Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Brie
Shock hits me with clinical clarity: throat tight, fingers trembling, vision narrowing. Training catalogs the symptoms, but nothing prepared me for this. I never thought I’d see him again, and now time itself feels fractured—slowed—while I stand outside myself, the lone observer.
I study him the way one studies brushstrokes in a painting only ever seen in textbooks.
Subtle silver threads his dark hair, his beard trims the angles of a jaw I once knew bare, his suit immaculate.
He looks nothing like the carefree man in sun-bleached linen with wind in his hair and salt on his skin.
And yet—it’s him. Those eyes. Once rimmed in gold, catching every glint of light.
Today they’re darker, green edged with suspicion, a man accustomed to wariness.
But beneath the wariness, I see heat. No, I feel it, pooling low in my belly, unwelcome and undeniable.
I’ve spent my career learning to compartmentalize emotions, to treat my body as a tool.
But some memories are too powerful to lock behind walls without cost. His jagged moans.
The scrape of his five o’clock shadow against my inner thigh. The way he’d said my name in his sleep.
“Brie?” My colleague’s slight touch on my arm snaps me out of the initial shock of running across Adrien d’Avricourt.
I break free from Adrien’s locked stare and lean toward my colleague, seeking comfort in his steady presence while I gather myself.
“You okay?”
I inhale deeply, clearing the fog and quelling the trembles, and force the smile I’ve practiced in mirrors. “Yes, just…had a moment.”
As the others take their seats, I can excuse myself now—retreat, regroup—or I can sit and learn why Adrien d’Avricourt is in the United States, or more importantly, why he’s in this meeting.
Hudson provided a list of attendees and Adrien d’Avricourt was most definitely not on it.
But the man hasn’t confronted me in front of the others, so stay. Learn.
Adrien has chosen the seat across from me.
Alicia Morgan, the woman who contacted us on behalf of the senator, has taken her rightful place at the head of the conference room table, with the senator on her right and Hudson on her left.
Noah, my colleague, is between me and Hudson, and there’s a noticeable empty chair between the senator and Adrien on the other side of the conference room table.
Flashes of the yacht spark unbidden. His hands in my hair. The way I slipped out at dawn, expecting to never see him again. It’s been years since I unwittingly searched for him in crowds. And here he sits across a conference table like Monaco never happened.
In the periphery of my conscience I hear them moving on from introductions and discussing the project overview. Yes, the senator has been blackmailed. Yes, there’s video and photographs. We haven’t been able to trace the package delivery.
None of this is news to Adrien, either. He’s been briefed as well. But why is he here? Did I miss that relevant piece of information?
“He received an additional threat via messenger yesterday,” Alicia says, handing us each our own copy of the message.
She passes a folder to Hudson Stone, my boss.
“The original is inside the envelope, should you wish to have it evaluated for fingerprints, but I expect we’re dealing with professionals and don’t believe you’ll find anything. ”
“Any more photographs?” Adrien asks after briefly reading the message.
I study the note.
Senator Crawford—
The Perimeter Defense Oversight Amendment will be reviewed Monday, January 19. Vote against it. If you vote for this amendment, we release the attached file to the Washington Post.
In addition, wire $250,000 as our consulting fee. Instructions to follow.
Thank you for your attention to this matter.
“What was attached?” Adrien asks, and I can’t help but wonder why he’s taking charge. Is it his personality or is he vested?
“A listing of Senator Crawford’s expenses, including membership dues, at The Sanctuary over the past eighteen months, plus additional photographs,” Alicia answers.
The senator straightens, voice tightening with defiance.
“My wife and I had an open marriage. Every encounter was consensual, all well above legal age. If this is the best they have, I could tell them to publish it.” He exhales.
“But with an election looming, I’d rather avoid spectacle.
And if they’re targeting me, they’re targeting others. This isn’t only my problem.”
Adrien’s glance slices toward me before he addresses the room.
“I’ve reviewed the other photographs and video.
All were taken at The Sanctuary. Our policies forbid recording of any kind.
Only an employee could have circumvented them.
Privacy is paramount. To protect it, I’ll cover investigation expenses.
You’ll have access to the New York property as needed, but for discretion, visits must occur when the club is closed—or under a cover story. ”
His gaze lingers on me as he says it, deliberate, pointed.
“How many employees are based in New York?” Hudson asks, but what I want to know is what does Adrien d’Avricourt have to do with The Sanctuary? It’s a gentleman’s club and rumors have always swirled around the activities that go on in private chambers.
“At any given time we have between seventy to eighty employees on payroll. Keep in mind we have an onsite restaurant, three bars, a cleaning crew, and a security team.”
He owns the club. Of course he does. The man who showed me real kindness now runs the kind of place where powerful men pay for discretion.
If I recall correctly, the club maintains locations around the world, including Shanghai, London, Paris, and San Francisco.
But fashion and fragrance are the domains of the d’Avricourts.
I suppose an illicit playground fits the brand image.
What’s the business tag line I’ve seen in the occasional ad? Only the Lovely.
When did he acquire it? After we met?
He sounds calm. But I know what lies beneath calm. His clipped answers aren’t arrogance—they’re distress, reined in.
“Can you get me an employee list? Names, address, and social media accounts,” Hudson asks.
“Yes, I will. I hate to think it’s an employee, but I’ve racked my brain and don’t see how it could be anyone else.”
“You mentioned security? Did you outsource any part of it? Technical aspects? Servers?”
“I bought the club three years ago.”
Ah, that’s why I was unaware of Adrien’s connection to The Sanctuary. It’s been nearly three and a half years since the weekend with Adrien.
“The system was already set up.” He leans into his right arm, resting on the armrest of the chair, thoughtful.
“Let’s hope this leak doesn’t date that far back.
” He straightens and adds, “We do maintain video surveillance on site. It’s active, nothing is recorded.
Or at least, nothing is supposed to be.” He casts an apologetic glance at the senator.
“The surveillance is aimed at ensuring our guests’ safety.
Ensuring that nothing gets out of hand, that no one brings someone in of questionable age.
” Addressing the room, he continues, “We are a true gentleman’s club.
Consent is required at all times and is only accepted from those legally able to provide consent.
I assume you’d like to review our system.
We’re closed on Monday and Tuesday. There’s no staff on site on Monday, so that would be the best day for you to visit.
On Tuesday, staff come and go in preparation for the week.
In-office staff works Tuesday to Saturday. ”
“Is your video surveillance online?” Hudson asks. “Could it be hacked?”
“No. It’s closed circuit.” His lips press together, and a casual observer might read him as angry, but I sense he’s distraught.
“If you discover it’s someone outside of my business, I’ll be greatly relieved, but I don’t think that’s the case.
” He fingers his copy of the threat that’s lying on the table.
“And that $250,000. That’s paying someone, right?
Isn’t that how this kind of extortion works? ”
“It is,” Hudson confirms. “That’s why we’ll be looking into your employees’ finances.”
“I do pay them well,” he says. “The salary is commensurate with the high expectations we place, with the hope of diminishing the likelihood of anyone accepting a bribe.” With an exhale, he looks to the senator, the victim at the table.
“Alicia allowed me to examine the materials in her office. There was no sound. Out of curiosity…”
“There’s no audio in what I received.”
“Interesting,” Adrien comments.
“Why?” Alicia prompts.
“Because. I would think the most valuable source of information, this day and age, derived in our club would be audio. First and foremost, especially in our restaurant and in the bars, it’s a social club. Deals are brokered. This effort.” His finger flicks at the copied threat. “It’s amateurish.”
“You say that without knowing anything about the Perimeter Defense Oversight Amendment,” Senator Crawford says. “Do we have a plan?” He checks his watch. “My chief of staff is waiting outside for me and he’ll be full of questions.”
“You haven’t brought your staff up to date?” Alicia asks.
“No, not yet. I don’t know how much I want to involve them,” the senator answers.
“Do you trust Marcus?” Alicia asks, referring to Marcus Webb, his newly appointed chief of staff, brought in after the previous one was indicted on charges of treason.
He exhales. “I do. And as I told you Alicia, I plan to read him in, but I haven’t had the right moment.”
“It will be helpful to have an additional point of contact,” she says with enough force that it’s clear this isn’t the first time the topic has arisen between them.
The senator pushes up from the table. “This weekend. I’ll read him in.”
As he’s backing away, Alicia adds, “And let me know your thoughts on our proposal.”
He grimaces, gives her a quick nod, and says to the room, “Thank you. Thank you for your time in addressing this issue. You’re doing important work. This is bigger than me.”
With that, he exits the room.
“Proposal?” Hudson asks Alicia, voicing the question we all have.
“Simple preparation should these materials wind up published.”
“Right,” Hudson says.
It’s decided that our team will visit The Sanctuary on Monday. We wrap up by discussing the logistics regarding our meeting next week. Adrien asks next to no questions about KOAN, which makes me suspect he was briefed beforehand.
A knock on the door sounds, and the receptionist from earlier peeks in, saying to Alicia, “Your ten o’clock’s here. She’s in your office waiting.”
“Thank you,” Alicia says, then to us, “Are we done here?”
“I believe so,” Hudson answers. “Until Monday. Once we get the personnel files, we’ll dig in.”
“Ms. Anderson,” Adrien says, addressing me, “Why don’t you accompany me back to my office? I’ll get you everything you need.”
“An electronic file—” Hudson begins.
“Oh, I wouldn’t email employee records.” Adrien’s smile is knife-thin. “Besides, I haven’t seen Ms. Anderson in years. Isn’t that right?”
Noah hears it too—the jab. I keep my expression neutral. “It has been a while,” I say evenly. “I’ll go, Hudson. I’ll deliver everything to Quinn.”
We exit as a group together, filling the space with small talk about weather, weekend plans, anything to mask the silence pressing between us. No mention of the case, no names. We know how to play the game.
At the lobby doors, Hudson gives me a pointed look. “Brie, touch base later.”
“Yes, sir.” Old habits, drilled into me by my father, snap out in the automatic reply.
Outside, a black Mercedes idles. The driver holds the door open.
“Shall we?” Adrien asks.
Nausea coils low, but I climb in. The sensation low in my belly isn’t just dread. And that’s a problem. There’s no outrunning what I left behind in Monaco. And this time, I’m not the same woman who slipped away before dawn.