Chapter 1 - The Woman in the Pool
Victoire Delacroix shoved the young waitress before anyone realized what she intended to do.
Camille’s heel slipped against the wet stone.
For half a second, she seemed suspended between the glittering terrace and the overflowing infinity pool behind her.
Then she disappeared into the water.
A splash erupted across the marble edge.
Several guests gasped.
Several others laughed.
One young man in a white dinner jacket immediately lifted his phone.
Another woman near the champagne fountain did the same.
Within seconds, three cameras were pointed toward the pool.
Victoire stood at the edge in a silver evening gown, one hand still raised from the shove.
She looked more irritated than shocked.
“You ruined a three-thousand-euro dress over a glass of Bordeaux,” she said.
The accusation made no sense.
Camille had not ruined anything.
A single drop of red wine had landed near the hem of Victoire’s gown after another guest bumped Camille’s serving tray.
Camille had apologized immediately.
Victoire had demanded that she kneel and wipe it away.
Camille had refused.
That was apparently enough.
The surface of the pool moved.
Camille emerged slowly.
Her dark hair was soaked against her face.
Water streamed from the collar of her white serving blouse.
Her black apron floated around her waist.
The laughter grew louder.
Camille did not react.
She brushed wet hair away from her eyes.
Then she looked directly at Victoire.
“You should stop laughing.”
Victoire blinked.
“Excuse me?”
Camille climbed out of the pool without taking her eyes off her.
Her soaked shoes left dark prints across the pale stone.
She reached into her apron.
One of the guests snorted.
“What’s she going to do, call the catering company?”
Camille removed a waterproof phone.
She pressed one number.
Someone answered almost instantly.
Camille spoke five words.
“It’s me.
Open the gate.”
Then she ended the call.
Victoire folded her arms.
“That was dramatic.”
Camille said nothing.
Étienne Delacroix stood twenty feet away beside a group of bankers, lawyers, and investors.
Until that moment, he had been pretending not to notice the confrontation.
Now he was staring at Camille.
Something about her voice had changed him.
Camille saw it.
His smile disappeared.
The color began draining from his face.
A low mechanical sound came from beyond the gardens.
Engines.
The estate’s security chief touched his earpiece.
His posture straightened.
Then another guard moved rapidly toward him.
“What is it?” Étienne demanded.
The security chief hesitated.
“There are vehicles at the north gate.”
“How many?”
“Seven.”
Victoire laughed.
“Seven cars because a waitress got wet?”
Nobody answered her.
Beyond the cypress-lined driveway, black luxury sedans appeared one after another.
They moved slowly toward the mansion.
Every vehicle was identical.
Tinted windows.
Black paint.
No decorative plates.
No party insignia.
No chauffeurs wearing the Delacroix crest.
Guests lowered their champagne glasses.
The first sedan stopped beside the terrace.
A tall man in a charcoal suit stepped out.
He was followed by two women carrying document cases.
Another vehicle opened.
Then another.
Attorneys.
Private security.
Corporate officers.
A notary.
And finally, an elderly man with silver hair whom Étienne recognized immediately.
Étienne whispered one name.
“Bernard.”
Victoire turned.
“Who?”
Her father ignored her.
Bernard Marchand walked straight toward Camille.
He removed his jacket.
Without hesitation, he placed it around her soaking shoulders.
“Ms. Laurent,” he said.
“The documents are ready.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
Victoire looked from Bernard to Camille.
“Ms. Laurent?”
Camille accepted a towel from one of the arriving women.
Bernard opened a leather folder.
Inside were several documents.
At the top of the first page was the title of the agreement Étienne had spent fourteen months negotiating.
AZURE CROWN REDEVELOPMENT AGREEMENT.
€68,000,000.
Victoire’s expression shifted.
Étienne stepped forward.
“Camille.”
It was the first time he had used her name.
Camille looked at him.
“You knew who I was.”
It was not a question.
Victoire stared at her father.
“You know the waitress?”
Étienne’s jaw tightened.
“Victoire, go inside.”
“No.”
“Now.”
Victoire laughed nervously.
“You cannot seriously expect me to leave because some employee called a few lawyers.”
Bernard turned to her.
“She is not your employee.”
Victoire’s smile disappeared.
Camille removed the Delacroix catering badge from her blouse.
She placed it on the table.
Then she took the contract from Bernard.
Étienne moved toward her.
“Camille, whatever happened tonight can be handled privately.”
Camille looked toward the phones still recording.
“You seemed comfortable with an audience thirty seconds ago.”
Nobody laughed this time.
Étienne lowered his voice.
“This agreement employs hundreds of people.”
“And requires my authorization.”
Victoire stared at the contract.
“What authorization?”
Camille turned to her.
“The final one.”
Victoire looked at her father again.
Étienne did not deny it.
Camille flipped to the signature page.
There were already signatures from Delacroix Hospitality.
From Banque Mercier.
From the city development authority.
From private equity partners.
One line remained empty.
CAMILLE LAURENT.
AUTHORIZED TRUSTEE.
Victoire’s lips parted.
“You?”
Camille nodded.
“One signature releases the funding.”
She lifted the pen Bernard offered her.
Étienne watched the pen.
Dozens of people watched the pen.
Camille brought it toward the paper.
Then stopped.
She closed the folder.
“I won’t sign tonight.”
Étienne’s face hardened.
“Camille.”
“You knew an independent integrity inspection was taking place.”
Victoire looked confused.
Camille continued.
“You simply didn’t know who was conducting it.”
Several investors exchanged glances.
Étienne stepped closer.
“You came here pretending to be staff?”
“No.”
Camille’s voice remained calm.
“I came here to see how people behave when they believe the person standing in front of them has no power.”
Her eyes moved toward Victoire.
“I received my answer.”
Victoire finally seemed frightened.
But only for a moment.
Then arrogance returned.
“So this is revenge?”
Camille stared at her.
“No.”
She handed the folder back to Bernard.
“This is due diligence.”
Bernard signaled to one of the lawyers.
The woman removed another envelope.
Étienne noticed the red seal.
His face changed again.
Camille saw that too.
She took the envelope.
“There’s one more problem.”
“What problem?” Étienne asked.
Camille glanced toward the mansion.
“The financial records your company submitted three weeks ago do not match the records my office obtained this morning.”
The banker beside Étienne immediately stepped away.
Victoire frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Camille looked at Étienne.
“It means someone moved twelve million euros.”
The terrace became completely silent.
Étienne did not blink.
Camille watched him carefully.
Then she noticed something she had not expected.
He did not look guilty.
He looked terrified.
Not for himself.
For someone else.
Étienne whispered.
“Where did you get those records?”
Camille’s suspicion sharpened.
“Why?”
Étienne looked toward the mansion windows.
Then toward his daughter.
His voice became almost inaudible.
“Because if those are the records I think they are, you were never supposed to find them.”
Camille felt the night change around her.
The pool incident was suddenly no longer the real story.
She stepped closer.
“Who was supposed to stop me?”
Étienne did not answer.
Instead, one of the black sedans suddenly flashed its headlights.
Twice.
Bernard turned.
A security officer ran toward them.
“Ms. Laurent.”
Camille faced him.
“What?”
“Someone accessed your hotel suite seventeen minutes ago.”
Her stomach tightened.
The officer continued.
“Your safe was opened.”
Bernard went still.
Camille looked at him.
May you like
Inside that safe was the only original document proving where the twelve million euros had gone.
And the person who had entered her room had known exactly where to look.
