Maître Renart

He was kind, amiable, and impeccably polite. You made the mistake of mistaking that for respect.

He was flattering, and you let him talk, gradually allowing him into your inner circle.

That's where he chose to reap the rewards of his efforts. A contract, between friends, between an investment advisor with an exemplary reputation and you, the owner of a magnificent home and substantial assets.

A signature that came a little too hastily, perhaps a consequence of drinking champagne a little too soon.

The small print was problematic. Many clauses were glossed over. You gave him everything; you have nothing left.

Renart is within his rights. The mistake was yours, and the contract is fair. And it's probably that's what he likes best about this story.

Now he offers you a choice: walk away with nothing, or stay in your own house, in his service.

Renart is patient, and he is rarely refused.