A Good Year

Max!

Uh-huh?

Ready to concede?

No!

I thought as it's

your last night here,

it only appropriate that we

open something extra special.

Bandol.

Excellent choice.

Tempier Bandol, 1969.

The kind of wine that'll pickle

even the toughest of men.

I once saw a Castilian prizefighter

collapse in a heap

after drinking just a single glass.

Perhaps my knee landing

squarely in his testicles...

...may have been partly to blame.

What was I talking about before?

You said the importance

of a good blue suit

can never be overstated.

Quite right.

A blue suit is the most

versatile of accoutrements.

More important

than the suit itself

is the man who fits it for you.

Once you find a good tailor,

you must never

give his name away,

not even under the threat

of bodily harm.

(music continues in background)

Now, where were we?

- Whose turn is it?

- Mine.

Uh-huh.

Uh-huh.

Max, have I told you why I enjoy

- making wine so much?

- You don't

make the wine, Uncle Henry,

that guy Duflot does.

In France,

it's always the landowner

who makes the wine.

Even though he does

nothing more than supervise

with binoculars

from the comfort of his study.

No, I enjoy making wine

because this sublime nectar

is quite simply incapable of lying.

Picked too early,

picked too late, it matters not.

The wine will always whisper

into your mouth

with complete,

unabashed honesty,

every time you take a sip.

Mmm,

delightful.

Now, Maximillian,

now you know why

I love wine so much,

have you anything

you want to tell me?

Yes, I do.

Yes, what is it?

Checkmate.

You little sh*t.

- Good morning, lab rats.

- Good morning, Max.

Today we're shifting gear.

Today... is Greedy Bastard Day.

The secret to riches, lab rats,

is the same as the secret to comedy...

timing.

- 115.10, Max.

So I thought we should move now.

- Not yet, Alf.

- Boss,

why do you keep calling me Alf?

Because you're an aggressive

little flunky, Kenny.

And as your boss

and genetic superior,

I can call you whatever I want.

Max Skinner's phone.

It's Kimberly.

Is Max there?

Yeah. One moment, please.

It's Kimberly.

- Sorry, Kimberly, Max isn't here.

- Where is he?

He and his fiance

are at their wedding

rehearsal today.

- Their what?

- Do you want me to leave him a message?

No, I don't want

to leave him a message!

Okay.

All right, lab rats,

just remember

we're not here for the dental plan.

People are buying! Max?

Sell.

That's yours!

I said that's yours!

That miserable sod Skinner's

dumping bonds

- onto the market.

- But he can't do that.

There's a gentleman's agreement

on the exchange.

A gentleman's agreement presupposes

- there's a gentleman involved.

- Amis,

he put out $5 billion

in sell orders- prices are

- crashing through the floor!

- Come on,

people, get off your asses!

Come on, step to it!

Start selling!

- Sell!

They should bury you

face down, Max,

because that's the way you're going.

Free big figures to 113.50!

Sell! Sell!

Still going down.

Buy.

F***in' buy it all back!

Buy it all back immediately!

Buy it all back!

It's yours to buy back!

Don't worry about it!

Buy it all back!

You're a genius, Max!

Filthy bugger,

he's forced down prices.

He's gonna buy everything back

on the cheap!

Start buying!

Buying now! Start buying!

- I can!

- I can!

Well done today, lab rats.

Wonderful work.

We all made

a spectacular amount of money.

Today we proved the adage that

winning isn't everything...

It's the only thing!

And there were strange goings-on

on the bond market today.

Prices crashed to 112.5,

after Lorden Brothers

unloaded $3 billion in sell orders.

Then in an extraordinary

move, the company bought the bonds back

at a substantially

reduced price,

making over $77 million

- in the process.

- Blimey.

Cries of foul play were loud

and widespread, with talks

of an inquiry to follow.

Morning, Mr. Skinner.

- Morning, Bert.

- And congratulations.

- Thank you.

- You might've tipped me off,

Mr. Skinner.

I'll give you a tip, Bert:

Never pat a burning dog.

Wanker.

Oh, Henry, bloody hell.

Ready for the fan mail?

Shoot, sunshine.

- "Bastard."

- Uh-huh.

"Bastard."

Uh-huh.

- "Burn in hell."

- Right.

"Rot in hell."

Oh. Lovely.

"Die."

Charming.

Maxie?

"Congratulations, you're my hero."

Who said that?

Your lawyer.

- Oh.

- Maxie, listen,

I just got off the phone

with, uh, Auzet.

That's the notaire handling

your Uncle Henry's estate.

She the one that sent me the letter?

Yeah.

Anyway, listen,

uh, it seems that

your Uncle Henry

hasn't updated his will

in over 20 years.

Which is why,

in typical frog fashion,

they take over a month

to notify us.

All right, so what do we do with that?

Is there a reading of the will,

or do we just download

that sort of thing these days?

What happens?

No, that's the point, Max.

Sorry?

There is no legal will.

Really?

You're his closest

blood relative,

- so you get everything.

- What, his clothes

and his Edmundo Ross LPs?

The house, you git.

You get to keep his house.

What, the old farmhouse

and the vineyards and

the grapes and everything?

Place like must be worth

a few quid these days.

Hey.

- Hmm.

- Anyway,

I've booked you a flight

and an appointment with Auzet

for 3:
00 tomorrow afternoon.

Just a few papers to sign.

Come on, I can't go

to France tomorrow.

Gem, I'm the toast of the town.

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