Chapter 9 - THE EIGHT-MILLION-DOLLAR LIE
“EIGHT MILLION DOLLARS? I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THAT ACCOUNT EXISTED!”
Adrien stared at the financial records as though they were written in a foreign language.
Victor watched him carefully.
“Your name appears as the beneficiary.”
“That doesn't mean I controlled the account.”
“No,” Victor agreed. “But it means someone wanted the money connected to you.”
Raphaël took the documents.
The transfer had been authorized on November 21, 2019, three days after Elise's death.
The money had originated from a Delcourt family investment vehicle and passed through several companies before reaching an account registered in Luxembourg.
Adrien's name appeared on the final ownership declaration.
Léa looked at him.
“Did you know my mother was investigating these companies?”
Adrien shook his head.
“No.”
“Then why did you try so hard to get rid of me at the birthday party?”
He hesitated.
Camille stepped forward.
“Tell her.”
Adrien looked toward the window.
“Mother told me someone named Léa Martin might appear. She said you were planning to accuse Father of abandoning you and demand money.”
Léa stared at him.
“And you believed her.”
“Yes.”
“Without speaking to me?”
Adrien lowered his head.
“Yes.”
She folded her arms.
“You humiliated me in front of hundreds of people because you were afraid I might embarrass your family.”
“I know.”
“You grabbed my wrist.”
His face reddened.
“I know.”
“You treated me like I was something that could be thrown away.”
Adrien looked at her.
For the first time, he did not try to defend himself.
“I'm sorry.”
Léa studied him.
The apology was not enough.
But it was a beginning.
“Then help us find out what happened.”
He nodded.
“I will.”
Victor asked Adrien to provide access to his historical financial records and relevant correspondence through his attorney. Adrien agreed.
That decision changed the investigation.
Within forty-eight hours, the authorities had obtained records showing that the Luxembourg account had been controlled through powers of attorney signed by Henri Beaumont.
Adrien had never accessed the money.
But the account had funded several transactions connected to Catherine Delcourt's private foundation.
One payment stood out.
Two million euros had been transferred to a medical facility near Lyon in December 2019.
The same facility where Marianne Voss had been living under an assumed name.
Léa felt her stomach tighten.
“Someone was paying to keep her there.”
Victor nodded.
“Possibly for her medical care. But the payment structure is suspicious, and we need to establish who authorized it.”
Camille looked horrified.
“My mother knew Marianne was alive?”
“It appears someone associated with her foundation did.”
Raphaël stood abruptly.
“I want Catherine brought here.”
Victor raised his hand.
“No. We should let the investigators handle this. Confronting her now could compromise the evidence.”
But Catherine had already disappeared.
Her personal driver reported that she had left the mansion early that morning.
Her phone was switched off.
Her private accounts had been accessed from outside France.
And her passport was missing from the estate's safe.
By evening, the family learned that she had boarded a flight to Switzerland.
Camille sat in the living room, staring at the fireplace.
“She's running.”
Léa sat beside her.
“We don't know that yet.”
Camille shook her head.
“She always told me that innocent people had nothing to hide.”
Léa looked at the flames.
“Sometimes people run because they're guilty. Sometimes because they're afraid. We need to know which.”
Camille turned toward her.
“How can you still be so calm?”
Léa considered the question.
“I'm not calm.”
“Then why aren't you screaming?”
“Because I spent seven years grieving someone I thought I had lost to an accident. If I let anger make every decision now, I might lose the chance to find out what really happened.”
Camille reached for her hand.
“You sound like someone who was raised by a very good mother.”
Léa's eyes filled with tears.
“She was.”
That night, Léa returned to her apartment.
She had barely entered when she noticed something wrong.
The kitchen window was open.
She had locked it before leaving.
Her mother's old coffee mug lay shattered on the floor.
And the wooden drawer she had searched days earlier had been pulled apart.
Someone had entered her home.
Léa backed toward the door.
Then she heard a voice from the darkness.
“Don't scream.”
A woman stepped into the light.
She was approximately thirty years old, with short dark hair and frightened eyes.
Léa froze.
“Who are you?”
The stranger raised both hands.
“My name is Anaïs Morel.”
“What are you doing in my apartment?”
The woman swallowed.
“I worked for Catherine Delcourt.”
Léa reached for her phone.
Anaïs shook her head.
“Please. I didn't come to hurt you.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I know who killed your mother.”
Léa's blood ran cold.
Anaïs looked toward the open window.
May you like
Then she whispered:
“AND IF THE DELCOURTS FIND OUT I'M TALKING TO YOU, I'LL BE NEXT.”
