Chapter 9 - Caroline
Caroline
The Moreau Estate, a sprawling manor that took up an entire city block, could have been confused for a museum or governmental building.
Its limestone facade towered over us as we approached the door, a testament to centuries of wealth and whispers.
The wrought-iron balconies were dressed in ivy, and tall windows glimmered with the reflection of the blue Parisian sky.
As I reached the massive double doors, carved with roses and saints, I felt like I was way out of my league.
Inside, the air smelled like polished wood and fading bouquets of flowers.
A chandelier glowed like a frozen constellation overhead, and the marble floor beneath my shoes mirrored every flicker of light.
I had to resist the urge not to reach out and trace my fingertips along the gilded moldings and oil paintings that covered every wall.
“Stop gawking,” Harrison said next to me.
“I wasn’t gawking.”
He followed a servant into the next room. I glanced at Rafael.
“You were gawking a little bit,” he admitted.
Damnit. I didn’t consider myself the kind of woman who gawked.
My heels echoed on the floor as we were led deeper into the mansion. The eyes on the portraits adorning the walls seemed to follow me, but otherwise the building held a strangely welcoming air. I had to keep reminding myself that it belonged to one of the wealthiest men in Paris.
We eventually emerged into an open courtyard in the center of the grounds, completely self-contained and surrounded by the rest of the mansion.
A colorful garden filled most of the space, except for a clearing in the center with a table and six chairs.
The table held an assortment of pastries and small bites, along with two bottles of open wine, one red, and one white that was chilled in an ice bucket.
But my eyes immediately locked onto the man sitting at the end of the table, idly reading a French newspaper. Lucien Moreau. He glanced up as if we were a surprise, then rose from his chair. “Harrison. What a pleasant beginning to my day.”
Lucien carried himself like a man who owned every room he entered, his lean frame wrapped in a tailored suit that hinted at his strength underneath. His dark hair fell in deliberate disarray, and he had the sharp storm-gray eyes of a man who noticed everything in the first glance.
Other journalists had referred to him as a “chaos investor,” a man who tossed his wealth around at whatever whim fancied him that week, and allowed the people underneath him to clean up the mess.
Sometimes those investments paid off… but a lot of times, they didn’t.
He had a reputation for not always being logical, which infuriated his business partners.
Like Harrison.
“Great to see you Lucien, as always,” Harrison said as they embraced, clapping each other on the back like old friends. “I was happy to see you had room in your schedule for a quick visit.”
“For you? I will always make time.” His gaze drifted past Harrison, locking onto me like a magnet. He immediately approached with a smile that was half-friendly, half-sly.
“How rude of Harrison to not introduce such a radiant woman the moment she arrived,” he said in perfect English, with only a touch of a French accent. “I am Lucien Francois-Xavier de Moreau du Valois.”
“This is Caroline Fairfax, my biographer,” Harrison said curtly.
Lucien kept his gaze locked onto me and said, “I am certain she can speak for herself.”
“I’m a senior journalist at the Wall Street Journal, who also happens to be writing Harrison’s biography,” I said. “Thank you for welcoming me to your home.”
Lucien swept a bow, then kissed the back of my hand like he was actual French nobility.
“A woman such as yourself is always welcome here.” His smile lingered for several long heartbeats, then he tore himself away from me and returned to Harrison.
“I am so easily distracted. Please, sit, enjoy your refreshments. You must be famished from the trip. If you need more time to settle into your accommodations, or if you would prefer to stay here…”
“Our accommodations are fine, thank you, Lucien,” Harrison replied.
“Of course. Your tailor is certainly doing excellent work.” Lucien gave me a quick little grin. “Tell me, how long are you in my city?”
“Two nights,” Harrison said. “I’m meeting with the French Finance Minister tomorrow.”
Lucien gasped. “Only two? In the greatest city in the world?”
“The greatest city in the world is where we are returning in two days,” Harrison replied with a chuckle.
Lucien lifted a porcelain cup to his lips and gently sipped his coffee. “On that, we must disagree. But New York is fine, I suppose.”
In addition to his financial fame, Lucien was well-known as one of the most sought-after bachelors in all of Europe.
I didn’t keep up with the tabloids, but the last thing I saw was he had dumped one of the Fanning sisters to have a quick tryst with Sabrina Carpenter while she was on her European tour.
I took a seat at the far end of the table. “I hope you don’t mind me sitting in.”
“I would love nothing more in the world.” Lucien favored me with a lusty smile, the kind that must have melted a thousand hearts. I had to admit it caused a few butterflies to stir in my own stomach, though at least I was self-aware.
“The market is reacting to the oil fire—” Harrison began.
“Biographer,” Lucien interrupted, tasting the word. “Surely you are too young for this, yes?”
Harrison shrugged. “Some people take seventy years to live a full life. Others take thirty.”
I quickly jotted that down in my notebook. That was a great quote for the book, the kind of thing that would immediately tell the reader what kind of man Harrison was.
“How do you take your coffee?” Lucien asked, reaching for the carafe. “Or if you prefer wine, the Montrachet from DRC is delightful this morning.”
I glanced at the bottle sitting in the ice bucket. Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Montrachet Grand Cru. It looked expensive.
“I am not thirsty, thank you,” I said.
“The fire, yes,” Lucien replied while pouring coffee into a new cup. “I saw a headline but did not read further. This is why I prefer not to invest in flammable commodities.”
“Real estate is very flammable,” Harrison pointed out.
“Yes, but my real estate is spread out.” Lucien added sugar and cream to the cup, stirred it, then placed it in front of me. “If my chef starts a fire in the kitchen here, my chalet in Chamonix remains untouched. Meanwhile, the fire on the oil rig is still burning.”
Harrison cocked his head to the side. “I thought you only saw a headline.”
Lucien laughed as if that were a hilarious joke. “You know me well, Harrison. Almost as well as I know you.”
“Then you know why I’m here.”
Lucien paused to retrieve a pastry from a tray. He took a bite and then said, “I must confess, I am unsure.”
From my chair, I saw Harrison clench his jaw. But he quickly relaxed and said, “The purchase you made last week.”
Lucien waved a hand flippantly. “So many purchases, so many trades, I find it difficult to keep track.”
“The AI play,” Harrison gritted out.
“Oh! Yes!” Lucien made a show of pretending like he understood now, even though I could tell he was being coy. “A delicious little startup company, and here in France no less. I met their founder for supper last week and simply had to acquire a majority stake. You understand.”
“Of course I understand,” Harrison replied calmly. “The firm looked into them as well before buying a larger stake in OpenAI instead.”
“The firm… our firm?” Lucien asked. “Blackstone and Moreau? How could I have missed this news?”
“I was wondering exactly that,” Harrison said dryly.
Lucien placed a palm to his heart. “You must believe that my intentions were pure, Harrison, dear friend. I would never have made such a purchase if I had known it would interfere with the firm’s holdings.”
“You’re basically competing against yourself right now,” Harrison said. “Both AI companies can’t win. But both can lose, especially if they’re fighting for market share.”
“As I said, I would never have made the purchase if I had known.” Lucien spread his hands. “You have my deepest apologies. I trust this settles the matter?”
Harrison took a moment before responding. Like he was choosing how best to handle the situation. I leaned forward, eager to see what chess move he would make against his fellow billionaire.
“Blackstone and Moreau may only be a side investment for you, but it is the entirety of my life’s work and my primary focus,” Harrison explained. “In the future, I would appreciate a heads-up before you make any conflicting investments.”
“Of course. There will not be a next time, I can assure you, but I will make sure your head is up if there is.” Lucien leaned back in his chair, then reached for his glass of white wine. “That is the curious thing about investments. They reward speed, yes?”
Harrison smirked. “They also reward caution. Sometimes a man needs to know when to walk away before the knives come out. Patience and timing will get you farther in life than speed. And patience will help you avoid upsetting your friends.”
Lucien’s lips curved in something not-quite a smile. “And yet, you always come back to my table.”
“So far.” Harrison took the glass of white wine from Lucien and gulped it down like a shot of vodka. “Maybe it’s just the good wine that keeps me coming back.”
A frown touched Lucien’s lips, then disappeared so quickly I wondered if I had imagined it. “As I said. You are always welcome here, my friend.”
“And you’re always welcome in New York.”
“Perhaps I will come for the US Open,” Lucien suggested. “Roland Garros was exciting this year.”
“I’m sick of seeing Alcaraz against Sinner in the finals,” Harrison replied. “Although there’s something exciting about a new Spaniard replacing Nadal.”
The two of them discussed tennis for the next ten minutes. I put away my notebook. At least I had gotten some good notes at the beginning of the conversation.
I sipped my coffee, and did a double-take. It was made exactly how I liked it: three sugars and a dash of cream. I stared at Lucien, who seemed to smile knowingly even though he was still chatting with Harrison.
“Are you available for dinner?” Lucien eventually asked. “The chef is roasting a goat in the traditional Italian method.”
“Unfortunately not, but thank you for the invitation.” Harrison rose. This time they only shook hands rather than embracing. “Always good to see you, my friend.”
“And you as well, my friend.” Lucien turned his attention to me, embracing me before lightly kissing both of my cheeks. “Caroline, my dear. You must dine with me tonight.”
“Another time,” I said.
“Yes. Another time. Perhaps when you are done with Harrison’s little book, so he cannot claim I am stealing his playthings.”
I felt myself bristle. “I am nobody’s plaything.”
“Yes, of course,” he replied smoothly.
One of his servants appeared next to us and escorted us back to our car. Harrison was silent until we had driven two blocks away.
“Asshole,” he cursed. “Sometimes I think he does these kinds of things just to piss me off.”
“The AI company?” I asked, opening the notes program on my phone.
“He knows we bought a massive stake in OpenAI. I spoke directly to him six months ago. Then he pulls this shit on the side.”
“This meeting… how much of it do you want excluded from the book?” I asked.
Harrison shook his head. “Don’t exclude anything. Write however much you want.”
I blinked. In the seat across from me, Rafael also did a double-take. “I can include the entire meeting? Verbatim?”
“Caroline,” Harrison said with grave seriousness. “I chose you to do my biography because I want you to write everything. The good parts and the bad.” He pulled out his phone. “And that meeting was definitely not ideal. I need to make some calls.”
I frowned at Harrison, shocked by what he had said.