company at the top of the pyramid owns or has controlling stakes in a massive number of other companies, and whoever controls the parent company effectively controls everything beneath it. In this case, Adam Gold owns a hundred per cent of Midas Investment Group, the parent company, which makes him very rich and very, very powerful indeed.’
‘Well, I could have told you that without the economics lecture,’ said Erin.
‘Ah, but one of the guys at work was saying Gold’s got to be really, really fishy to be worth over a billion in such a short space of time …’
‘Maybe he just has the Midas touch,’ said Erin sarcastically, suddenly feeling a need to jump to Adam’s defence.
Richard shrugged. ‘Maybe. Anyway, the important thing is that Charles, our senior partner, was asking who does the Midas Corporation’s legals in London. I mean, White, Geary and Robinson offer a very comprehensive service across corporate, property, tax and litigation requirements, you know.’
‘Richard,’ said Erin crossly, putting down her fork. ‘You sound like a used-car salesman.’
Her boyfriend stiffened at the suggestion. ‘Come on, Erin, you know how much I want to be taken on in the CoCo department when I qualify. If I can bring in some of Adam’s Gold’s business, I’ll be home and dry.’
She looked at her boyfriend, really quite baby-faced underneath it all. A little boy dressed up as a City hotshot, wanting to please the big boys. She almost felt sorry for him. ‘Listen, Richard, I’ve only been there a day, but I’ll try and find out who the company uses and whether they’re happy with them. That’s all I can do.’
Richard pushed a kidney bean around his plate and looked a little sheepish. ‘Well … actually, there is one other thing you could do,’ he said, looking up at her with pleading eyes. ‘The firm are having an end-of-financial-year party in a few weeks and …’
‘What, Richard?’
‘Well, I told my boss that you’d bring Adam.’
‘Are you still in bed?’
Molly muttered a silent curse. She was indeed still in Harry’s emperor-sized bed and, lifting a corner of her black silk sleep mask, she saw it was 11 a.m. Reluctantly, she uncoiled herself and stretched. She knew the day was out there waiting, if only she could crawl from under this lovely cosy goose-down duvet. In fact, Molly had barely left Harry’s Hampstead home since the night of the benefit a week ago, only venturing into the outside world to pick up some essentials from her apartment – and for Harry to take her out to dinner every night. Naturally.
‘Oh darling, of course I’m not in bed,’ lied Molly, swinging out of the bed, her toes sinking into the thick double cream carpet. ‘Although I know you like to think of me in bed every minute of the day, don’t you lover?’
Harry gave a low chuckle down the phone. ‘Well, I was just calling to say that I’ve been invited to a very old friend’s party tonight,’ he said, ‘and I want you to come with me.’
‘How do you know I’ve got nothing better in my diary?’ teased Molly, standing in front of the full-length mirror and patting her pancake-flat stomach.
‘Well, how about I make it worth your while?’ he asked. ‘Why don’t you go shopping this morning and pick out something nice to wear for the party? We can meet in Bond Street at one-ish to go and collect it.’
‘Dress, bag and shoes?’ smiled Molly.
‘I didn’t think you’d be a cheap date,’ he said, his tone playful.
Molly grinned. ‘I’ll be in Gucci.’
She showered quickly to shake off her grogginess, throwing on some jeans, a white shirt and her cowboy boots and pulling her hair back in a ponytail. She inspected herself in the mirror: pretty hot, even if she did say so herself, but still she didn’t feel quite ready for the hustle and bustle of spending someone else’s money. I wonder … she thought, and walked over to Harry’s walnut chest of drawers. Harry was super-neat, with everything in its own place. She rummaged around among his neatly rolled-up silk socks until she found what she was looking for: a small plastic bag containing about an ounce of cocaine. Molly’s eyes lit up. She pulled the seal open and dipped a long fingernail inside. The powder was fine and translucent like ground pearls; it looked as expensive as the rest of Harry’s possessions. Expertly, Molly tipped a small amount on the bedside table, lined it up with her credit card and snorted, feeling the crackle of coke taking hold. Oh yes, that was good. She pulled on her leather biker jacket, her body twinkling. Now she was ready to go shopping.
‘So who is this mysterious friend we’re meeting?’ asked Molly as they flew down Park Lane in Harry’s forest-green Ferrari. ‘I like to know whose party I’m going to before I get there.’
‘Marcus Blackwell, vice president of Midas,’ said Harry, gunning the engine and changing lanes to dodge a Bentley.
‘Midas? Adam Gold’s company?’ said Molly in surprise.
‘That’s right,’ said Harry smugly, ‘we were at university together. I was a med student, he was doing maths, if I remember rightly.’ He glanced sideways to drink in Molly’s figure, barely concealed by the tiny gold lamé shift dress he’d bought her earlier that afternoon.
‘I haven’t seen Marcus properly for years though,’ he continued. ‘He’s British, but he went to work on Wall Street fairly soon after he graduated. He hooked up with Gold and has been his right-hand man ever since. He’s done very well for himself.’
‘Hey, you didn’t do too badly either,’ smiled Molly, expertly massaging both his ego and his cock, her right hand stretched over the gearstick into Harry’s lap.
‘I guess not,’ gasped Harry, trying to keep the Ferrari on the road.
The Midas Corporation drinks party was to celebrate the launch of their flagship London development ‘Knightsbridge Heights’. Molly had read about the luxury apartments in the Evening Standard. Apparently, everyone from celebrities to oil sheiks had been clamouring to buy into one of the capital’s most desirable slices of real estate, and the party was being held in the building’s stunning black marble lobby. By the time Harry and Molly walked in through the black and gold revolving doors, it was already throbbing with the cream of society.
‘So how much does one of these apartments go for?’ asked Molly, looking around enviously. It was really a spectacular place in which to live. The centrepiece of the lobby was a vast black marble fountain that spewed out water as from a whale’s blowhole. The atrium stretched all the way to the glass ceiling hundreds of feet above. Along the back of the building was a bank of sliding doors that opened out onto a lush garden, stocked with exotic plants and lit for the evening with guttering torches.
‘I think they start about three million pounds and then go skywards,’ said Harry knowingly. ‘And I hear ninety-five per cent of them have been sold already. That’s the beauty of Midas’s residential business. They target the very top of the market. It’s pretty much recession-proof up there.’
They
