Chapter 5 - THREE DAYS TOO LATEThomas switched on his phone flashlight.
A narrow beam illuminated the storage unit.
Camille stood beside the trunk, clutching her father's photograph.
Geneviève remained near the wall.
Outside, the stranger waited.
“Identify yourself,” Thomas called.
“My name is Daniel Roche.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because someone is following Camille.”
Thomas moved closer to the door.
“Then how did you find her?”
“I followed the people following her.”
Camille felt a chill.
“That doesn't make you trustworthy.”
“No,” Daniel replied. “It doesn't.”
There was something about his voice that made Camille hesitate.
He sounded tired.
Not threatening.
Not rehearsed.
Just exhausted.
Thomas opened the door a few inches.
A man in his late fifties stood in the corridor.
He wore a dark jacket and carried a worn leather messenger bag.
His hair was gray at the temples.
A thin scar ran beneath his right eye.
His hands were visible.
Empty.
“I'm not armed,” he said.
Thomas studied him.
“Show me identification.”
Daniel handed over a card.
Former Police Captain Daniel Roche.
Retired.
Thomas examined it.
“Why are you involved?”
Daniel looked past him toward Camille.
“Because I spent thirty years trying to correct a mistake.”
Camille stepped forward.
“What mistake?”
Daniel's expression changed when he saw the photograph in her hand.
“Lucien.”
“You knew him?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
Daniel looked toward the corridor.
“Not here.”
Thomas shook his head.
“You don't get to decide that.”
Daniel sighed.
“Three men entered this building ten minutes ago. Two are waiting near the front entrance. One is in the parking garage.”
Camille felt her stomach tighten.
“Who are they?”
“Private security contractors.”
“Working for Étienne?”
Daniel didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Thomas glanced at Camille.
“We should leave through the rear service exit.”
Daniel nodded.
“That's why I'm here.”
They moved quickly through a narrow passage behind the storage units.
Daniel led them toward an emergency staircase.
As they descended, Camille asked the question burning inside her.
“You said my father died three days ago.”
Daniel's shoulders stiffened.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In a private care facility outside Lyon.”
Camille stopped.
“He was alive all this time?”
Daniel turned.
“Camille, please.”
“No.”
Her voice shook.
“Thirty years. He was alive for thirty years, and nobody told me?”
Geneviève touched her shoulder.
“Sweetheart—”
Camille pulled away.
“Did he know about me?”
Daniel looked at her.
“Yes.”
The answer struck harder than she expected.
“Then why didn't he come?”
Daniel's expression softened.
“Because he couldn't.”
“Was he in prison?”
“No.”
“Was he sick?”
“For much of that time.”
Camille stared at him.
“What happened to him?”
Daniel took a slow breath.
“He suffered a severe brain injury in November 1996. He survived, but he spent years unable to communicate reliably.”
Camille pressed her hand against the wall.
“He was in a hospital?”
“At first.”
“Then why wasn't he identified?”
“Because the people controlling his care used another name.”
Thomas looked sharply at Daniel.
“That's a serious allegation.”
“I know.”
“Can you prove it?”
Daniel lifted the messenger bag.
“I have his medical records.”
Camille stared.
“And you waited until now to tell me?”
Daniel's face tightened.
“I only learned his true identity six weeks ago.”
They reached the rear exit.
Outside, a narrow alley lay between two buildings.
Daniel checked both directions.
“Come on.”
They hurried toward a parked car.
As Thomas opened the door, a black sedan turned into the alley.
Daniel's expression changed.
“Get in.”
The sedan accelerated.
Thomas pushed Geneviève into the back seat.
Camille climbed in beside her.
Daniel jumped behind the wheel.
The black car approached rapidly.
Daniel reversed hard, then turned into a side street.
Tires squealed.
Camille gripped the seat belt.
“Are they following us?”
“Yes.”
The black sedan appeared behind them.
Daniel took two sharp turns through narrow streets.
A delivery truck blocked the road ahead.
He slowed.
The sedan closed the distance.
Thomas looked backward.
“They're gaining.”
Daniel glanced toward a small parking entrance.
“Hold on.”
He turned suddenly into the garage.
The car descended a concrete ramp.
At the bottom, Daniel switched off the headlights and stopped behind a row of parked vehicles.
Everyone remained silent.
Seconds later, the black sedan passed the entrance above.
Then disappeared.
Daniel waited another minute.
Finally, he exhaled.
“We're clear.”
Camille looked at him.
“Now tell me everything.”
Daniel nodded.
He opened his messenger bag.
Inside was a thick medical file.
On the cover:
Patient: Louis Bernard.
Camille frowned.
“That's not my father's name.”
“No.”
Daniel opened the folder.
A photograph was clipped to the first page.
An older man lay in a hospital bed.
His hair was almost white.
His face was thin.
But the eyes were unmistakable.
Lucien Moreau.
Camille touched the photograph.
For a moment, she couldn't speak.
This was what thirty years had done to the father she had never met.
Daniel turned another page.
“Lucien was admitted under this false identity after a violent assault. The official account claimed he had suffered an accident.”
“Who attacked him?”
“We believe men working for Delacroix.”
“Why?”
“Because Lucien discovered what was happening inside the neonatal program.”
Camille looked up.
“What was happening?”
Daniel's voice lowered.
“Children were being transferred between families using falsified medical records.”
Geneviève covered her mouth.
Thomas leaned forward.
“How many children?”
Daniel looked at him.
“We don't know.”
Camille felt sick.
“And Juliette?”
Daniel nodded.
“She was one of them.”
“Where was she taken?”
“To a wealthy family who believed the adoption was legal.”
Camille stared.
“Did they know she was stolen?”
“No. At least, not initially.”
“Then who raised her?”
Daniel hesitated.
“The Armand family.”
Camille thought of Juliette's name.
Juliette Armand.
She had been raised by strangers.
People who might have loved her.
People who might also have been deceived.
“Does she know?”
“She knows part of it.”
Camille looked down at the medical file.
“And my father?”
Daniel swallowed.
“He began recovering some memories in recent years. He kept asking for Élise and the girls.”
Camille closed her eyes.
The girls.
He had remembered both daughters.
Even when the world had forgotten him.
Daniel continued.
“Three days ago, he died from complications of pneumonia.”
Camille's voice was barely audible.
“Was he alone?”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
“Who was with him?”
Daniel hesitated.
“A woman.”
Camille looked up.
“Who?”
He reached into his bag and removed a photograph taken at the care facility.
It showed Lucien sitting in a wheelchair beside a woman with shoulder-length brown hair.
She was holding his hand.
Camille recognized her immediately.
Juliette.
Her twin sister.
Daniel looked at Camille.
“She found him before you did.”
Camille's eyes filled with tears.
Then she noticed something strange.
In the photograph, Lucien was holding a folded piece of paper.
She leaned closer.
“What is that?”
Daniel examined it.
“A letter.”
“Did he write it?”
“With assistance. He could communicate a few words near the end.”
“Where is it?”
Daniel looked away.
“Juliette has it.”
Camille's phone vibrated.
A message from the unknown number.
I know what happened to Dad.
Another message followed.
And I know why Mom died.
Camille's hands began to shake.
May you like
Then the final message appeared.
“Claire Martin was murdered. I have the proof.”
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