Chapter 3 - The Man Who Came to the FuneralVictor Delacroix had been part of Alexandre's life for as long as he could remember.
He had attended birthdays.
Family vacations.
Christmas dinners.
When Alexandre was thirteen, Victor had taught him how to drive on the private road behind the Beaumont estate.
When Henri died, Victor stood beside Genevieve throughout the funeral.
He had cried.
He had embraced Alexandre.
He had promised to protect the family.
Now Alexandre was staring at a recording that suggested Victor had been present at the scene of a deadly fire.
Sofia leaned toward the laptop.
“Are you certain it's him?”
Alexandre paused the footage.
The image was blurred, but the man's distinctive posture and facial features were recognizable.
“Yes.”
Genevieve approached.
The moment she saw the screen, she covered her mouth.
“Oh, God.”
Alexandre turned.
“Mom, did you know Victor was there?”
Genevieve shook her head.
“No.”
“Did Dad?”
“I don't know.”
Sofia pointed toward the second man.
“Can you identify him?”
Alexandre enlarged the frame.
The man wore a dark coat and kept his face turned away from the camera.
Only one detail stood out.
A silver watch.
Its unusual rectangular face reflected the courtyard light.
Genevieve stared at it.
Then she whispered, “I have seen that watch before.”
Alexandre looked at her.
“Where?”
She shook her head.
“I can't remember.”
But Sofia noticed the hesitation.
Genevieve remembered more than she was willing to admit.
The following morning, Alexandre drove to the Beaumont Holdings headquarters in Lyon.
The building rose above the city like a monument to his father's success.
Glass walls.
Marble floors.
A reception desk large enough to belong in a luxury hotel.
Henri Beaumont had built his empire from a modest construction company inherited from his father.
Over four decades, he had transformed it into a corporation with investments in real estate, healthcare, and commercial development.
Victor Delacroix had helped him do it.
And Victor still controlled the company's financial operations.
Alexandre entered the executive elevator.
He had spent years working beside Victor.
Now every memory felt contaminated.
When he reached the top floor, Victor was standing beside the conference room window.
“Alexandre.”
Victor smiled.
“I heard you had a difficult meeting yesterday.”
Alexandre stopped.
“How did you hear that?”
Victor's smile faded slightly.
“Your mother called me.”
Alexandre felt a flicker of anger.
Of course she had.
Even after everything, Genevieve still trusted Victor.
Or perhaps she feared him.
“Did she tell you what happened?”
“Only that Lavergne brought some unexpected documents.”
Alexandre watched him carefully.
“Documents about Saint-Claire.”
Victor became very still.
The change lasted less than a second.
But Alexandre saw it.
“Saint-Claire?” Victor repeated.
“The apartment building that burned in 1998.”
Victor turned toward his desk.
“That was a tragedy.”
“You remember it?”
“Of course.”
“Were you there that night?”
Victor stopped walking.
Then he slowly turned around.
“Why would you ask me that?”
Alexandre placed a printed photograph on the desk.
It showed Victor standing beside the black sedan.
Victor studied it.
His expression hardened.
“Where did you get this?”
“Answer my question.”
Victor remained silent.
Alexandre stepped closer.
“Were you there?”
“Yes.”
The admission surprised him.
Victor sighed.
“I was sent to inspect the property after complaints about trespassing.”
“At midnight?”
“Your grandfather wanted the building secured before demolition.”
Alexandre placed another photograph beside the first.
It showed Victor carrying the metal container.
“What was in this?”
Victor's jaw tightened.
“Cleaning solvent.”
“Why would you bring cleaning solvent into an empty building at midnight?”
Victor looked toward the door.
“You're making a serious accusation.”
“Two people died.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
Victor's expression changed.
For the first time, he looked old.
“Your father made mistakes, Alexandre.”
“Don't hide behind my father.”
Victor leaned forward.
“You think Henri was an innocent man?”
Alexandre said nothing.
Victor opened a drawer.
He removed a file.
“Your father knew the building wasn't empty.”
Alexandre felt his stomach tighten.
“What?”
“He signed the shutdown order after receiving the tenant report.”
“That contradicts his letter.”
Victor shrugged.
“Dead men have the luxury of rewriting history.”
Alexandre stared at the file.
Inside was a photocopy of Henri's signature.
Below it was a handwritten notation:
Proceed despite remaining occupants.
Alexandre looked up.
“Is this authentic?”
Victor met his eyes.
“Ask your mother.”
The words echoed through the office.
Alexandre gathered the papers.
“I'm going to find out what happened.”
Victor's expression darkened.
“Be careful.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It's advice.”
Alexandre turned toward the door.
Victor spoke again.
“Your father spent twenty-eight years keeping that fire buried. Do you really believe he did it only to protect himself?”
Alexandre stopped.
“What are you saying?”
Victor looked away.
“Some truths destroy innocent people.”
Alexandre left without answering.
But Victor's words followed him all the way home.
That afternoon, Sofia received a phone call from an unknown number.
She answered cautiously.
“Hello?”
A woman spoke.
“Are you Sofia Laurent?”
“Yes.”
“I was told you might be looking for Claire Martin.”
Sofia stood.
“Who is this?”
“My name is Marianne Dubois. I worked with Claire at the clinic.”
Sofia's heart raced.
“Do you know where she is?”
A pause.
Then the woman whispered, “Claire disappeared three weeks ago.”
Sofia gripped the phone.
“Disappeared?”
“She left work without collecting her belongings. Her apartment was empty. Her phone was disconnected.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Yes. They said she was an adult and might have left voluntarily.”
Sofia felt cold.
“Why are you calling me?”
“Because Claire left something in her locker.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
“Of whom?”
Marianne hesitated.
“Of Henri Beaumont.”
Sofia stopped breathing.
May you like
Then Marianne added something that made the room seem to tilt.
“On the back, Claire wrote: ‘If anything happens to me, tell my father I finally know what he did.’”
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