Chapter 2 - The Real Deed

Back on Rue de la Paix, Sunday morning dawned gray and damp. Inside the warm, brightly lit living room, Geneviève poured herself a cup of chamomile tea, her ivory blouse unwrinkled and her silver hair impeccably styled. To her, the world was back in order. The "disruption"—as she mentally classified her granddaughter—had been successfully excised.

Élodie sat across from her, nervously scrolling through her tablet. "Mom, do you really think Claire is just going to let this go? She hasn't answered any of our calls since Friday night."

Geneviève scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "Let her pout. Claire has always been overly dramatic, a trait she got from her father's side. Where is she going to go? She makes a modest clerk's salary; she couldn't afford a studio apartment in this district, let alone maintain a standard of living. Within a week, she'll come crawling back, begging for forgiveness—and when she does, we will set new ground rules. Inès will be sent to boarding school in the countryside."

Marc, who was buttering a piece of toast at the end of the long mahogany table, stared down at his plate. "She looked pretty calm when she walked away, Geneviève. Too calm."

"Nonsense," Geneviève snapped. "People like Claire don't fight back. They submit. They know their place."

That comforting illusion shattered precisely at 9:00 a.m. on Tuesday.

A sharp, authoritative knock echoed against the brand-new front door—the very lock Geneviève had proudly installed three days prior.

Élodie went to answer it, expecting perhaps the grocery delivery service. Instead, standing on the cobblestone step was not a delivery driver, but two uniformed local police officers accompanied by a tall man in a sharp charcoal suit carrying a thick leather briefcase. It was Maître Laurent.

"Geneviève Dupont?" the bailiff asked smoothly, holding up a clipboard.

Geneviève stepped into the hallway, her expression hardening into aristocratic disdain. "I am. What is the meaning of this disturbance? You are trespassing on private property."

Maître Laurent didn't blink. He opened his briefcase, pulled out a massive, multi-page legal document stamped with the crimson seal of the Tribunal Judiciaire d'Angers, and handed it directly to her.

"You are served with an official notice of revocation of occupancy rights, pursuant to Section 448-B of the regional civil code," Laurent announced clearly, his voice carrying into the living room where Marc stood up slowly. "You, along with all unauthorized occupants, are formally ordered to vacate the premises within thirty days. Furthermore, due to reckless endangerment of a minor, interim protective measures take effect immediately."

Geneviève stared at the paper. Her fingers trembled against the heavy cardstock. "This... this is absurd. This house belongs to me! I bought the furniture, I paid the property taxes for twenty years! Claire cannot touch me!"

"Madame," Maître Laurent replied, stepping slightly to the side to let her see the signature block on page one. "The property was deeded to Claire Dupont-Lefèvre twelve years ago. You were granted a conditional right of residency—a right you legally forfeited the moment you locked her minor daughter out into hazardous weather conditions. The court has verified the breach. You have thirty days to pack your belongings."