As a youth, Harry Domin – né Enrique Domínguez – was more interested in politics than business. He was particularly taken with the lurid goings-on in Russia in the early 20th Century. One day “for a laugh” and in emulation of Lenin and Stalin, he shortened his distinguished Spanish surname to “Domin”. Unfortunately, the name stuck. To add insult to injury, his name was further bowdlerised when his fellow students hijacked his given name – the Spanish form of “Henry” – and replaced it with the decidedly downmarket-sounding “Harry”.
Secretly, however, Harry loved his new name. He loved the way his parents would pull their faces upon hearing it. At his graduation, for example. Instead of the regal “Enrique Domínguez”, his mother and father had to endure the plebeian “Harry Domin”. It didn’t matter that Harry finished top of his year. As “no son of ours”, he was effectively an outcast.
Harry enjoyed the status of the family pariah tremendously. It gave him the freedom to go and do as he pleased. There was nothing to hold him back, least of all his ancestry. After his studies, he went from success to success as ever larger corporations fell over themselves to attract his considerable talents. Until the President of RUR, Hermann Glory himself, headhunted him to direct operations for the enterprise.
In spite of his profound business acumen, Harry was still a baby emotionally. More attracted perhaps by his power and wealth than his character, many a man and woman had thrown themselves at him. But Harry never caught a single one. He was waiting for Ms Right. Or “Miss Glory”, as he called her when the daughter of the company president entered his life.