"How dare they, to the Boss..."

Robert finished his call with the Boss and ground his teeth.

He knew better than anyone how petty upper-crust types threw their weight around without ever showing it.

Even as a manager back in the day, Robert had never been able to set foot in American high society.

Now the mainstream upper class was dying to get a meeting with him.

A rising Wall Street heavyweight and an investment genius.

That was how people described Robert now.

Politicians, business leaders and cultural figures showered him with calls every day, trying to book him.

Even his ex-wife and children had called not long ago.

His ex-wife had said she'd been wrong before, that she was sorry, and that they should plan a beautiful retirement together.

Robert had barely held back the curses rising in his throat.

His ex-wife, from a fallen noble family that had emigrated from Europe, had quietly looked down on him.

She'd run off from him the minute he was out of work, and now she wanted to get back together.

The kids were the same.

They were fully independent, each doing fine, and suddenly they needed their dad.

What a load of bullshit.

Even between parents and children, there was basic decency to keep.

Robert had given his whole youth to his family.

When he'd suddenly lost his job and ended up looking like a beggar, those little ingrates hadn't called once or bought him a single meal.

And now those same kids needed their dad?

Robert had let them all go long ago, and forgotten them.

He'd already given them all the support he could, so each could stand on their own.

And now he was living happy days with the woman he loved.

He had no wish to make the mistake of walking back into hell.

"Marcel Dropoix... You're going to shed some tears over your son!"

The world's third-largest multinational, after Walmart and Tesco.

Robert declared war on Marcel Dropoix, its vice president and the founder's son.

After hearing the Boss out, he'd looked into it in short…