Chapter 5 - THE PHOTOGRAPH THAT SHOULD NOT EXIST
Élodie called back eleven times.
Mathéo didn't answer.
She sent one message.
I love you. Please stay close to other people. Call me whenever you can.
No reply came.
Claire contacted the relevant authorities and began preparing an urgent application concerning the threats and Mathéo's safety.
Thomas attempted to reach his contacts in Montreal.
Élodie sat at the conference table, staring at the photograph Gabriel had left behind.
Her mind kept returning to Mathéo's final words.
The man in the picture isn't alone.
Me.
How could her son appear in a photograph taken yesterday in Montreal when he had still been in Paris?
Had Mathéo misunderstood the date?
Had Laurent shown him an altered photograph?
Or had someone been using an image of her son to send a message?
Thomas listened to the description twice.
Then his expression darkened.
“Laurent has used fabricated photographs before.”
Élodie looked up.
“For what?”
“Blackmail. Pressure. Sometimes he combined real images with misleading dates or contexts to make people believe he knew more than he did.”
“Why show Mathéo a photograph like that?”
“To frighten him. Or to convince someone else that Laurent already has access to Gabriel.”
Claire folded her arms.
“Until we see the actual image, we can't know what it proves.”
Élodie nodded.
But fear had already taken root.
By evening, she was exhausted.
Claire insisted she stay somewhere Laurent wouldn't expect.
A trusted colleague arranged a small guest room above a family-owned bookstore.
Élodie arrived after dark.
The room smelled faintly of paper and lavender.
There was a narrow bed, a wooden desk, and a window overlooking the street.
She placed Gabriel's letter beside the lamp.
For the first time in years, she allowed herself to remember the brother she had tried so hard to mourn.
Gabriel had been stubborn.
Funny.
Terrible at keeping appointments.
He had always arrived late with some ridiculous excuse.
Once, he had missed Christmas dinner because he stopped to help a stranger whose car had broken down.
Their mother had been furious.
Gabriel had shrugged.
“What was I supposed to do? Leave her freezing on the road?”
That was the man Élodie remembered.
Not a criminal.
Not a coward.
Not someone who would willingly abandon his sister.
If he had disappeared, he must have believed there was no other way.
Yet seven years was a long time.
Seven years of birthdays.
Seven years of grief.
Seven years of Mathéo growing up without knowing his uncle was alive.
Élodie wondered whether she would embrace Gabriel when she saw him.
Or slap him.
Perhaps both.
At 11:06 p.m., her phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
Your son is safe for now.
She sat upright.
Another message appeared.
Stop asking questions about Gabriel.
Then a photograph arrived.
Mathéo was sitting at a dining table in a luxurious apartment.
He wore the blue sweater Élodie had packed.
His expression was tense.
Beside him stood Laurent.
The photograph had clearly been taken that evening.
Élodie's stomach twisted.
A final message followed.
You have forty-eight hours to sign the documents. Your lawyer will receive instructions.
She immediately forwarded everything to Claire.
Then she called Thomas.
He answered on the second ring.
“They contacted you?”
“How did you know?”
“Because someone just broke into my office.”
Élodie stood.
“Are you hurt?”
“No. I wasn't there.”
“What did they take?”
“Nothing obvious.”
“Then why break in?”
Thomas was silent.
“Thomas?”
“They left something on my desk.”
“What?”
“A photograph of Gabriel.”
Élodie's heart sank.
“Another one?”
“Yes.”
“Where was it taken?”
“In a hospital room.”
“Is he hurt?”
Thomas exhaled.
“I can't tell.”
“Send it to me.”
A moment later, the image appeared.
Élodie opened it.
Gabriel lay in a hospital bed.
His face was thinner than she remembered.
A bandage covered part of his forehead.
His eyes were closed.
Beside the bed stood a woman wearing a dark green coat.
Élodie recognized her from the earlier photograph.
Dr. Camille Renard.
But something about the image bothered her.
She enlarged it.
On the wall behind Gabriel was a digital clock.
Below it, a whiteboard displayed a patient's name.
Not Gabriel Martin.
Not an alias she recognized.
The board read:
PATIENT: MATHÉO MARTIN
Élodie stared at the screen.
Then she noticed a handwritten note attached to the bed rail.
Three words.
HE KNOWS EVERYTHING.
Her phone rang again.
This time, Laurent's name appeared.
Élodie answered with trembling hands.
“Where is my son?”
Laurent sounded almost amused.
“Hello, Élodie.”
“Where is Mathéo?”
“Sleeping.”
“I want to speak to him.”
“You will. Once you've learned to cooperate.”
She gripped the phone.
“What do you want me to sign?”
“A few administrative documents. Nothing complicated.”
“You're lying.”
A pause.
Then Laurent chuckled.
“You've been talking to Thomas.”
Élodie went cold.
“And Claire Beaumont.”
She said nothing.
Laurent continued.
“You always were easy to predict.”
“Leave Mathéo out of this.”
“I would love to. Unfortunately, your brother made that impossible.”
“Gabriel is alive.”
Silence.
For the first time, Laurent did not answer immediately.
Élodie felt a flicker of satisfaction.
She had surprised him.
Then he spoke.
“Be very careful what you believe.”
“I know what you did.”
“No, Élodie. You know what someone wants you to think I did.”
“Then explain the recording.”
Another silence.
When Laurent answered, his voice was different.
Cold.
Precise.
“You have forty-eight hours.”
“Or what?”
He lowered his voice.
“Or you'll discover why Gabriel spent seven years hiding from his own family.”
The line went dead.
Élodie stood motionless.
Then another message arrived.
This one came from Mathéo's number.
May you like
It contained only six words.
MOM, THE MAN HERE ISN'T DAD.
