Eloïse stands up. She sits down and then stands up again, turning her back on the defendants to face her mother. The rest of the people present have a similar reaction. I can’t blame them. It’s just what we expected. I was also in shock when Enzo told me his plan.
Antonia Hawtrey-Moore looks like she walked through the door of death and returned on the other side, alive again. Her hair, which used to be platinum blonde and reached herchin, is now black, long, and falls down her back in perfect curls. Her skin is darker than in the images that appeared on TV in the numerous reports that were made about her after her supposed death. The change of look has taken years off her.
No one has dared to break the silence yet.
“I am Antonia Hawtrey-Moore,” the woman declares as soon as she reaches the microphone.
His voice has a domino effect. Some of the people in the audience don’t seem to believe what they see, and they express their opinions out loud, almost shouting. They question whether this woman is who she says she is. They ask for the trial to be postponed, to be suspended.
I clench my jaw. We expected to surprise, yes, but not for our act to have such serious repercussions. I look at the judge and calm down. He is not surprised. He knew that Antonia was going to testify, so he has no intention of suspending the trial.
The man orders silence and, little by little, calm returns to the room. The whispers have lingered in the air, whispers that continue, despite the security guard’s reprimands and warnings to escort them out of the room, during Antonia’s statement.
The woman narrates the events as she has done before. But the questions are different now.
Enzo has decided to throw himself and his mother into the lion’s den. I’m fine with it, as long as I win this case. As long as I give Garros a sentence that tastes like victory.
“Who was that person or those acquaintances who, according to you, put you in contact with the Counterfeiter?” asks the judge.
Antonia Hawtrey-Moore takes a breath.
“Laurent Dubois Junior, my son.”
“It has to be a joke!” Eloïse shouts.
A high-pitched laugh comes out of my throat. Anxiety. She rises fast, her hands trembling at her sides and lips pressed into a thin line. I should have warned her of my plans, but I didn’t have a way to contact her on time.
“Miss, please leave the room,” the judge orders her.
I pictured Eloïse shaking her head, standing up for herself. That’s what she’s always done. As she once told me, you never know who is looking at you, and rumours spread through social media like wildfire.
This Eloise and the one who told me that are not the same person. She has seen her family torn apart, put back together, and broken again in a matter of hours. She leaves the room alone, without the need for the guard to escort her, and she keeps looking at her mother. Her eyes are full of betrayal.
“Okay,” the judge continues. “If anyone else is going to interrupt, please leave the room now.” Everyone remains silent. No one stands up. “Miss Hawtrey-Moore, what did your son tell you? Did you go to him looking for information about the Counterfeiter?”
“No,” she denies. “My son found out that I had been asking around on my own, that I was trying to track down the Counterfeiter.”
“How did he find out?”
“I don’t know,” Antonia admits, hunching her shoulders. “He’s a bit like his father. He has eyes everywhere. Anyway, one afternoon I was sitting in the living room, alone… or with Ivet, she was always with me. Enzo came in, closed the doors, and told me that if I was willing to pay the price, the Counterfeiter wanted to work with me.”
The judge interrupts the statement with a dry cough.
“Excuse me. What happened next? Did your son tell you that he was the Counterfeiter? Did he tell you that he was a friend of his?”
Antonia shakes her head.
“He didn’t share any details. Instead, he gave me a phone number and a card with business hours,” she said, and raised the last note, “as if the Counterfeiter were a damn hotel reception.”
“And…” the judge begins, with his forehead wrinkled, “you didn’t ask him how he had obtained that information?”
The woman crosses her arms over her chest.
“I know better than to meddle in my children’s affairs,” she replies, her tone signalling she has finished her statement.
“Madam, just to be clear… In your case, it was a member of the Counterfeiter, Laurent Dubois Junior, who contacted you, and not the other way around, right?”
“You could say so.”
