Chapter 5 - The Man Who Survived
Marc Delon did not want to speak to us.
That became obvious the moment Camille called him.
“I have nothing to discuss regarding events from three decades ago.”
“You were in Luc Valois’s vehicle.”
Silence.
Then:
“Do not contact me again.”
He hung up.
Camille smiled without humor.
“That means we found the right man.”
Two days later, Marc contacted us himself.
Not because he suddenly developed a conscience.
Because Julien made him.
For the first time in his life, Julien used the Valois name against the people who had taught him to worship it.
The meeting took place at Camille’s firm.
Marc was seventy-two.
Silver-haired, thin, meticulously dressed.
He looked at Julien for a long time.
“You have Luc’s eyes.”
Julien flinched.
“Tell me what happened.”
Marc looked toward the recorder.
“No recording.”
Camille refused.
“Then I leave.”
Julien stood.
“If you leave, every document connecting you to my mother’s shell companies goes to investigators today.”
Marc stopped.
That was new information even to me.
Julien looked at my surprised expression.
“I’ve been searching too.”
Marc slowly returned to his chair.
“What do you want?”
“The truth.”
Marc laughed sadly.
“Your family has never wanted that.”
“I do.”
The old attorney looked at him.
Then he began.
Luc had discovered the truth about Julien shortly after his birth.
Éléonore had begged him to remain silent.
At first, he agreed.
Then Henri created the trust.
Henri wanted Luc acknowledged.
That changed everything.
On the night of the crash, Luc planned to meet Henri.
Marc had agreed to drive him.
“Why you?”
“I was a junior legal assistant working for Henri.”
“What happened?”
Marc stared at his hands.
“We never reached the meeting.”
Their car had developed steering trouble on a rural road.
Marc lost control.
The vehicle struck a barrier.
Luc died.
Marc survived with multiple injuries.
“Was the car sabotaged?” Camille asked.
Marc closed his eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“After thirty years, that’s your answer?”
“I know what happened afterward.”
Éléonore visited him in the hospital.
She brought documents.
Money.
And a warning.
“She told me Luc’s death had already destroyed enough lives. She said if I repeated anything about Julien or the meeting with Henri, she would make sure I never practiced law.”
“So you helped erase Luc.”
Marc looked at Julien.
“Yes.”
Julien’s face twisted.
“You knew he was my father.”
“Yes.”
“And you watched me grow up.”
“Yes.”
“You attended my wedding.”
Marc looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
I remembered him now.
A quiet older man near Éléonore’s table.
He had congratulated us.
He had shaken Julien’s hand.
The cruelty of secrets wasn’t only what they concealed.
It was how many ordinary moments they poisoned afterward.
“Did Éléonore cause the crash?” Julien asked.
“I cannot say that.”
“Did she threaten Luc?”
“Yes.”
“Did she know he was meeting Henri?”
“Yes.”
“Did she benefit from his death?”
Marc looked away.
“Yes.”
That was as far as facts took us.
There was no evidence proving Éléonore caused the crash.
And I refused to turn suspicion into certainty merely because I hated her.
Camille felt the same.
“We use what we can prove,” she said later.
Fortunately, we could prove plenty.
Financial coercion.
Attempts to manipulate custody.
Shell companies.
Improper transfers.
The false lineage documents.
Payments to Marc over decades.
And, most importantly, Julien was finally willing to cooperate.
But Éléonore wasn’t finished.
The next morning, I was served with an emergency custody petition.
She alleged that I was financially unstable, emotionally overwhelmed, and exposing Adrien to strangers obsessed with the Valois fortune.
Attached were photographs of my old apartment.
My jobs.
My bank balance.
Even pictures of me entering Camille’s office.
“She’s been watching me.”
Camille nodded.
“She wants you frightened.”
“I am frightened.”
“Good.”
I stared at her.
She smiled slightly.
“Fear keeps you careful. Panic makes you stupid. You haven’t panicked once.”
The custody hearing was scheduled quickly.
Éléonore entered the courthouse dressed in navy blue, looking like the respectable matriarch she had spent decades creating.
I wore the best dress I owned.
It cost forty euros.
For once, I didn’t care.
Her attorney portrayed me exactly as expected.
Poor.
Overworked.
Isolated.
He mentioned my hotel laundry job.
My night cleaning.
My small apartment.
Then Camille stood.
“Everything opposing counsel just described happened after Mr. Valois blocked Ms. Valois from marital funds while she was pregnant.”
Silence.
She introduced the emails.
Then bank records.
Then proof that Julien had cancelled my insurance.
Julien himself testified.
His mother stared at him from across the courtroom.
“Did Ms. Valois ever attempt to use her pregnancy to obtain money from you?” Camille asked.
“No.”
“Did she cheat?”
“No.”
“Did you tell people she had?”
“Yes.”
“Was that true?”
“No.”
A murmur traveled through the room.
Éléonore’s face remained perfectly still.
“Why did you seek custody?”
Julien swallowed.
“Because I believed control of my son would give me control of a family trust.”
The courtroom became silent.
Camille let the answer hang there.
Then she asked:
“Did your mother know?”
Julien looked at Éléonore.
“Yes.”
Her expression finally cracked.
The emergency petition was denied.
I retained full temporary custody.
But outside the courthouse, Éléonore approached me.
Reporters crowded the steps because news of the Valois trust had begun leaking.
She stopped inches from me.
“You think you’ve won?”
“No.”
“You have no idea what you’ve started.”
“I started nothing.”
I looked at Adrien sleeping in his stroller.
“You did.”
For the first time, Éléonore had no response.
That evening, Dr. Moreau called.
The laboratory had recovered viable DNA from one of Luc’s preserved belongings.
Julien had voluntarily provided a sample.
Results would take several days.
“If it confirms Luc was his father?” I asked.
“Then the trust issue becomes very real.”
“And Adrien?”
“Camille needs to handle that.”
But his voice suggested something else.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He hesitated.
“We found a second sealed document among my mother’s belongings.”
“What document?”
“A copy of Henri’s original amendment.”
My heart pounded.
“What does it say?”
Gabriel exhaled slowly.
“It says Luc’s descendants inherit the controlling shares.”
“I know that.”
“No, Viviane. There’s another clause.”
“What?”
“If a descendant is a minor, control does not automatically go to the child’s father.”
I froze.
“Who gets it?”
Gabriel answered:
“The child’s mother.”
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And suddenly I understood why Éléonore had tried so desperately to destroy me.
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