Andrew sat back in his chair and surveyed the baccarat table. The pile of chips in front of him was impressively large — it had been a good night. But then most of them were. Winning at cards was one of the many things that came easily to Andrew. The problem, for him, was what to do with the winnings. He had plenty of money already. Coming home yet again from Monte Carlo with a suitcase full of cash struck him as rather gauche.

Liam, of course, would have been happy to take the money. Lacking Andrew's patience at the table (when in doubt, Liam tended to bluff), he had blown through his stake hours earlier and departed, accompanied by several of the more attractive women present.

The sky was just beginning to lighten as Andrew stepped out of the casino, still searching for a meaningful way to dispose of his winnings (the thousand-franc tip for the dealer had been a good start). Nearing the harbor where his yacht was berthed, he ran into a group of dockworkers coming off the night shift. They looked tired ...and hungry.

"I say," Andrew called out. "Would anyone like a bit of breakfast? My treat."