Chapter 6 - THE POLICE AT THE GATES
Four uniformed officers of the Paris Police Nationale, flanked by two men in sharp black suits carrying federal insignias, marched into the grand foyer with synchronized precision. The party guests scattered like frightened birds, pressing themselves against the silk wallpaper to clear a path.
The lead inspector, a stern-faced woman with iron-gray hair, stepped directly up to Camille.
"Mademoiselle Camille Roux?" the inspector demanded, pulling a crisp legal document from her breast pocket.
Camille’s eyes bulged with terror. She looked wildly at Laurent, but Laurent was frozen, staring at the floor as if he could magically melt through the wood. "I... I didn't do anything! He gave it to me! Laurent said it was a gift!"
"Possession of stolen multi-million-euro family heirlooms, obstruction of legal asset recovery, and conspiracy to commit fraud," the inspector rattled off mechanically. "Turn around and place your hands behind your back."
"No! Laurent, do something!" Camille screamed as the cold steel of the handcuffs snapped around her wrists with a sharp, echoing click. She was roughly pulled away, her designer shoes stumbling against the floor as the officers dragged her toward the exit. The sound of her sobbing faded out into the night air as the squad cars idled outside.
The silence inside the house returned, heavier and more suffocating than before.
Laurent was shaking from head to toe. His promotion party had transformed into a crime scene in less than ten minutes. His career, his reputation, his mistress, and his stolen status were lying in absolute ruins around his feet.
He dropped to his knees on the champagne-soaked hardwood floor, looking up at me with tear-filled, bloodshot eyes. The proud, arrogant Vice President of Sales was gone. In his place was a broken, terrified coward.
"Éléonore... please," he choked out, his voice cracking pathetically. "We’re married. We’re husband and wife. For old times' sake... please. Don't do this. I was just... I got caught up in things. The promotion, the pressure... please forgive me."
I stopped walking and looked down at him. There was no anger left in my chest. There was only the cold, clear perspective of someone looking at trash that had finally been swept out the door.
"When you told me to put on that uniform tonight, Laurent," I said softly, my voice carrying clearly to every guest holding their breath in the room, "you thought you were putting me in my place. You thought wealth and power were things men handed to women out of charity."
I turned to Marc Lefevre, who stood at attention beside me like a loyal general awaiting his sovereign's decree.
"Monsieur Lefevre," I said.
"Yes, Madam Chairwoman," he replied instantly.
"Revoke Laurent Dubois’s corporate title effective immediately. File formal charges for corporate espionage, embezzlement of subsidiary funds, and fraudulent credential inflation. Ensure he is permanently blacklisted from every financial institution across the European Union."
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"It will be executed before midnight," Lefevre answered crisply.
Laurent let out a low, animalistic wail and collapsed forward, pressing his forehead against the floorboards where the champagne pooled around his knees.
