“And before it was Beaumont,” I said, “it was Marchand.”
The color vanished from his cheeks. Hélène set her glass down too quickly.
Luca stared at his father. “How does she know that?”
Philippe whispered, “How do you know that name?”
I leaned back. “Because I worked on the Marchand file.”
His chair scraped backward. “You were an archive assistant.”
“It’s interesting that you know exactly what my job was.”
Silence.
Claire looked sharply at Hélène. Hélène stared at her husband. Philippe had already said too much.
I remembered the case. Marchand Textile Group had been a respected family textile company outside Lyon. Then it collapsed. Workers lost pensions. Suppliers went unpaid. But certain company assets had vanished months before bankruptcy. Properties were transferred. Accounts emptied. Equipment sold through intermediaries.
Investigators suspected members of the Marchand family had moved wealth beyond creditors’ reach. The case became tangled in settlements, missing records, and jurisdictional arguments.
I had only been a researcher. But researchers notice things. Especially inconsistencies. One set of transfers repeatedly led to an entity using the initials B.E.
At the time, I never discovered what B.E. meant.
Now I looked at the man calling himself Beaumon
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