Chapter 6 - THE LAST SEVEN MINUTESThe police had ruled Claire Martin's death an accident.
A fall down the narrow staircase outside her apartment.
A broken neck.
No signs of forced entry.
No suspicious witnesses.
Camille had accepted the explanation because grief left little room for suspicion.
Now she remembered details she had tried to forget.
Her mother's nervousness during the final weeks.
The way she checked the locks.
The strange car parked across the street.
The evening Claire had insisted Camille spend the night at a friend's apartment.
And the sealed envelope.
Wait until I'm gone.
Claire had known something was coming.
Perhaps she had known exactly who was responsible.
Camille stared at Juliette's message.
Thomas leaned toward her.
“Don't respond yet.”
“She's my sister.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don't.”
Thomas accepted the rebuke.
“Then let me explain why I'm asking you to wait.”
Camille looked at him.
“If Juliette has evidence of murder, we need to protect it. We also need to make sure nobody is using her phone.”
Daniel nodded.
“Delacroix has people who can imitate voices and intercept communications.”
Camille felt sick.
“You think the call wasn't real?”
“I think we should verify.”
Camille typed a message.
What did our mother keep in the wooden trunk?
The reply arrived quickly.
A blue coat. Three notebooks. The photograph of Lucien.
Camille stared.
Only someone who had seen the trunk could know that.
Unless someone had been watching.
Another message appeared.
Ask Daniel about November 19, 1996.
Camille looked up.
Daniel's face changed.
“What happened on November nineteenth?”
He went still.
“Who told you that date?”
“Juliette.”
Daniel slowly closed his eyes.
“That was the night Lucien disappeared.”
Camille waited.
Daniel looked at Thomas.
“We need a private place to talk.”
They drove to Thomas's office.
It occupied the third floor of an old building near the Palais de Justice.
Inside, Thomas locked the door and turned off his phone.
Camille placed the cassette on his desk.
“Can this be repaired?”
Thomas examined it.
“Possibly. The tape may be damaged, but the rest of the recording could still be recoverable.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“Where did you get that?”
“My mother left it.”
He stared at the cassette.
“What does it say?”
Camille explained.
As she repeated Claire's words, Daniel's expression grew increasingly troubled.
When she finished, he spoke quietly.
“Élise knew more than I realized.”
Geneviève looked at him.
“What happened in November?”
Daniel sat down.
For a long moment, he stared at his hands.
Then he began.
“Lucien came to me on November eighteenth. I was a young police officer. He said he had discovered evidence that newborns were being illegally transferred through a network of private clinics.”
Thomas opened a notebook.
“Did he bring documents?”
“Yes. But he was frightened. He said someone inside the medical system had been altering birth records.”
“Did he name Delacroix?”
“Yes.”
Camille leaned forward.
“What did you do?”
Daniel's expression hardened with shame.
“I told my superior.”
“And?”
“The next day, Lucien disappeared.”
Silence.
Daniel continued.
“My superior told me Lucien had left the country voluntarily. I didn't believe him.”
“Why not?”
“Because Lucien had arranged to meet me again that evening.”
Camille felt cold.
“Where?”
“At a warehouse near the river.”
“What happened?”
“When I arrived, the building was empty. There was blood on the floor.”
Geneviève whispered.
“My God.”
Daniel looked at Camille.
“I filed a report. The evidence disappeared. My superior told me to stop asking questions.”
“Who was your superior?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Inspector Henri Vasseur.”
Thomas looked up sharply.
“Vasseur?”
“You know him?”
“He later became a senior official in the national police.”
Daniel nodded.
“And he remained close to Delacroix.”
Camille stared.
“So the police helped cover it up?”
“Some officers may have.”
“Did you?”
Daniel looked directly at her.
“I failed to stop it.”
The admission was quiet.
But it carried thirty years of regret.
Camille studied him.
For the first time, she saw not merely a retired officer, but a man who had spent half his life carrying the consequences of one decision.
“Why are you helping now?”
Daniel looked at Lucien's photograph.
“Because he deserved better.”
Camille's voice softened.
“And so did my mother.”
“Yes.”
Thomas connected the cassette player to an audio interface.
He examined the tape carefully.
“The cassette itself looks intact. The player may have stopped because of a mechanical problem.”
He rewound it manually.
Then pressed Play.
Static.
A click.
Claire's voice returned.
“Camille, if you're hearing this, then I may already be gone.”
Camille covered her mouth.
Her mother sounded younger.
More frightened.
But unmistakably alive.
“I need you to understand something. The man in the photograph is Lucien Moreau. He was your father. He loved you before you were born.”
Camille began crying silently.
Claire continued.
“You had a sister. Her name was Juliette. They took her from me the night you were born.”
Geneviève lowered her head.
“I tried to find her. I tried for years. But every time I came close, someone threatened you.”
A pause.
Then Claire's voice became steadier.
“I changed my name because they told me they would kill my remaining child if I spoke.”
Camille gripped the edge of the desk.
“I believed silence would keep you safe.”
Another pause.
“I was wrong.”
The recording crackled.
“I've recently learned that Lucien may still be alive. And I have discovered something about the foundation that could finally expose everything.”
Camille leaned forward.
Claire's voice dropped.
“If I die suddenly, don't believe it was an accident.”
Geneviève began sobbing.
Claire continued.
“Someone has been watching me. Someone knows I've started asking questions again.”
The tape hissed.
Then came seven seconds of silence.
A door opening.
Footsteps.
A man's voice.
“Élise.”
Camille froze.
The voice was calm.
Familiar.
She had heard it only hours earlier.
At the Delacroix Foundation.
Étienne.
Claire's voice trembled.
“You shouldn't be here.”
The man answered.
“You should have stayed silent.”
A sharp sound.
The tape stopped.
Camille stared at the machine.
Thomas slowly removed his headphones.
Daniel's face had turned pale.
Geneviève whispered.
“He found her.”
Camille could barely speak.
“That's his voice.”
Thomas nodded.
“It sounds like Delacroix. But we'll need forensic authentication.”
Camille looked at him.
“Can this prove murder?”
“It's evidence of a threatening encounter. We need more.”
Her phone vibrated.
Juliette.
Check the last seven minutes of the building's security footage.
Camille frowned.
“What footage?”
Another message arrived.
The night Mom died.
Then a third.
I found the person who deleted it.
May you like
Camille stared at the screen.
“It was Geneviève.”
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