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would hold the tip level with his eyes and stare at it for a few seconds before putting it away.

      Still seated, Sixth Uncle began to pull on his down jacket. His arms snagged in the sleeves and the collar twisted awkwardly against his neck. He sat at the table rubbing his eyes, the puffy jacket making him seem even more rotund than usual. ‘God, my head hurts,’ he said.

      Outside, the afternoon had given way to a long northern twilight that tinged the snow-draped city a faint electric blue. They walked slowly back to the hotel along the long, windswept avenue. All around them, the branches of the cherry trees were clad in sleeves of frost studded with ice crystals. In a few months they would be covered in blossom again. They paused to look at a snow sculpture of a plump little cartoon cat with its paw raised in greeting. ‘Looks like me,’ Sixth Uncle said. When Justin glanced at his uncle he saw that his eyes were moist, and tears were streaming down his reddened cheeks.

      ‘Are you OK, Sixth Uncle?’ he asked, returning his gaze to the cat.

      Sixth Uncle blinked and wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. ‘It’s just the wind. I hate this damned cold.’

      They continued walking and Sixth Uncle put his arm around Justin’s shoulders. ‘I swear to God, the moment you’re old enough to take over this damn family’s affairs, I’m going to buy that farm and piss off to Tasmania forever.’

       How to be Gracious

      I think we have already spoken of the value of education. Those of you who follow the cut and thrust of modern international entrepreneurship will be quick to point out that the majority of the world’s billionaires are not in fact highly educated in the traditional sense: all those Chinese property tycoons and coal-mining emperors, those Indian steel magnates – they skipped the glitter of Harvard and slid straight into life’s great river, thrashing about in the muddy waters until they learnt to swim smoothly. The more pedantic among you will say that they were educated too, only in a different way – all that nonsense about ‘the university of life’, &c, &c.

      But that is not what I meant when I spoke of education, for to my mind, learning how to double-cross someone is not education. All those fancy things that men (yes, it is usually men, though increasingly women too) of high finance speak about, like takeovers, selling short, asset stripping – are these not rich people’s terms for bullying, gambling and cheating? I risk the wrath of my fellow entrepreneurial giants by saying this, but most tycoons I know are, frankly, not very gracious. What can you expect? Tycoon. Mogul. Magnate. Even the words these people use to describe themselves would indicate a certain mentality, for they are not kindly words, but ones designed to impress in the crassest of ways. They seek to dominate in that old-fashioned feudalistic way, to conquer, to destroy. And it is these base tendencies that you must resist if ever you are to become a gracious, generous billionaire. The time for that kind of old-fashioned accumulation of wealth is over. Indeed, part of the purpose of this book is to announce the end of this financial smash-and-grab and urge you to look away from the excesses committed by those who consider themselves the elite.

      I say ‘they’. But maybe I should say ‘we’. Most of you who are aware of my reputation will have assumed that I belong to this band of brutal overlords, and I do not blame you for doing so. On paper, my ruthless credentials are impeccable: the swift mergers and acquisitions of well-known companies that take the markets by surprise, the penthouse living, the intercontinental first-class flights – certain elements of my life will not endear themselves to the casual observer. Sometimes when I read an article about myself even I recoil at the seeming callousness of my financial manoeuvring. I look at the unflattering photo of myself sitting in front of a microphone at some hastily arranged press conference, my face largely expressionless. What a dreadful life this Walter Chao must have, I think. Imagine being him. Often I forget that he is in fact me.

      But then I remember my tireless charitable and educational projects, such as the construction of modern fibreglass bus shelters in rural areas of South-East Asia, which provide schoolchildren with respite from the downpours of the monsoon season, or the recent community centre built entirely of recycled plastic bottles – the first of its kind anywhere in the world, I think. I read with dismay a few ungracious accusations in the press that made it seem that my bus shelters were a sneaky way of marketing in hard-to-reach villages, simply because they happen to carry advertisements for the brand of soft drinks that I acquired several years ago. Next they will be saying that my carbon-neutral, waste-utilising community centre is a mere publicity stunt because it is made from the same soft-drink bottles.

      Fortunately I pay little attention to these sorts of comments, just as I ignore the sneering that accompanies my self-help books. I write these not to make money, you understand, but to share the map of my success with ordinary people in need of inspiration. Nor are these books an outlet for vanity or a search for deeper recognition: most of them have been written under various pseudonyms, including the multi-million-bestselling Secrets of a Five Star Billionaire.

      So those of you who think you know me – think again.

      Shrugging off all ungracious thoughts, let us return to the concept of graciousness and education. Of giving and not expecting any return. I mentioned before that I am planning a long-lasting legacy to the world, and the ideas are accelerating as I write. My original proposal to build a fairly unassuming cultural centre has mushroomed somewhat since I began working on it. I was at dinner with one of the world’s leading avant-garde architects and urban planners (whose identity must remain secret until approval for the project is granted), who became terribly excited at my plans. This architect virtually leapt out of his/her chair as soon as I explained what I intended to do, nearly embarrassing our host (the cold hors d’oeuvres had barely been served). He/she called me a visionary – a compliment indeed, coming from someone responsible for some of the most arresting buildings in the world. He/she has flung him/herself with great enthusiasm at this project – the first set of drawings is in development right now: part charitable foundation, part cultural centre, part dreamscape. No municipal council in the world will be able to resist a work of such ground-breaking importance.

      Annoyingly, I have been somewhat distracted from this noble project by developments elsewhere in my portfolio of interests – what the ungracious would call my ‘empire’. But as I am on the brink of a daring acquisition of one of the oldest, most famous companies in South-East Asia, I suppose it is hard to dispute accusations of bravado and entrepreneurial plundering. Yet I am only doing what others have done many times before me. It will hit the headlines in the next few days, so you will know all about it then – there’s no need to elaborate here. I will be a happier, more contented man once the deal is done and I can return to the work that really matters to me – the gracious business of giving.

      I forgot to say that I have identified a site for my cultural centre. I will be travelling there very shortly to push matters along. The city? I said before that it should be one capable of showing off my legacy in all its twenty-first-century glory. That doesn’t leave many choices. So in a few weeks I shall move my base of operations to the chosen city: Shanghai.

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