard on his cigar, he smiled smugly. ‘I am proud to declare that it is I, my dear Miss Omary,’ he said.

Her blood boiling, Ghita stood up, and thumped the walnut veneer with her petite fist. Considering its size it made an impressive sound.

‘You may think me a worthless excuse of a woman!’ she shouted. ‘But, in the name of my father, the man who gave you all responsibility and made you all wealthy, I ask that you extend to me seventy-two hours.’

‘What are you going to do with it?’ asked Driss Senbel arrogantly. ‘Go shopping in Paris?’

Some of the other board members broke into a laugh.

‘Why not?’ Harass said, pushing back his shoulders. ‘It will give us time to put together the last details, and to go shopping ourselves. For, as you may be aware, the Omary mansion and its contents are about to be auctioned.’