Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO STOOD BESIDE HER FIANCÉ
For a moment, Camille could hear nothing except the beating of her own heart.
Diane Lambert stood near the office door, her fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of her handbag.
Julien had gone completely still.
Armand stared at Diane with an expression Camille had never seen on her father's face.
It wasn't anger.
It was recognition.
As though something he had suspected for years had finally been spoken aloud.
“What did you mean?” Camille demanded.
Diane swallowed.
“I shouldn't have said that.”
“But you did.”
Julien stepped toward her.
“Diane, stop talking.”
Camille turned on him.
“Don't you dare tell her what to say.”
He stopped.
Camille approached Diane.
“Look at me.”
Diane reluctantly raised her eyes.
“Seven years ago, my mother died after becoming seriously ill. She spent three weeks in the hospital. I was there every day.”
Diane's lips trembled.
“I know.”
Camille froze.
“How do you know?”
Diane looked toward Armand.
And Camille realized something deeply unsettling.
These people shared a history she had never been allowed to see.
Her father knew Julien.
Julien knew her mother.
Diane knew details about Madeleine's final weeks.
And everyone had remained silent while Camille built a future with a man who had once threatened her family.
“Master Lefèvre,” Camille said, “I want copies of everything.”
The notary nodded.
“Of course.”
“And I want the agreement canceled.”
“Nothing has been executed,” he assured her. “The proposed transfer cannot proceed without your signature, and the protections established by your mother create additional requirements.”
Camille turned toward Julien.
“Then we're finished.”
His expression changed.
“Camille, don't make a decision while you're upset.”
She almost laughed.
“Upset?”
Her voice shook.
“You lied about your name. You concealed your connection to my family. You tried to acquire thirty-two percent of my company, and you were having an affair with the woman financing the transaction.”
Julien's eyes flashed.
“You don't know everything.”
“Then tell me.”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came.
Camille removed her engagement ring.
It was a beautiful diamond, surrounded by tiny sapphires.
Julien had chosen the sapphires because her mother had loved blue.
Camille suddenly wondered whether even that detail had been part of his research.
She placed the ring on the table.
“I don't want anything from you.”
Julien stared at it.
For one fleeting second, genuine pain crossed his face.
But it disappeared quickly.
“You're making a mistake.”
Camille looked directly at him.
“No. I'm finally correcting one.”
She turned toward her father.
“Take me home.”
Armand nodded.
They left without another word.
But as Camille stepped into the hallway, she heard Diane whisper behind them.
“Julien, she doesn't know about the other contract.”
Camille stopped.
Before she could turn around, Julien's voice cut through the doorway.
“Shut up.”
The elevator doors opened.
Armand gently guided his daughter inside.
“Not here,” he whispered.
Camille stared at him.
“What other contract?”
Her father looked exhausted.
“I don't know.”
She didn't believe him.
And for the first time in her life, she was afraid of what her father might be hiding.
Outside, the rain had stopped.
The city looked strangely ordinary.
People hurried along sidewalks.
Cars moved through intersections.
A delivery driver laughed into his phone.
Camille watched them through the tinted window of her father's sedan and wondered how the world could continue functioning when hers had just collapsed.
“Dad,” she said quietly, “when did you discover who Julien really was?”
Armand remained silent.
“Please.”
He looked at her.
“Three weeks ago.”
Camille frowned.
“Three weeks?”
“A private investigator contacted me after identifying a connection between Julien's current business interests and the old Mercier case.”
“Why didn't you tell me immediately?”
“Because I needed proof.”
“You could have warned me.”
“I know.”
His voice carried a regret she rarely heard.
“I thought if I confronted you without evidence, you'd believe I was interfering in your marriage.”
Camille turned toward the window.
He wasn't entirely wrong.
For years, she had resented his attempts to advise her about relationships.
After her mother's death, Armand had become protective to the point of suffocation.
He questioned the men she dated.
He criticized her business decisions.
He worried constantly about people taking advantage of her wealth.
Camille had fought hard to establish her independence.
And Julien had always encouraged that resentment.
“Your father doesn't respect you,” he would say.
“He sees you as a little girl.”
“You built Asterion without him. Don't let him control your life.”
She had believed Julien understood her.
Now she wondered whether he had deliberately isolated her from the one person who might have recognized him.
“Tell me about the Mercier scandal,” she said.
Armand sighed.
“It began eleven years ago.”
Camille turned toward him.
“Eleven?”
“Yes. Julien's father, Étienne Mercier, was chief financial officer of a joint investment venture. My company held a controlling stake.”
“What happened?”
“Funds disappeared. Nearly twenty million euros.”
“Did you accuse his father?”
“We discovered falsified accounts. Étienne eventually signed a confession.”
“And then?”
“He was prosecuted. The company collapsed. His family lost almost everything.”
Camille remembered Julien describing his childhood.
He had told her his father was a brilliant businessman destroyed by corrupt competitors.
He had spoken of watching his mother sell jewelry to pay household bills.
He had described promising himself that he would never again be powerless.
Camille had admired his determination.
“Was his father guilty?” she asked.
Armand looked away.
“The evidence said he was.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Her father turned back toward her.
“I believed he was.”
Camille studied him.
“Believed?”
Armand's expression darkened.
“Your mother wasn't convinced.”
Camille felt a chill.
“Why?”
“She found irregularities in the investigation.”
“What kind?”
“Documents that didn't match. Transfers that appeared after Étienne had lost access to the accounts. She believed someone else might have been involved.”
Camille stared at him.
“Did she investigate?”
“Yes.”
“And what did she find?”
Armand hesitated.
“That's what I never understood.”
The car slowed outside the Delcourt family residence.
A large stone house stood behind wrought-iron gates.
Camille had grown up there.
Every room held memories of her mother.
For seven years, she had avoided spending too much time inside because the absence felt unbearable.
Now she desperately wanted to hear Madeleine's voice.
The moment they entered, Camille walked toward her mother's former study.
Armand followed.
“Camille, you should rest.”
“No.”
She opened the door.
The room smelled faintly of old books and cedarwood.
Madeleine's desk stood beside the window.
Her framed photographs remained on the shelves.
Camille ran her fingers across the polished surface.
“Did Mom keep records of her investigation?”
Armand nodded.
“She kept everything.”
“Where?”
“In the archive room.”
Camille turned.
“Then show me.”
Twenty minutes later, they stood before a locked cabinet in the basement.
Armand entered a code.
The door opened.
Inside were dozens of labeled boxes.
Contracts.
Letters.
Bank statements.
Personal correspondence.
Camille searched until she found a folder marked MERCIER.
She opened it.
The first documents concerned the old financial scandal.
Then she discovered a handwritten timeline.
Madeleine had listed dates, names, and suspicious transactions.
At the bottom was a note.
November 17 — meeting with J.M. and D.L. They know more than they're admitting.
Camille's stomach tightened.
J.M.
Julien Mercier.
D.L.
Diane Lambert.
She turned the page.
A second note had been written in red ink.
If anything happens to me, ask who authorized the Saint-Clair transfer.
Camille looked up.
“Dad, what's the Saint-Clair transfer?”
Armand frowned.
“I don't know.”
She showed him the page.
His face changed.
“What?” Camille asked.
He slowly took the document.
“Saint-Clair was the name of a private investment account.”
“Whose?”
Armand stared at the paper.
“Your mother's.”
Camille felt a sudden wave of dread.
“Why would Julien and Diane know anything about Mom's private account?”
Armand didn't answer.
Camille searched the folder again.
At the very back, she found a bank statement.
A transfer had been initiated on November seventeenth, seven years earlier.
The amount was twelve million euros.
The destination account belonged to a company called Bellwether Holdings.
Camille looked at the signature authorizing the transaction.
It was Madeleine's.
But beneath the signature was a handwritten notation.
Authorization disputed.
Camille's hands began shaking.
“Dad…”
Armand looked over her shoulder.
She pointed toward the receiving institution.
The account had been opened by an authorized representative.
A name appeared in small print.
Diane Lambert.
Camille stared at the document.
Her mother's final investigation had involved Diane directly.
But another detail made her blood run cold.
The transfer date was November seventeenth.
And Madeleine had been admitted to the hospital on November eighteenth.
May you like
Camille slowly raised her eyes.
“Dad… why did twelve million euros disappear from Mom's account the day before she collapsed?”
