Chapter 2 - The Name Nobody Was Supposed to Remember
For several seconds, I was certain I had misunderstood him.
“Valois?”
Dr. Moreau nodded.
My son stirred against my chest.
I instinctively lowered my voice.
“You said your brother was named Luc Valois.”
“Yes.”
“But your name is Moreau.”
“My mother’s maiden name.”
I stared at him.
Nothing made sense.
Julien had told me nearly everything about the Valois family—or at least I had once believed he had.
The Valois name belonged to one of those old European families whose wealth seemed to reproduce itself. Real estate. Hotels. Private investments. Logistics companies. Foundations with elegant names and carefully photographed charity galas.
Éléonore treated the family history like scripture.
She could tell you which great-grandfather purchased which estate and which minister attended which Valois wedding.
Yet in five years of knowing that family, I had never once heard the name Luc.
“Who was he?”
Dr. Moreau leaned back.
“My half brother.”
He looked toward the closed door before continuing.
“My mother, Isabelle Moreau, worked for the Valois family when she was young.”
“What kind of work?”
“She was a private nurse for Henri Valois.”
Henri.
Julien’s grandfather.
The patriarch whose enormous portrait hung in the main hallway of the Valois estate.
According to Éléonore, Henri had been honorable, disciplined and devoted to his family.
Dr. Moreau gave me a sad smile.
“The official version of Henri Valois was very different from the man my mother knew.”
My fingers tightened around the hospital blanket.
“Henri was Luc’s father?”
“Yes.”
The room seemed to tilt.
That meant Luc had been Julien’s—
“Uncle,” Dr. Moreau said, apparently reading my expression. “Luc was Julien’s uncle.”
I looked at my son.
“But you said Luc died.”
“When he was nineteen.”
“How?”
“A car accident.”
Dr. Moreau paused.
“At least, that’s what we were told.”
There was something in the way he said it.
“What do you mean?”
“My mother never believed it.”
He told me the story slowly.
Henri Valois had met Isabelle when she was twenty-four. She had been hired to help care for Henri’s elderly mother. Their relationship became intimate, and Isabelle became pregnant.
Henri initially promised to acknowledge the child.
Then his family intervened.
Luc was born quietly.
Money changed hands.
Documents were signed.
Isabelle was pressured to disappear.
But Henri continued secretly supporting his son.
“When Luc was seventeen,” Dr. Moreau said, “Henri began talking about recognizing him publicly.”
“And Éléonore knew?”
“I don’t know exactly when she learned.”
That answer bothered me.
“What happened after Luc died?”
“Everything vanished. Letters. Financial records. Photographs. Even documents proving Henri had supported him.”
“And your mother?”
“She spent the rest of her life trying to prove Luc belonged to the family.”
I looked down at the crescent beside my baby’s ear.
“The birthmark?”
“Luc had one in exactly that place.”
“That could be coincidence.”
“Of course.”
He nodded immediately.
“And faces can resemble one another by coincidence too. I know that. I’m a physician, Viviane. I’m not suggesting a birthmark proves anything.”
That mattered.
He wasn’t making some absurd claim based on emotion.
He was telling me why he had reacted.
“Then why did Julien panic?”
Dr. Moreau’s expression changed.
“That’s what frightens me.”
A nurse entered quietly.
She checked my IV and told me I needed rest.
Rest.
The word almost seemed funny.
My husband had tried to obtain custody of my child minutes after birth.
A doctor had just told me my son resembled a dead Valois heir whose existence had apparently been erased.
And Julien had recognized the birthmark.
I wasn’t going to sleep.
My phone buzzed on the bedside table.
Unknown number.
I opened the message.
Do not trust the doctor.
My pulse jumped.
Another message arrived.
And do not let anyone test the baby’s DNA.
I showed Dr. Moreau.
His face hardened.
“Who knows your number?”
“Too many people.”
“Did Julien?”
“Yes.”
“Éléonore?”
“Yes.”
Another message.
You have no idea what you are carrying into this family.
Dr. Moreau immediately called hospital security.
I expected him to take charge after that.
Instead, he surprised me.
“Viviane, I need to tell you something that makes me look terrible.”
“What?”
“When I saw your son, I wanted proof.”
My arms tightened around the baby.
“I would never have done anything without your consent,” he added quickly. “But emotionally, for one moment, I wanted to know whether my mother had been right all those years.”
“Right about what?”
“That Luc’s death wasn’t an accident.”
I stared at him.
“And my baby can prove that?”
“No. Not directly.”
“Then what can he prove?”
Dr. Moreau looked toward the door.
“That the Valois family has been lying about its bloodline.”
I almost told him to leave.
The story was becoming too bizarre.
But then I remembered Julien’s face.
What exactly did you see?
He had known.
I was certain of it.
That afternoon, my attorney called.
Her name was Camille Durand, and she had been the only person who believed me when I showed her the financial records.
“You need to hear this,” I told her.
I explained everything.
Unlike me, Camille didn’t sound shocked.
She became quiet.
Then she asked one question.
“Did the custody papers mention a trust?”
“I didn’t read them.”
“Did you photograph them?”
“No.”
“Get a copy.”
“Why?”
“Because I found something this morning.”
My heart began pounding again.
“What?”
“A Valois family trust established twenty-eight years ago.”
I sat straighter.
“That’s around the time Luc died.”
“Exactly.”
Camille continued.
“The trust is unusual. Control doesn’t automatically pass to the oldest living family member. It follows a specific biological line descending from Henri Valois.”
I looked at my son.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying there may be a financial reason Julien suddenly cares very much about establishing legal control over your child.”
The door opened.
I nearly dropped the phone.
But it wasn’t Julien.
It was Éléonore.
She entered carrying white roses.
Of course she did.
Even her threats arrived elegantly.
“Viviane.”
Her gaze fell on the baby.
Something happened to her face.
For one second, the woman who had humiliated me, accused me of trapping her son, and helped destroy my reputation looked terrified.
Then she recovered.
“What a beautiful child.”
“Get out.”
She smiled.
“Still emotional.”
“Security is outside.”
“I’m family.”
“You made it clear I wasn’t.”
Her eyes moved toward the crescent-shaped mark.
She stopped breathing.
I saw it.
“You recognize it.”
Éléonore looked at me.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Luc.”
The flowers slipped in her hand.
Only slightly.
But enough.
I knew.
“You knew him.”
Her expression hardened.
“Who told you that name?”
“Dr. Moreau.”
For the first time in all the years I had known her, Éléonore looked genuinely afraid.
“That man is dangerous.”
“He’s a doctor.”
“He is a Moreau.”
“You say that like it’s a crime.”
“You know nothing about these people.”
“And apparently I know nothing about yours.”
She stepped closer.
“Listen carefully. Take Julien’s settlement. Sign the custody agreement. You will receive enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life.”
I stared at her.
“You think I’m selling my son?”
“I think you should consider what is safest for him.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It is advice.”
I reached for the nurse call button.
Éléonore leaned toward me.
“Your child should never have been born into this.”
My blood went cold.
“Leave.”
She straightened.
Then she placed the roses on the counter.
“Think carefully.”
After she left, I immediately called Camille.
“She offered me money.”
“How much?”
“She didn’t say.”
“To sign custody?”
“Yes.”
Camille was silent for a moment.
“Viviane, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“I pulled records on one of the shell companies from the files you gave me.”
I waited.
“It made a payment three days after you told Julien you were pregnant.”
“To whom?”
“A private genetics laboratory.”
My skin prickled.
“Why would Julien pay a genetics lab?”
“That’s not the strange part.”
“What is?”
“The laboratory specializes in hereditary identification and disputed family lineage.”
I looked at my sleeping son.
Julien had known something before my baby was even born.
Something important enough to pay for genetic research.
“Camille.”
“Yes?”
“Find out everything.”
“I already started.”
That night, I barely slept.
At 2:17 a.m., my phone vibrated.
Camille.
I answered immediately.
“What happened?”
Her breathing sounded strange.
“I found Luc’s death certificate.”
“And?”
“He died twenty-nine years ago.”
“I know.”
“No, Viviane. Listen to me.”
Paper rustled.
“The certificate lists the person who formally identified his body.”
My mouth went dry.
“Who?”
Camille hesitated.
Then she said:
“Éléonore Valois.”
A cold sensation traveled through me.
“But she would have been young.”
“Twenty-six.”
“Why would she identify him?”
“That’s what I’m trying to understand.”
Then Camille said something even worse.
“There’s a handwritten amendment attached to the record.”
“What does it say?”
She inhaled.
“That Luc Valois was not Henri Valois’s biological son.”
I stared at my baby.
“But Dr. Moreau says he was.”
“Yes.”
“Then somebody lied.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Camille went quiet.
May you like
“I think that’s exactly what Julien is afraid you’re about to discover.”
---
