Chapter 5 - THE UNMASKING
"E-Éléonore?" Laurent finally managed to choke out, his voice trembling so violently he sounded like a stranger. He took a staggering step forward, holding his hands out in a pathetic, pleading gesture. "What is... what is this joke? What kind of sick game are you playing? Tell him! Tell Lefevre you're just a—you're just my wife! You're a housewife!"
I turned my head slowly, looking at him with a chill that felt absolute. "A housewife, Laurent? Is that really all you think I am?"
"You don't have any money!" Laurent shrieked, panic finally cracking his polished veneer wide open as the horrified whispers of his colleagues began to swell around the room. "You lived in that small apartment in Lyon when we met! You didn't even have a car! I made you! I built your life!"
"You met me in Lyon," I corrected quietly, stepping forward while the crowd instinctively parted to let me pass. "In the administrative archive wing of the Morel Foundation headquarters. You were an entry-level clerk trying to impress regional directors by stealing my research briefs and passing them off as your own. I watched you do it. And God help me, I thought your ambition was charming."
A collective gasp rippled through the guests. Several senior vice presidents who had spent years kissing up to Laurent suddenly recoiled as if he carried a contagious disease.
"That's impossible," Camille stammered, her voice shaking as she clutched the emerald necklace even tighter. "He said you were a nobody! He said you were a parasite living off his success!"
I turned my gaze toward Camille, my eyes locking onto the sparkling green stones resting against her skin. "That necklace you're wearing, Camille," I said, my voice dropping an octave, carrying a lethal, glacial sweetness. "Do you know what it is?"
She swallowed hard, trying to maintain her defiant glare, though her lower lip was trembling. "It’s... it's just jewelry. He bought it for me."
"He didn't buy it," I said clearly. "He stole it out of my private wall safe this morning while I was sleeping. That necklace belonged to my great-grandmother, Duchess Éléonore de Morel. It is cataloged in the national registry of French heritage artifacts, and it carries a private security tracking chip embedded in the primary clasp."
I raised my left hand and tapped my wristwatch. A soft chime echoed from the device.
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"In fact," I continued smoothly, "the moment you secured it around your neck, it transmitted your exact GPS coordinates, biometric data, and facial recognition profile directly to the Paris Cyber-Crime Division and my family’s private asset recovery unit. The warrant for grand larceny was signed twenty minutes ago."
Before Camille could even scream, the heavy double front doors of the mansion were pushed open with a loud, resounding bang.
