By noon, all her banks had received official notice. Joint accounts were placed under heightened monitoring. Her personal accounts were secured. Her investments were given temporary freeze requests. Any unusual movement now required personal confirmation and legal notification. At two o’clock, Claire accompanied Camille to the police station. At four, an emergency filing was submitted to the Versailles judicial court. At six, when Marc returned home still believing he held her life in his hands, he found Camille sitting in the living room. The suitcase was still open upstairs. But the train ticket had been canceled. And on the coffee table in front of her lay a blue cardboard folder. Marc stopped in the doorway.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Camille looked at him with a calmness that seemed to irritate him.
“Sit down, Marc.”
He laughed shortly.
“Now you’re giving me orders in my own house?”
Camille did not look away.
“This house has never belonged to you.”
Marc’s face froze.
“What did you just say?”
“I said this house was never yours. I bought it before we married, with my own money. It is in my name. And our prenuptial agreement protects my personal assets very clearly. You knew that, Marc. You simply chose to pretend you had forgotten.”
For a fraction of a second, he turned pale. Then he tried to compose himself.
“You’re exhausted. Work stress is making you say ridiculous things.”
“I’m not going to Lyon.”
Silence fell over the living room. Marc blinked.
“What do you mean?”
“I canceled my train.”
That was when his mask slipped. The tender expression vanished. In its place appeared a cold, trapped, furious man.
“You canceled? Without telling me?”
“Exactly like you tried to dispose of my property without telling me.”
He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Camille took the first document from the folder and placed it on the table.
“Authentic power of attorney with broad powers. Revoked today at 10:42 a.m.”
She took out the second document.
“Notifications sent to the banks.”
Then the third.
“Request for protective measures.”
The fourth.
“Police complaint filed.”
The fifth.
“A copy of the document where your name and Élodie Martin’s name appear in connection with a preparatory operation meant to transfer part of my assets into a real estate company recently created in her name.”
Marc stood frozen. The room seemed to hold its breath.
“Camille,” he said suddenly, his voice softer. “You’re misunderstanding everything. I only wanted to help organize things for you. You’re always overwhelmed. I was trying to make your life easier.”
Camille almost smiled, not from joy, but from disbelief at his nerve.
“Help me? With your mistress?”
His face twisted.
“Don’t speak like that.”
“What should I call her? Your accomplice? Your fraud partner? The woman who laughed while you said you would have three days to visit the bank and the notary while I was gone?”
Marc stepped back. Only slightly. But Camille saw it. He understood. Leo had heard. And Leo had spoken.
“You dragged our son into this?” he growled.
Camille stood.
“No. You did that. The day you turned his home into a stage for your lie.”
Marc moved forward suddenly, but before he could speak, the doorbell rang once. Then twice. Then three times. Camille opened the door. On the threshold stood Claire, Maître Morel, and two police officers. Behind them, near the gate, a black car had just stopped. Élodie Martin stepped out wearing sunglasses, a beige coat, and high heels, as if she were arriving to take possession of the home she had been promised. But when she saw the officers, she stopped halfway up the path. Marc saw her too. And in that moment, all his confidence collapsed.
“What’s going on?” Élodie asked, removing her sunglasses. “Marc, what is this?”
Camille walked to the entrance and looked directly at her.
“What’s happening is that the trip has been canceled.”
Élodie went pale.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Claire lifted the blue folder.
“You will have the chance to explain officially.”
