Chapter 4 - The Promotion
By Monday morning, Alexandre’s promotion had been officially placed “under review.”
That phrase appeared in the email the company sent to senior staff.
It was polite.
Corporate.
Almost bloodless.
But everyone understood what it meant.
Alexandre had spent nine years climbing toward one office.
He had occupied it for less than forty-eight hours.
The anonymous message bothered me most.
Valérie wasn’t just his mistress.
I showed it to Hélène.
“Do you recognize the number?”
“No.”
I replied.
Who are you?
Nothing.
I tried again.
What does VLM have to do with the promotion?
Still nothing.
At noon, my doorbell rang.
A man in his forties stood outside.
I recognized him from the party.
Marc Duval.
Alexandre’s colleague.
He had left early, before the cake incident.
“Can I come in?”
I hesitated.
“Is this about Alexandre?”
“Yes.”
I let him inside.
Marc refused coffee.
That told me how serious the conversation would be.
He sat at the dining table.
“I sent the message.”
“Why anonymously?”
“Because until this morning, Alexandre was technically my superior.”
“And now?”
“Suspended.”
“What happened?”
Marc rubbed his palms together.
“Last year, the company announced that Pierre Lambert would retire.”
“The previous Regional Director.”
“Yes. Four candidates were likely replacements. Alexandre was one.”
I knew that.
For months, Alexandre had talked about little else.
“What I didn’t know,” Marc continued, “was that Alexandre had started a relationship with Valérie.”
“How does that affect the promotion?”
“Valérie worked in strategic analytics.”
“So?”
“She had access to internal performance modeling.”
I felt something cold move through me.
“Information about the candidates?”
“Among other things.”
Marc explained.
The company evaluated regional directors using financial performance, employee retention, client forecasts, and confidential strategic assessments.
Valérie could see data before most candidates could.
If Alexandre had access through her, he could anticipate which weaknesses the board would question.
He could restructure presentations.
Shift resources.
Delay expenses.
Highlight metrics that mattered.
“Are you saying he cheated his way into the promotion?”
“I’m saying compliance is investigating.”
That distinction mattered.
I nodded.
“And VLM?”
Marc looked uncomfortable.
“We think Alexandre used consulting payments to compensate Valérie.”
“For information?”
“We don’t know.”
“But that’s what you suspect.”
“Yes.”
I stood and walked toward the window.
The house was quiet.
The same house where I had hung balloons three nights earlier.
“How long did everyone know?”
“About them?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t.”
“Someone must have.”
“Probably.”
I turned.
“Did people laugh at me?”
Marc looked genuinely shocked.
“No.”
“Did they pity me?”
“I think most people were too busy believing Alexandre’s version of his life.”
“What version?”
“That your marriage was essentially over.”
I stared at him.
“He told people that?”
“Not exactly. He implied you were living separate lives.”
“We had breakfast together Friday morning.”
Marc lowered his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
That sentence almost broke me more than anything else.
Because Marc had nothing to apologize for.
Alexandre did.
Yet everyone except Alexandre seemed capable of saying the words.
After Marc left, I sat alone.
Then I went upstairs.
Our bedroom looked exactly as it always had.
Alexandre’s watch box.
His books.
Our wedding photograph.
I picked it up.
Twelve years earlier, we had been twenty-four and twenty-seven.
Poor.
Optimistic.
Completely certain.
I remembered our first apartment.
The heating barely worked.
Alexandre once wore gloves while making pasta because it was so cold.
We had laughed until midnight.
When had that man disappeared?
Or had I invented him?
My phone rang.
Alexandre.
I nearly ignored it.
Then I answered.
“Hello.”
“I need to see you.”
“No.”
“Please.”
The word surprised me.
“Why?”
“I need to explain.”
“You’ve had twelve years to tell me the truth.”
“Marianne, please.”
We met at a café.
Public place.
Neutral territory.
He looked terrible.
For the first time since I’d known him, Alexandre seemed smaller without a suit.
He wore jeans and a gray sweater.
No arrogance.
No Valérie.
“Where is she?” I asked.
His mouth tightened.
“Gone.”
“Gone where?”
“I don’t know.”
I almost laughed.
“The authentic life lasted three days?”
“Don’t.”
“Why? Does reality suffocate you too?”
He accepted the blow.
“I deserve that.”
“Yes.”
He looked down.
“Valérie left the hotel yesterday.”
“Why?”
“She says I lied to her.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
The simplicity of the answer stunned me.
“About what?”
“The house. Money. My position.”
“Your position?”
“She thought the promotion was secure.”
“And now it isn’t.”
“No.”
I leaned back.
“So she left.”
“Yes.”
“Are you surprised?”
He didn’t answer.
I studied him.
“You loved her enough to leave me.”
“I thought I did.”
“No. Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Don’t turn her into a mistake now that she stopped being useful.”
He looked ashamed.
Good.
“Did you pay her for confidential information?”
His head snapped up.
“No.”
“Then why seventy-four thousand euros?”
“She had a consulting business.”
“For what?”
“She helped me understand market data.”
“Confidential market data?”
“Some of it was information I probably shouldn’t have seen.”
There it was.
“Did it help you get promoted?”
“I don’t know.”
“You knew it was wrong.”
“I knew it was gray.”
“No, Alexandre. Gray is claiming dinner with a client when you also had drinks. Paying your subordinate’s private company while sleeping with her is not gray.”
He rubbed his face.
“I got obsessed.”
“With her?”
“With winning.”
That was the first truthful thing he had said.
He looked at me.
“My father spent my entire life telling me I wasn’t ready. Every promotion felt like proving him wrong.”
“Your father is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then who were you competing with?”
His eyes filled.
“Myself, maybe.”
For one dangerous second, I felt sorry for him.
Then I remembered the gym bag.
“What do you want from me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
He looked at me.
“I don’t want our marriage to end like this.”
I laughed softly.
“You ended our marriage before you walked through that door.”
“Maybe we could—”
“No.”
He stopped.
I had never seen him so still.
“I don’t know what happens next,” I said. “Maybe someday I’ll forgive you. For myself, not for you. But forgiveness is not the same thing as reconciliation.”
His eyes lowered.
“I understand.”
“No. I don’t think you do yet.”
I stood.
He looked up.
“Marianne.”
“What?”
“My father really gave you the house?”
“Apparently.”
A strange smile crossed his face.
“Of course he did.”
“What does that mean?”
“He trusted you more.”
Before I could answer, he added quietly:
“He always did.”
I left him there.
That evening, Hélène received another call from the company.
The internal investigation had expanded.
But this time the issue wasn’t merely Alexandre.
Someone had discovered that VLM Conseil had received payments from two other executives.
And Valérie had disappeared.
Not just from the hotel.
Her apartment was empty.
Her company accounts had been frozen pending review.
The woman Alexandre had destroyed our marriage for was carrying secrets far bigger than an affair.
And by morning, she wanted to speak to me.
May you like
Alone.
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