Chapter 43
André shoves a file in front of my nose. It’s a brown folder, tied with a red rubber band, and it has a single name written on it, just above the Saidi logo:
Antonia Hawtrey-Moore.
“What’s this?”
He glances at me, lips tugging into a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
It’s been a month since I last saw him, but he looks like he’s aged decades.
His eyes are dull, shadows clinging beneath them like bruises.
His skin has taken on this unsettling, ashen hue—grey and hollow, more than I remember.
And the beard, if you can even call it that, clings to his chin like a patch of weeds struggling to grow.
“Saidi’s new case,” he tells me, as if it were obvious. “Take a look at it.”
It is. What I don’t understand is why he bothered to come to my house just to have me read it.
The file contains everything related to Antonia’s case.
Thanks to her being alive (duh), Larousse has been proven innocent and has filed for divorce.
I know Bastian is taking care of that. On the other hand, Antonia is going to spend a good amount of time between courts.
Not only as a client of the Counterfeiter, but also because, apparently, you can’t fake your death and flee the country (duh!).
André is the one negotiating the best kind of deal for her.
We’re alone in my house. It’s quiet, too quiet, without Gina. She’s been living with her family for a month now, and honestly, I’m not sure if we’ll ever live together again. Things are… well, not looking great. But I kind of prefer it this way. I’m learning to enjoy the quiet.
And then there’s Elo?se Hawtrey-Moore.
One moment, she was here. The next, she had vanished. Just like that.
No one knows where she is. The Dubois are in preventive detention until the trial, and Antonia Hawtrey-Moore is under house arrest.
Here’s the thing—I know Gina better than I know myself.
And I can tell she’s not nearly as shaken by everything as she should be.
Like, someone just put our entire lease—both mine and hers—up for the next six months.
Then, a locksmith showed up a few days ago to install a new security system. I didn’t call him.
Look, if my friend is in a secret relationship with a fugitive from the law, I don’t want to know.
I close the report on Antonia’s case and focus on André.
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“I’d like you to read it,” André tells me.
“Why?”
Instead of giving me an answer, he rummages through his folder and, as if he were pulling a rabbit out of a magic hat, he pulls out a document and holds it up.
“Just do it,” he says, still smiling.
I take it. It’s two sheets of paper stapled together and has the seal of the national police at the top of the first page. Below, I read:
EXCERPT FROM LAURENT DUBOIS JUNIOR’S STATEMENT.
NON-ORIGINAL DOCUMENT.
LOANABLE.
“What…?” I begin to say.
“You’ll be surprised.”