Chapter 7
“No way,” I said. “I’m not bringing Bastian along with me!”
André closed his eyes, exhaustion clogging his features.
Maybe he’d had enough of the back-and-forth between Bastian and me.
But really, whose fault is that? I’d point the finger at his dear nephew.
Here’s the thing: Sarah, the company’s secretary, had been fixated on the Christmas party for weeks.
It’s only October, but as soon as the weather turned chilly, bam!
Christmas party chatter took over. She had been on it for two months now, sending out Facebook invites, organising the Secret Santa draw.
The Christmas party is a huge deal at Saidi.
Every year, they book out the best restaurant in London, The Big Mediterranean, and party until the early hours.
Last year, they ended the night at a karaoke bar, and I’ve seen videos I’d rather forget.
So yeah, André was worried Bastian and I might end up hurling insults—or worse—across the dining table.
But this request was too much.
“This isn’t a request, Vera.”
Yeah, right. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
André sighed. “I need him with you at the interview with Ivet. You’re great at getting information; I wouldn’t have assigned this to you otherwise. But I want Ivet to meet Bastian too. From what I’ve heard, she’s a bit of a recluse. Bastian has more tact in these situations than you do.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
Bastian appeared beside me like a ghost, his footsteps muffled, and pinched my arm. I shot a quick look, my jaw tightening. My mood was already sour that morning.
“Cut it out,” I smacked his shoulder.
“Hey! I’m not thrilled about it either,” he said, his deep voice cracking at the end of the sentence.
André left us alone. Bastian fished out his car keys, the metal clinking together as they dangled in front of me.
“You don’t have to come with me.”
I clenched my jaw. Should I let him go to the interview, even though it was my job? How could I explain that I needed to see Julian again without our boss finding out? How could I justify why I needed another meeting, one that had little to do with the case?
An idea hit me. I grabbed the keys from his hand.
“I’m driving,” I said, “but we need to leave now. I want to grab lunch on the way.”
* * *
We left the office at eleven, sliding into Bastian’s sleek black BMW, which was almost still in its plastic wrap.
He grumbled about why I had to drive his car, as if the answer wasn’t obvious.
His car was better than mine, and I needed to get us to prison fast. Any other day, I would’ve been happy to let him take the wheel.
I prefer being the passenger. Bastian had driven me around before for Saidi affairs, making me feel like I had a chauffeur, like the rich kids at Cutnam.
But today was different. If I let him drive, I risked him ignoring my mission and, despite all my protests, driving me straight to Ivet’s place.
“Didn’t you talk to Julian yesterday?” he asked, irritated by the change in plans.
“I forgot to ask him an important question. I need the answer before the trial.”
He shook his head in disapproval.
“It’ll only be a minute,” I added.
“We’re going to be late for the meeting with Larousse’s maid.”
I brought the car to a stop, slinging my bag over my shoulder before stepping out. Bastian rolled down the passenger-side window and signalled for me to come closer.
“Hey, can I at least stay in the car? It’s freezing out here.”
“I have an errand for you.” Just because he wasn’t my chauffeur didn’t mean he couldn’t be my coffee boy for the day. Since he was already here, he might as well be useful. “There’s a café around the corner. I’ll text you my order.”
He tried to protest, but I was already walking away from the car. With each step towards the prison, the knot in my chest tightened a little more, as if it were being pulled from both ends.
Julian wasn’t surprised to see me there again. I had left the day before with a question lingering in my mind. I sat down, and he straightened up, daring me to continue the interrogation we had left unfinished. What did he mean by one of his clients being there?
I didn’t ask. The letter and the money occupied every corner of my thoughts. Right now, nothing else mattered.
I took a stack of papers out of my bag and slammed it against the glass so he could see it as clearly as possible. His eyes narrowed into thin slits, scanning the document, only the way a good forger would know how.
He raised an eyebrow.
I had managed to surprise him.
“This is fake,” I said, with determination in my voice.
He shifted his gaze from the document to me, his expression unreadable.
“I thought you wanted to show me how lucky I am to have such an… illustrious lawyer,” he replied, irony coating his words.
I was not in the mood for mockery.
“Do you know anything about this?”
His expression gave nothing away.
“Looks amateur. I don’t know what else to tell you, Vera.”
Someone was watching us. The guard by the door and someone else through a security camera in the ceiling. I didn’t know how to ask the next question. I got creative.
“So, this wasn’t your work?”
I already knew it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.
“No.”
“But…” I began, “It had to be done by someone with a lot of money.”
“what makes you ask that, Vera?”
I started scratching the table with my nails.
I wanted to ask him out loud what kind of person plays with falsifications; what kind of person would use them as a form of extortion.
Have you ever heard, Julian, of someone who uses forged documents as part of a challenge?
No, better yet, as part of a twisted game?
The question wanted to slip off my tongue like a whip, but I held it back. If anyone had answers, it had to be the Counterfeiter, the king of forgery himself, right?
But Julian Garros doesn’t give in without a fight.
The word Gina had used kept circling in my mind. Game. Game. Game.
“How much would someone pay for a job like this? Such an… amateur falsification? Let’s say, a million would be too much?”
Silence.
“Do you know anyone who might have that kind of money to spare on this,” I shook the paper, “Julian?”
The Counterfeiter moved closer to the glass, his dark gaze examining the document again, scanning it from top to bottom, leaving no corner unread. I didn’t know what he saw or where in the document he saw it, but when he moved away from the glass, his expression had a different shadow.
“It can’t be,” he muttered.
“What can’t be?”
“Where did you get the document?”
He spoke with the authority of a man trying to build a reputation inside his four walls, of a man who had nothing else but this.
“That’s none of your business.” I put it back in my bag. “Now, Julian, are you going to tell me what you know?”
He looked at the guard standing at the door.
“Not here.”
I laughed. It wasn’t like we could go out for a chat over coffee.
“Are you afraid of incriminating someone?” I was trying to get information for myself, but I couldn’t miss the opportunity this presented. Maybe, just maybe, I could get Julian to accept part of the deal the justice system had offered him. “Tell me their name. Tell it to the police.”
He shook his head. He was lying, and he knew I knew. “I’ve got nothing for you.”
I stood up.
“In that case, I’ll see you on Monday. Thanks, anyway.”
Had I wasted my time? I didn’t think so. Julian had revealed two things: that the person who had dragged me into this was an amateur, but also that he knew who it was. Just as I was about to tell the guard I was leaving, my client spoke.
“Wait.”
Was he finally going to tell me something?
A question. He asked me a question.
“Do you know what you have to do?”
At first, it puzzled me. What did I have to do with what? The Monday trial? Or… yes, his expression said it all. He was asking me about the note. About the task that whoever falsified my records had given me. Julian knew that whoever this person was, they had left me with a task.
“Yes.” I glanced up at the camera on the ceiling. I could say this in a way that sounded like it was about Julian’s case. “I’ll have the money issue sorted by Monday.”
His eyes widened in surprise before he gave me one last warning.
The guard led me back down the hallway. Julian’s last words seemed to echo off the narrow walls, chasing me, and when I left the prison, they came out with me with a sigh.
Get rid of it all.
“There’s still a day left until Halloween, you know?”
Bastian stood by the car, clutching a brown paper bag at both ends.
My lunch. We got into the car. He looked the same as always: knitted vest, slicked-back curls, and the ember glasses he used for work and made the tawny glow of his cheeks pop.
I checked myself in the rearview mirror.
I knew that, to anyone else, my appearance was perfectly normal; I had put on makeup despite the chaos I’d encountered when I woke up.
But no amount of concealer and powder could mask the worry on my forehead or replace the colour that had evaporated from my cheeks.
I turned on the GPS. It was twenty minutes to twelve.
“Did you get what I asked for?”
He chuckled. “You make it sound like I’m buying you drugs, Virus.”
Bastian pulled two tall plastic cups from the paper bag. He set one on the armrest while I drove and took a sip from his. The cup was filled to the brim with a pink liquid, topped with a swirl of whipped cream and syrup that dripped down the sides. The sip was followed by a fit of coughing.
“What did you order?” I asked.
“The same as you,” he managed through the coughs. “I was curious, okay? I’d never seen a coffee this colour.”
To be honest, I’d never tried it either. “What’s the verdict?”
He set his drink next to mine.
“Let’s just say I don’t know how it doesn’t give you a sugar overdose. I feel like I just licked a magical unicorn.”
We pulled up to number 5 on Bluegrass Street five minutes behind schedule, just as I’d anticipated.
The building was surrounded by more housing blocks, with a few supermarkets and a vacant playground nearby.
Bastian and I walked to the stairs leading into the building.
A wooden plaque with the family name read: Britwistle. We rang the doorbell.
Then, Bastian’s hand brushed against mine, his touch lingering for a heartbeat before he withdrew. I lifted my eyes to meet his, wondering what that meant, but his gaze was elsewhere.
“Don’t say anything out of line,” Bastian warned me.
The door opened before I had a chance to reply.