Picture the scene tonight as Masters sits down in his cinema room to watch the news with his wife Mary. Quaffing a vintage port, Mary idly checking the Harrods website for ideas as to how to spend the latest £1000 gift card from those lovely people at the red cartel, the dog tucking into his venison dinner.
The TV cuts to DT engaged in conversation with a face he somehow recognises. Mary looks up from the Ming collection, the dog looks nervously at Richard.
"Isn't that City's owner with the most powerful man on the planet darling" Mary says quizzically. She looks across the room at Richard. The feint whiff of excrement fills the air. Richard stares blankly at the screen, fear etched across his face. A bead of sweat drops into his port. A tear rolls down his cheek.
"Pack some things Mary, we're fucked".
