My safe was open.
I felt my heart race.
“Nicolas!”
He ran up immediately.
“What is it?”
I pointed to the safe.
“Who opened this?”
Nicolas stood there, dumbfounded.
“I don’t know.”
I quickly checked the documents.
The will.
The property deeds.
The bank contracts.
The insurance certificates.
Everything seemed to be there.
Then I noticed something.
An envelope was missing.
A small beige envelope.
The one my husband had handed to me a few weeks before his death.
I had kept it for years.
Inside was a letter.
And a flash drive.
I turned back to Nicolas.
“Where is it?”
“What?”
“The envelope.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
A voice echoed behind us.
“Maybe I can help you.”
We turned around.
Chloe was standing in the doorway.
I immediately sensed something strange.
She no longer looked aggressive.
She looked anxious.
“What did you take?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Then why do you know there was an envelope?”
Her face tightened.
Nicolas looked at her.
“Chloe…”
She stepped back.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I walked down the stairs.
My attorney had just arrived.
Maître Delmas entered the hall carrying a black briefcase.
“Mrs. Laurent.”
“Maître.”
He greeted the officers and then looked at Nicolas.
“Sir.”
Nicolas replied timidly.
“Hello.”
Maître Delmas placed his briefcase on the table.
“I believe it is time to explain everything.”
He pulled out several documents.
“Mrs. Laurent, do you remember this power of attorney signed in 2021?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
“It allowed your son to manage certain expenses regarding your residence while you were abroad.”
“Correct.”
He placed a copy in front of Nicolas.
“However, this power of attorney absolutely did not grant permission to sell the villa, give it away, transfer ownership, or execute significant funds transfers.”
Nicolas swallowed hard.
“I understand.”
Maître Delmas then pulled out another sheet of paper.
“The issue is that someone attempted to produce an altered version of this power of attorney.”
Nicolas sat up straight.
“What?”
“A forged version.”
Chloe came slowly down the stairs.
“That’s not true.”
Maître Delmas looked at her.
“Ma’am, we have both documents.”
“I didn’t forge anything!”
“I didn’t say it was you.”
She fell silent.
I looked at my lawyer.
“Did you trace the source?”
“We have a lead.”
He took out his phone.
“A firm specializing in wealth management was contacted about three weeks ago.”
“By whom?”
Maître Delmas looked at Nicolas.
Then at Chloe.
“By someone who presented herself as the legal representative of the Laurent family.”
Nicolas furrowed his brow.
“Who?”
“Your wife.”
Silence fell.
Nicolas looked at Chloe.
“You did that?”
“I just wanted to protect our future!”
“Our future?”
His voice trembled.
“You tried to take my mother’s money?”
“No!”
“Then why did you contact that firm?”
Chloe didn’t answer.
I reached the bottom step.
“Because she thought I would end up dying without ever realizing what she was doing.”
Chloe glared at me.
“You have no proof.”
Maître Delmas smiled faintly.
“On the contrary.”
He pulled out a flash drive.
“We recovered the correspondence.”
Chloe turned pale.
“That’s impossible.”
“The messages were preserved.”
He turned to one of the officers.
“I will let you review this.”
The officer read through the document.
Then his expression shifted.
“Ma’am, you are going to have to come with us to answer a few questions.”
Chloe backed away.
“No.”
“Ma’am…”
“I didn’t do anything!”
Nicolas stepped closer.
“Chloe…”
She turned sharply toward him.
“Are you really going to let them take me?”
Nicolas did not answer.
She burst into tears.
“After everything I’ve done for you?”
Those words stung more than anything else.
Nicolas stood motionless.
“Everything you’ve done for me?”
Chloe nodded.
“Yes.”
“You lied to my mother.”
Silence.
“You took her things.”
Silence.
“You struck her.”
She averted her eyes.
“And you tried to steal her money.”
Chloe still didn’t reply.
Nicolas whispered:
“I don’t even recognize you anymore.”
She broke down sobbing.
Yet I felt no satisfaction.
Only sheer exhaustion.
I walked over to my son.
“Nicolas.”
He looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For letting someone come between us.”
He lowered his head.
“I’m the one who should be sorry.”
I placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You’re my son. I don’t want to lose you.”
He looked up again.
“Even after all this?”
“Even after all this.”
For a few seconds, neither of us moved.
Then Nicolas took me into his arms.
And I finally felt the tears I had been holding back for weeks stream down my cheeks.
However, our story wasn’t over.
Because that evening, while the gendarmes were questioning Chloe, Maître Delmas returned to see me.
He was holding a beige envelope.
My envelope.
“Where did you find it?” I asked.
“In your daughter-in-law’s car.”
My chest tightened.
“So she really did take that envelope.”
“Yes.”
I opened it.
Inside was my husband’s flash drive.
I looked at Maître Delmas.
“What’s on it?”
He hesitated.
“I think you should discover that for yourself.”
I inserted the flash drive into my computer.
A single video file appeared.
The date was old.
A few days before my husband passed away.
I clicked it.
His face appeared on the screen.
He was sitting in his study.
Thinner than before.
Yet smiling.
He was looking directly into the camera.
Then he spoke a sentence that made my blood run cold:
“Martine, if you’re watching this video, it probably means something went wrong.”
I covered my mouth with my hand.
My husband continued:
“And if Nicolas is with you, ask him to stay until the end.”
Nicolas stepped forward.
We watched the screen together.
The video went on.
“I know you trust our son. And you are right to trust him.”
A pause.
Then his expression grew somber.
“However, I am not so sure the person he marries one day will share that same loyalty.”
Nicolas turned white.
I looked at my son.
Then back at the screen.
My husband went on:
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