She was perfect. Once you got to know her she was a social butterfly and a great actor. Harold knew the story wasn't true, of her being a slave. He also knew that she didn't speak Japanese but could speak French perfectly. What he didn't know was her connection to Toulouse. Harold didn't worry about it, he knew it wouldn't be a problem now. He need to find his new investor, a man named James Amonna would help him. Harold rushed down the block to his home a few blocks away. He flew down the rainy streets until he rain into his majestic red door. He ran in the extravagant house with expensive furniture and decorations. A n attractive maid appeared and stated,

"Sir, Mr. Pierce is here to see you. He is in your office."

Harold took a deep breath and muttered back,

"Thank you" He then put his hand flat on the door and slowly pushed it open.

Muddy light streamed through the windows and landed on the faces of the two men. Harold looked around his office with familiar eyes. The room was square, with windows opening to the inner courtyard of his humble house. There was a plain chair facing a big desk with papers strewn all over it.

"You asked to see me?" asked a deep but pleasant voice. A huge, royal, chair behind the muddied desk spun around to reveal a ravishingly handsome man. He had nicely cut blond hair and deep ocean blue eyes that sent shivers down any passing maid's spine. He was tanned by the sun in the south and had a god's body. He wore a nice black suit with hints of blue in the fabric. Harold nodded and replied,

"Yes. I called you here to tell you that we need to start right away on the restoration of the Moulin Rouge." Ziddler sat down in the plain chair, and watched as James toyed with a fountain pen on Harold's desk. He looked up at the owner through the forest of blond hair in front of his face.

"Have you found us a new writer and Sparkling Diamond?" He questioned with a quizzical look in his beautiful eye. Harold nodded and whispered,

"She is the most beautiful creature in heaven" Harold smiled,

"And what about the writer?" James asked. Then, at the moment, an unconscious Argentinean fell through the roof.