Chapter 27
“Why can’t I leave yet?” I shouted, flailing my arms in frustration.
I felt like I was on the verge of a meltdown.
It was Sunday afternoon, and I had only a few hours left to spend the money.
Over a hundred thousand pounds were waiting for me in my apartment in London, though I had resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn’t be able to make it.
I couldn’t spend that much money in such a short time, not with the limitations I had been given.
On top of that, at noon the following day, André and I had the trial of Julian Garros to prepare for.
I should have been at home, drinking honeyed peppermint tea and reviewing the case while a facial mask prepped my skin to be captured by the cameras waiting at the courthouse entrance.
Instead, I was in the middle of the Dubois’s lounge, wearing a dress that was far too tight, and a chicken-coloured yellow jacket draped over my shoulders, facing off against Enzo with the little patience I could muster.
Enzo gestured toward the window.
“Have you not seen the storm?”
As if in response to his words, the sky thundered. I shivered
“So what? Don’t cars in this country work in the rain?” I mocked. “Increíble.”
“Laurent has sent some of the guests home. All our drivers are busy.”
“I’ll call a taxi.”
He didn’t move to block my way. Although I intended to leave, my legs wouldn’t budge.
We both stood there, motionless, staring at each other.
His eyes had darkened, his jaw was clenched.
Despite his demeanour, I could tell he was only trying to see through me, to understand why I was a different person compared to the day before.
I decided to give him just that: a reason. A motive.
“I have a very important trial tomorrow,” I said, charging my words with double meaning.
Enzo tilted his head, almost relieved, and his fingers brushed against my wrist. Ah, so that was it. She’s worried that she won’t make it back on time, I read in his expression.
“Vera, we’ll get you to London in no time. My father can make some calls…”
I pulled my arm away.
“I need to concentrate, and I can’t do that here.” I shot back before adding, “You wouldn’t want Saidi to lose your dear friend’s trial, would you?”
Enzo took a step back, as if my words had struck him in the chest. Curious, I had the feeling he had been the one to strike me, with all his lies.
“How…?”
Not a single attempt to deny the facts, nor any explanation for why he had deceived me.
My laugh was inappropriate, bubbling from the depths of my stomach and coming out as a sob.
I had nothing to giggle about. But I did have reasons to scream, and I had been holding back for too long.
“I don’t want to discuss this right now,” I cut in. “I just want to leave.”
This time, Enzo reacted to my request. With a defeated air, he stepped aside, allowing me to pass. I would call a taxi and be at the airport in a matter of hours. After that, I would just need to catch the first flight to London.
“Goodbye,” I said, trying to look him in the eye. Enzo avoided my gaze, so my eyes fell to the top of his head.
I adjusted my backpack on my shoulder and walked past the guy I thought I knew. The guy I thought I had feelings for. The guy whose sight I couldn’t stand anymore.
“Vera!”
For a second, I thought it was Enzo who had shouted my name.
Laurent Dubois approached me, draped in an elaborate black robe accentuated with gleaming gold trim and a grand Versace logo embroidered in intricate detail. He cradled a glass of champagne, its bubbles shimmering in the light. His radiant smile seemed too out of place to feel real.
“There you are, I wanted to talk to you,” he announced, brushing past his son. “Do you have a moment to spare?”
I didn’t have a moment to spare. In fact, I considered turning on my heel and walking away as if Mr Dubois were a mere ghost. But then, a flash of lightning illuminated the room, and I froze.
As I’ve mentioned, storms terrify me. And I couldn’t forget that I was there thanks to that man. He had invited me to his house in exchange for some kind of information.
Laurent Dubois glanced at his son. “Laurie, would you mind if I borrowed her for a moment?” he asked, ignoring the apparent tension between us.
“Vera was about to leave,” Enzo responded.
Dubois looked at me with wide eyes.
“Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “Have you not seen the weather?”
“Yes,” I murmured, setting my backpack on the sofa. “I suppose I can wait a little longer.”
“Splendid!” he said, tugging on the tail of his robe, which had gotten caught on the carpet.
I tried to give him my best smile.
“What did you want?”
He returned the smile, showing his teeth. He grabbed my arm and led me away from the door.
“Follow me, we’ll be better off in my office.”
Re-entering Laurent Dubois’s office was like déjà vu.
The man drew the curtains, though the overcast sky blocked most of the light, so he lit the gas lamp resting on his desk. It was evident that the office saw little use from him.
I bit the inside of my cheek, casting a careful eye over the area, in case there was some giant sign that exclaimed “VERA RODRíGUEZ HAS BEEN HERE” somewhere.
Laurent Dubois gave only a fleeting look at the room before sinking into a plush armchair beside the desk.
“Sit down, young lady.”
The warmth with which he had spoken in front of Enzo had disappeared from his voice.
I swallowed and sat in front of him. Laurent Dubois had focused his attention on the champagne, not on me.
Why did I suddenly feel so self-conscious?
I sank into the chair like a deflated balloon, which only increased my feeling of discomfort.
“Is it about what we discussed yesterday, at the stadium?” I asked.
The man nodded. His moustache curled upward.
“You assured me you know my son well,” he said.
I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at the irony of that statement. Last night, I thought I knew Enzo. At that moment, I wasn’t so sure. Maybe I knew him much better than a few hours ago. Maybe I had never known him at all.
“That’s what I said.”
If Mr Dubois noticed any trace of resentment in my voice, he didn’t mention it. He leaned back in the chair and scrutinised me with his gaze for a few uncomfortable minutes.
“You’ll know, then…” he added after a pause, leaning toward me, “why he decided to come home after so many years.”
That was the issue. I remembered what he had told me the night before, after inviting me to brunch with them. And, therefore, to spend the entire Sunday at the mansion. I struggled to understand his motives.
“Yes,” I replied, meeting his gaze, “I do.”
Though I couldn’t reveal the reason.
If I wanted to return to London as soon as possible, it was better if Laurent Dubois didn’t know about the money that had vanished without a trace from his club and appeared at the foot of my bed.
But the next question he asked me threw me off:
“Do you still think you know him well after spending the morning with us?”
I frowned. One thing had become evident during my time at the mansion: I didn’t know Enzo at all. Admitting that to Laurent Dubois was off the table.
“Yes.”
“I suppose you won’t mind telling me, then, what my son is doing here,” a dark shadow clouded his eyes, “nothing less than accompanied by… a girl like you.”
I shook my head.
“What does it matter that he came with me?”
“Not much,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve never been too fond of foreigners, but that’s not a pressing matter here. It just seems strange to me that my two children brought two members of Saidi to Bordeaux, in the same weekend, that’s all.”
I parted my lips, searching for a response that wouldn’t come.
My origins mattered little. Bastian was there for reasons similar to mine. He was investigating Julian’s case; I was investigating the mystery of the money.
The two things seemed to be much more related than I first thought.
“Why do you think we’re here, Mr. Dubois?” I hissed.
The man curled his lips in a grim smile.
“Have you had the chance to see my late ex-wife’s inheritance, Vera?”
“No,” I swallowed, “the case of Antonia Hawtrey-Moore’s murder is handled by my boss. I haven’t been involved in it.”
“It’s a shame. I haven’t either. But… I know Antonia wouldn’t have left Enzo with nothing of value.”
I felt the hairs on my arms stand on end.
“Why?”
He shrugged even more, making him look like a floating head over gaunt, angular shoulders.
“Call it intuition.”
I pressed my lips together. I knew that Antonia hadn’t left anything of value to Enzo, so if it wasn’t that… what could Laurent Dubois suspect it was? And what could he believe his son wanted from the family at a time like this?
“If I’m not mistaken, Mr Dubois,” I said, “you must have your own theories on the matter.”
“Indeed.” The man took a sip of his champagne before continuing. “I don’t know what games you think you’re playing, the two of you… Or four, I’d dare to say, Vera.”
“Games?” I interrupted, the word coming out of my mouth with such intensity that it was impossible not to notice.
Laurent Dubois raised his eyebrows.
“Games, yes. Does it sound familiar?”
“Enzo mentioned that his mother was very fond of them.”
“Antonia had a true passion for games,” he commented, narrowing his eyes, “and so does Enzo.”
“Do you think your son came here after so many years just for that? To play some sort of guessing game?” I asked, unable to believe Laurent Dubois’s opinion.
It was madness. Enzo had come there to help me…
Or so he had made me believe.
Though he had also made me believe he knew nothing about my work. That he didn’t know Julian Garros.
If Laurent Dubois was right, Enzo wasn’t there for me, but for his own benefit. Given everything I had uncovered over the weekend, this revelation came as no surprise.
“Do you think Antonia left him some kind of task?” I added after considering it. “Do you think he came here because of it?”
Laurent Dubois snickered under his breath.
“I’m glad to know we’ve both come to the same conclusion. Now, I’m afraid you only have to figure out why the hell you’re involved in all of this,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He raised his hand and dismissed me with a simple gesture. “I’ll handle the rest.”